“Would you like to?” he says. His voice is hardly audible above the wind—so low it’s barely a whisper.“Would I like to what?” My heart is roaring, rushing in my ears, and thoughthere are still several inches between his hand and mine, there’s a zipping,humming energy that connects us, and from the heat flooding my body youwould think we were pressed together, palm to palm, face to face.“Dance,” he says, at the same time closing those last few inches and findingmy hand and pulling me closer, and at that second the song hits a high note and Iconfuse the two impressions, of his hand and the soaring, the lifting of the music.We dance.”

“Maybe he sees it on my face, that fraction of a second whenI let my guard down, because in that moment his expression softens and his eyesgo bright as flame and even though I barely see him move, suddenly he hasclosed the space between us and he’s wrapping his warm hands over myshoulders—fingers so warm and strong I almost cry out—and saying, “Lena. Ilike you, okay? That’s it. That’s all. I like you.” His voice is so low and hypnoticit reminds me of a song. I think of predators dropping silently from trees: I thinkof enormous cats with glowing amber eyes, just like his.”

“ "You're my hero," we both say at the same time. I don't hear Kent move, but all of a sudden his voice is closer, and he's found my hands in the dark, and he's cupping them in his.”

“And then we're kissing. His lips are soft and leave mine tingling. I close my eyes, and in the darkness behind them I see beautiful blooming things, flowers spinning like snowflakes, and hummingbirds beating the same rhythm as my heart. I'm gone, lost, floating away into nothingness like I am in my dream, but this time it's a good feeling - like soaring, like being totally free. His other hand pushes my hair from my face, and I can feel the impression of his fingers everywhere that they touch, and I think of stars streaking through the sky and leaving burning trails behind them, and in that moment - however long it lasts, seconds, minutes, days - while he's saying my name into my mouth and I"m breathing into him, I realize this, right here, is the first and only time I've ever been kissed.”

“I want to help you,' I say to Juliet, though I know that I can't make her understand, not like this.'Don't you get it?' She turns to me, and to my surprise I see she's crying. 'I can't be fixed, do you understand?'I think of standing on the stairs with Kent and saying exactly the same thing. I think of his beautiful light green eyes, and the way he said, You don't need to be fixed and the warmth of his hands and the softness of his lips. I think of Juliet's mask and how maybe we all feel patched and stitched together and not quite right.I am not afraid. Dimly, I have the sense of roaring in my ears and voices so close and faces, white and frightened, emerging from the darkness, but I can't stop staring at Juliet as she's crying, still so beautiful.'It's too late,' she says.And I say, 'It's never too late.”

“I'm not with Rob," I say quickly. "Not anymore." "You're not?" He's staring at me so intensely I can see the stripes of gold alternating with the green in his eyes like spokes of a wheel.I shake my head."That's a good thing." He's still staring at me like that, like he's the first and last person who will ever stare at me."Because..." His voice trails off, and his eyes travel slowly down to my lips, and there's so much heat roaring throughmy body I swear I'm going to pass out."Because?" I prompt him, surprised I can still speak."Because I'm sorry, but I can't help it, and I really need to kiss you right now.”

“Lena.” Alex’s voice is stronger, more forceful now, and it finally stops me.He turns so that we’re face-to-face. At that moment my shoes skim off the sandbottom, and I realize that the water is lapping up to my neck. The tide is comingin fast. “Listen to me. I’m not who—I’m not who you think I am.”I have to fight to stand. All of a sudden the currents tug and pull at me. It’salways seemed this way. The tide goes out a slow drain, comes back in a rush.“What do you mean?”His eyes—shifting gold, amber, an animal’s eyes—search my face, andwithout knowing why, I’m scared again. “I was never cured,” he says. For amoment I close my eyes and imagine I’ve misheard him, imagine I’ve onlyconfused the shushing of the waves for his voice. But when I open my eyes he’sstill standing there, staring at me, looking guilty and something else—sad,maybe?—and I know I heard correctly. He says, “I never had the procedure.”“You mean it didn’t work?” I say. My body is tingling, going numb, and Irealize then how cold it is. “You had the procedure and it didn’t work? Like whathappened to my mom?”“No, Lena. I—” He looks away, squinting, says under his breath, “I don’tknow how to explain.”