Page 36

He nods but he’s not looking at me. There’s something he doesn’t want me to know.

“Why did she leave?”

“She ran out of leads,” he replies with a shrug. Hastily, he untangles his hand from mine and unzips his backpack. “I finished Anne of Green Gables last week.”

Talk about an abrupt subject change. I bite my lip to keep from asking more questions.

Pages rustle as he flips through my old copy of the novel, the one he’s now claimed as his, and stops on a heavily annotated page. “I wonder if you noticed this when you read it. It’s in chapter thirteen, when Anne is talking to Marilla about her amethyst brooch.”

My jaw drops. “It was amethyst?”

“You didn’t catch that?”

“No.” My fingers graze my necklace. “I must’ve read it before you gave me this.”

“Listen to what Anne says to her?—”

I scoot closer so I can see the page and follow along.

“‘Long ago, before I had ever seen a diamond, I read about them and I tried to imagine what they would be like. I thought they would be lovely glimmering purple stones. When I saw a real diamond in a lady’s ring one day I was so disappointed I cried. Of course, it was very lovely but it wasn’t my idea of a diamond.

Will you let me hold the brooch for one minute, Marilla?

’” Leo pauses to be sure he has my full attention before he reads the final sentence.

“‘Do you think amethysts can be the souls of good violets?’”

“The souls of good violets?” I repeat.

He nods, eyes bright. Straining, I bend my neck low enough to get a good look at the purple stone in my pendant. Leo lowers his head too, so close to mine, his hair tickles my forehead .

“That’s one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard,” I say. “But I don’t think it’s true of my amethyst.”

“Why not?”

“It might be the souls of violets, but not good ones.”

One side of his mouth curls up. “ Bad violets?”

I nod and smile back. “Think about it—violets are supposed to be shy. You know, the whole shrinking violet thing. But this—” I lift the amethyst again. “This has power. It can’t be made up of a bunch of meek little violets.”

“So it’s the souls of bold ones, then?”

“ Rebel violets,” I say with a grin. “The ones who refuse to shrink from anything.”

“Rebel violets. I like that.” He slides the pendant from my fingers and holds it in his own. “Do you think it’s helping you?”

“Yes.” I don’t know if the stone is actually absorbing negative energy, or if it’s having some sort of placebo effect, but it seems to be working. “I feel stronger.”

“Do—” It’s more of a gasp than a word. He clears his throat. “Do you?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” His voice is tight. “That’s what I wanted. For you to feel stronger.” He sets the caged amethyst gently back on my chest.

“I’m getting there.” I’m proud of myself for walking away from Rush, but I’m also scared. It’s one thing to decide what you don’t want to do, it’s another to figure out what you want instead.

I settle back beside him and drop my head on his shoulder. “I need to go talk to Liv,” I sigh. “But?—”

“But?” He presses his warm cheek against my hair.

“Can I just stay here with you?”

“As long as you want.”

How about forever? “Maybe if we hide, they’ll lock us in here, like From The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler .”

“From the what?”

I lift my chin to find him smiling down at me. “ From The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler . It’s a book, a kid’s book. You never read it?”

“I don’t think so. What happens in it?”

“The main character and her little brother run away from home and stow away in the Met.”

“The art museum?”

“Yep. And they solve some sort of mystery, but I don’t remember much about it. I just remember reading it as a kid and thinking that living in a museum would be the coolest thing ever.”

Leo lets out a soft laugh. “Probably not a dream most kids have.”

No, probably not. Living on a beach, or in a football stadium or a toy store maybe, but not an art museum. “You’d like it though, wouldn’t you? Living in a museum?”

He smooths the hair on the top of my head and rests his cheek back down upon it. “I’d love it.”

I give myself thirty seconds to daydream.

Leo and me, hiding away for, let’s say, a week, here in this huge, beautiful, old library.

We could dine from the vending machines in the basement cafe, sleep on the cushioned benches in one of the reading rooms, and spend all day sitting on the floor among the stacks, just like we are now, simply reading.

I like this fantasy. A little too much.

With a stretch and a sigh, I force myself back to reality. “Okay. I’m going now.” Leo lends me a shoulder as I struggle in my pencil skirt to get gracefully to my feet. “Time to pay the piper.”

He smiles up at me. “Good luck.”

“Just be honest, right?”

“Just be honest, rebel violet.”

For a spilt second, I have to grip the shelf beside me as warmth runs down from the top of my head and settles low in my belly.

I turn to go, but Leo stops me with a “hold on.” He hands me his phone, opened to a browser. “Will you find me that kids’ book?”