Page 122 of Pretty Reckless (All Saints High 1)

“Where did we leave things off with my secret?”

“First, I want you to tell me you haven’t slept with anyone else since I’ve been gone.” She turns her head around to face me, her body still tilted toward the trunk.

“I haven’t even held another’s hand. Even when I jacked off—it was to you. Hell, even my morning woods belonged to you.”

She laughs, shaking her head. I missed her voice. Her laughter. Her.

“Thank you. Well, we left things off with your grandmother cursing you when you tore your shirt. What was the curse about?”

“Eh.” I take a moment to close my eyes and savor the scent of her hair. “So my grandmother is pissed, and she wants me to behave. She tells me that the only way to remove this spell, curse, whatever the hell it is, is for me to fall in love. That’s some Beauty and the Beast bullshit, and I don’t buy into it, but I’m thinking, even at five, that that’s okay. I can fall in love a thousand times in an hour. Maybe not at five, but at thirteen or fourteen, sure. So of course, she puts a loophole.”

I snort when I think about the first time I met Daria up close, after seeing her in and out of her ballet class for years.

“What’s the loophole?” She turns around and holds my shoulders.

Escalation.

I brush my thumb along her cheek, smiling.

“She said only true love would get rid of the curse. And it will have to be requited. And real. And for life. Most of all, she said it couldn’t be just any girl. It needed to be a girl who can become a Scully, like us. But I was five, and dumb, and on pain meds, so what I heard was Skull Eyes. So I laughed and laughed and fucking laughed some more until she hit me with a broomstick. But wanna know what the weird thing is?”

Daria nods.

“When I saw you all broken and upset and finally mustered up the courage to talk to you, there really were skulls in your eyes. Like white marbles, bang, in the middle of your pupils.”

Daria takes my hand and presses her lips to my palm. My heart quickens.

“Every time you called me that, you really called me the love of your life?” she asks quietly. I smile.

“Now she is following. Where have you been this semester, Skull Eyes?”

“Waiting for you.” It’s her turn to grin. “Where I always knew you’d follow. In South Bend, Indiana. Notre Dame.”

Notre Dame, Freshman Year

“Oh my Marx, my feet have blisters the size of your head, Penn. What’s up?” Daria complains. In my defense, no one told her to wear those red-soled heels for our lengthy stroll. In her defense, this shit is pretty goddamn long. I can’t see the end of it, and I’m pretty sure I should’ve packed water, Advil, and maybe even food for the road.

“Just a little bit more, baby.”

She soldiers through it without questioning me or my motives. I said I preferred if she didn’t ask any questions, and she trusts me. Why she does is beyond me, but she does. I hit the fucking jackpot on all counts when it comes to my girlfriend. She is hot, compassionate, funny, a spitfire, and her dad is willing to pay for our plane tickets when we come home for the holidays.

Daria releases air and starts whistling. She’s bored. She’s never been a power-walker or a jogger. She prefers to dance in the studio. She joined the cheer team at Notre Dame and doesn’t even think about becoming team captain. She is much more content doing her own thing.

“Via said she is having fun at Santa Barbara.”

My sister is attending community college and loving every minute of it. I think it’s because it’s so close to Mel, Jaime, and Bailey. She doesn’t like much exploring outside her territory and still needs some handholding. We’ve been getting better at the whole being twins thing, and Via and Daria have actually been keeping in touch. It’s frosty, but it’s there. At this point, I have no illusions or expectations about them becoming best buddies. If they can survive not killing each other over the holidays—which seems to be the case—I’m happy.

“Good. Good,” I say. I’m too distracted by the insanity that’s about to leave my mouth to care about Via.

“She’s been dating this really sweet guy named Doug. I think she’s bringing him to Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Doug is an awful name, but anything is better than Gus.”

“Okay, what’s going on?” She stops. No. No. She can’t stop. We have maybe ten feet left to complete the journey. I tug at her sleeve and practically drag her the rest of the way between the two lakes on campus in the shape of an eight.

“I said no questions.”