were burning themselves into his brain, like they held more power in writing.
He typed something else quickly, just to make the screen scroll.
We live with my grandparents now.
Her message appeared almost instantly.
I’m sorry about your dad.
A long pause, and then another message from Kate.
My mom is dead, too.
Her words held weight, too, as if the screen knew their power. He typed automatically.
I’m sorry.
Then he added,
Don’t you hate when people say that?
Yes. I’m sorry I said it.
Me, too.
This time the pause was really long, as he fought for something to say after that. He wondered if she’d given up on the texting, when a new one appeared.
How did your dad die?
Normally the question would piss him off. But it was different in a text message, from someone else who’d lost a parent.
In a car accident. I was with him. My uncle died, too.
My mom drowned last year.
Hunter flinched. Somehow it seemed worse—but what was the difference?
Another message popped up on the screen.
It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.
It should have seemed like a weird statement—but he got it.
I know exactly what you mean.
Were you and your dad close?
The words hit him like a bullet. Close.
He and his father hadn’t always gotten along, but Hunter had always felt like his father understood him.
He slid his fingers across the screen.
Yeah. Sort of. Sometimes not at all. Bizarre, right?
We’re all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that’s all.
He smiled.
Was that a quote from The Breakfast Club?
O_O Most people don’t get that one.
My uncle loved eighties movies. I’ve seen them all.
Nobody puts Baby in the corner.
Wax on, wax off.
I can’t believe I gave my panties to a geek.
He froze. That one sent his thoughts in a dangerous direction. His phone buzzed.
STOP THINKING ABOUT MY PANTIES.
He grinned.
Can’t help it now.
Stare at me tomorrow?
Sure. I’ll be in the caf early.
And that was it. She didn’t respond.
But that was okay. For five minutes, he didn’t feel so alone.
Hunter put his head down against the duffel bag, closed his eyes, and smiled.
C HAPTER 7
K ate sat in the cafeteria and sucked on the end of a Twizzler. She should have been looking for the Merrick brothers.
Instead, she was waiting for Hunter. Her heart was buzzing, and she told it to knock it off. She was here on assignment. She had a task .
And she remembered the way he had gone from total control to utter disaster with the flip of a switch, like watching an intricate glass sculpture shatter into a thousand pieces—only to pull together again until you could barely see the seams. Something about that was intriguing, like the guileless way he responded to her text messages.
Silver didn’t know anything about that.
She had no intention of telling him.
Her cell phone chimed.
I can’t come sit with you.
She didn’t bother looking around. She just texted back.
Why not?
Complicated.
Kate shoved the bag of Twizzlers into the front of her backpack.
I’ll come to you. Where are you?
He didn’t respond, so she sent another text.
Don’t tell me. You’re sitting by the pool on the roof.
That got a response.
Please tell me you didn’t fall for that one.
Kate smiled. Like she’d fall for a freshman prank.
I almost fell for the one about the bomb shelter under the school. Then I realized it was probably just a euphemism. Where are you really?
I’m headed back to my car. You’re sitting near someone I’m not allowed to be around.
She frowned and looked up. She didn’t see the Merricks, so this wasn’t about the one he’d fought with yesterday. But there, at the next table, was the girl with punk hair and flame tattoos along her wrists. The one he’d shoved.
It seemed so incongruous with the way he’d defended her in the office.
Kate gathered her things and started for the parking lot. She had no idea what kind of
He typed something else quickly, just to make the screen scroll.
We live with my grandparents now.
Her message appeared almost instantly.
I’m sorry about your dad.
A long pause, and then another message from Kate.
My mom is dead, too.
Her words held weight, too, as if the screen knew their power. He typed automatically.
I’m sorry.
Then he added,
Don’t you hate when people say that?
Yes. I’m sorry I said it.
Me, too.
This time the pause was really long, as he fought for something to say after that. He wondered if she’d given up on the texting, when a new one appeared.
How did your dad die?
Normally the question would piss him off. But it was different in a text message, from someone else who’d lost a parent.
In a car accident. I was with him. My uncle died, too.
My mom drowned last year.
Hunter flinched. Somehow it seemed worse—but what was the difference?
Another message popped up on the screen.
It wasn’t supposed to happen that way.
It should have seemed like a weird statement—but he got it.
I know exactly what you mean.
Were you and your dad close?
The words hit him like a bullet. Close.
He and his father hadn’t always gotten along, but Hunter had always felt like his father understood him.
He slid his fingers across the screen.
Yeah. Sort of. Sometimes not at all. Bizarre, right?
We’re all pretty bizarre. Some of us are just better at hiding it, that’s all.
He smiled.
Was that a quote from The Breakfast Club?
O_O Most people don’t get that one.
My uncle loved eighties movies. I’ve seen them all.
Nobody puts Baby in the corner.
Wax on, wax off.
I can’t believe I gave my panties to a geek.
He froze. That one sent his thoughts in a dangerous direction. His phone buzzed.
STOP THINKING ABOUT MY PANTIES.
He grinned.
Can’t help it now.
Stare at me tomorrow?
Sure. I’ll be in the caf early.
And that was it. She didn’t respond.
But that was okay. For five minutes, he didn’t feel so alone.
Hunter put his head down against the duffel bag, closed his eyes, and smiled.
C HAPTER 7
K ate sat in the cafeteria and sucked on the end of a Twizzler. She should have been looking for the Merrick brothers.
Instead, she was waiting for Hunter. Her heart was buzzing, and she told it to knock it off. She was here on assignment. She had a task .
And she remembered the way he had gone from total control to utter disaster with the flip of a switch, like watching an intricate glass sculpture shatter into a thousand pieces—only to pull together again until you could barely see the seams. Something about that was intriguing, like the guileless way he responded to her text messages.
Silver didn’t know anything about that.
She had no intention of telling him.
Her cell phone chimed.
I can’t come sit with you.
She didn’t bother looking around. She just texted back.
Why not?
Complicated.
Kate shoved the bag of Twizzlers into the front of her backpack.
I’ll come to you. Where are you?
He didn’t respond, so she sent another text.
Don’t tell me. You’re sitting by the pool on the roof.
That got a response.
Please tell me you didn’t fall for that one.
Kate smiled. Like she’d fall for a freshman prank.
I almost fell for the one about the bomb shelter under the school. Then I realized it was probably just a euphemism. Where are you really?
I’m headed back to my car. You’re sitting near someone I’m not allowed to be around.
She frowned and looked up. She didn’t see the Merricks, so this wasn’t about the one he’d fought with yesterday. But there, at the next table, was the girl with punk hair and flame tattoos along her wrists. The one he’d shoved.
It seemed so incongruous with the way he’d defended her in the office.
Kate gathered her things and started for the parking lot. She had no idea what kind of
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