“An old western standoff had nothing on the looks that my mom and grandma were exchanging. A tumbleweed could have rolled through the kitchen and neither would have noticed.”

“Right,” I fumed, my index finger poking him in thechest. “So we’re even then. My kiss didn’t count because itwas an accident and yours didn’t count because it wasstrictly for medical purposes. Neither of them counted askisses.”“Would you have wanted them to?” Brent demandedsuddenly, bending his neck so he whispered it in my ear”

“I gulped; I had the overwhelming sensation that what we had done wasn’t enough. I’m not sure what I had expected, maybe a fairy tale endingwhere a magic wand fixed everything, including all the darkness we had been through.But this was no fairy tale. Nothing could bring back the thirty boys that had died. Nothing could take away the grief that had torn their family’shearts into shreds. Experiences like this, I realized, are wounds that never quite healed; they stayed with you and no amount of justice would erasethe scar.”

“I stopped at a red light, turned my head, and allowed myself to enjoy the handsomeness that was Brent.He noticed my staring and asked, "What?""As if you don't know. You're not the type of guy that a girl gets tired of looking at.""Oh. Well in that case, you're welcome to look all you want," he said and gestured to himself. "You're allowed to touch, too." He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.I lowered my voice into its sexy-husky range. "I was hoping you'd say that." With my flirtiest look on my face, I rubbed my hand slowly up his arm and then pinched him firmly on the shoulder."Ow!" Brent rubbed his shoulder and grinned. "Not what I had in mind!”

“So, what you're saying is that I bring out your book - wielding, short tempered side?" He hooked his foot through the straps of my backpack and brought in front of him. "Removing temptation."I gave him a look that communicated he should wither and die.”

“Something horrible had happened here, and had left it's residue behind. It seemed to rise from the bottom of the tiled pool and leak from the ceiling, clinging to the walls and binding itself like some parasite into any host it could ensnare. I imagined it's cold fingers rooting inside me, spreading throughout, and leaving traces of itself embedded in my soul.”

“A few minutes after discovering we had a goal but no plan, Brent was laughing heartily at a pathetic joke I had made. It reminded me of the firstday on campus when I had thought his laughter sounded like a melody. It did now, even more so. It was music, beautiful, in a manly way, like asensual, slow jazz. I loved jazz.“Jazz, huh?” Brent asked, his voice suddenly husky.“Uh . . . what?”“My laugh reminds you of jazz? Is there anything about me you don’t find attractive?” He rubbed his hand over his lips trying to cover his smirk.“So tell me, how much do you love jazz?”I’m sure my face was pinker than the inside of a watermelon. “I didn’t say any of that.”“You didn’t have to say it, Yara, I could hear it.” Brent tapped the side of his head. “I can hear your thoughts.”“You’re not serious.”“Oh, but I am,” he said, completely straight-faced.”