“I hope you don’t mind that we’re crashing,” Wes says. “I’m trying to escape a hunting expedition. No joke. Dad thinks I’ll be more of a man if I can blow a rabbit’s head off. And my response? ‘Sorry, Dad, but as tempting as it is to obliterate Peter Cottontail first thing on a Sunday morning, I promised Camelia I’d swing by her house, because she’s been begging to abuse my body for weeks.’”“And speaking of being delusional,” Kimmie segues, “did I mention that my plan to reunite my parents was totally dumb?” She leads us into my bedroom and then closes the door behind her. “They could smell the setup before their water glasses were even filled.”“How’s that?” I ask, taking a seat on my bed.“The violinist I arranged to serenade them at the table might have been a tip-off,” she begins. “Either that, or the wrist corsage I ordered for my mom. I handpicked the begonias and had the florist deliver it right to the table.”“Don’t forget about the oyster appetizer you preordered for the occasion,” Wes adds.“Because, you know what they say about oysters, right?” An evil grin breaks out across her face. ‘I know, I know.” She sighs, before I can even say anything. “I may have gone a little overboard, but what can I say? I’m a dorkus extremus. Hence my outit du jour.” She’s wearing a Catholic schoolgirl’s uniform, a pair of clunky black glasses (with the requisite amount of tape on the bridge), and a cone-shaped dunce cap.“Yes, but you’re a dorkus extremus with a nice set of begonias,” Wes teases.”

“Oh, and because I don’t have a dating history as big as your mouth, it doesn’t quite measure up?” he asks.“I hate to break this to you, but that isn’t the only thing of yours that doesn’t measure up.” She waggles her pinkie at him.“Wouldn’t you like to know?” He grins.“I think I’m all set,” I interrupt, zipping up my bag.“Don’t forget this.” Still cuddling my sweater, Wes purrs a couple of times before tossing it my way.“Yeah, I can’t imagine why your dad thinks of you as feminine,” Kimmie mocks.”

“Todd!” she says again but this time in a way that asks me to look at her and I do and she stops Angharrad at the edge of the square and she’s looking at me, looking right into my eyes–And I read her–And I know exactly what she’s thinking–And my Noise and my heart and my head fill up fit to burst, fill up like I’m gonna explode–Cuz she’s saying–She’s saying with her eyes and her face and her whole self–“I know,” I say back to her, my voice husky. “Me, too.”And then I turn to the Mayor and I’m filled with her, with her love for me and my love for her–And it makes me big as an effing mountain–And I take it and I slam all of it into the Mayor–”

“And how old are you, Miss Beckett?” “Seventeen.” “What!” There is no way she’s seventeen. I inspect her face, studying it intently, but don’t know what it is I hope to find. Laugh lines maybe? She watches my face. “Is my age a problem for you?”“Hell, yeah, seventeen is a problem.” I throw my napkin on the table. All of this has been a waste. “Forget it all. This whole thing is off.” “I don’t act seventeen. I’m very mature for my age.”“No way. You’re not even old enough to be drinking that wine.” I lean in and whisper so no one will overhear. “I’m almost twice your age.” “I don’t mind. I have daddy issues.” She breaks into a huge grin and I hear a girlish giggle. That’s when I realize she’s fucking with me and has the ability to lie with a straight face. I’ll have to remember that for future reference. I’m not amused. “I see I have a comedienne on my hands.”

“I shrug, suddenly remembering how Adam never called me this morning, even though he said he would. “I should probably go back to Adam’s apartment to have a look at his door.”“Want some company?” Wes asks. “I can bring along my spy tool. I’ve got a cool UV-light device that picks up all traces of bodily fluids.”“You’re kidding, right?” Kimmie asks.“You know you want to give it a try.” He winks. “I’ll even let you borrow my latex gloves.”“Say no more,” she jokes. “I’m in.”

“I arrange to meet Kimmie and Wes before homeroom the following day. The cafeteria serves breakfast for early risers in the form of stale toast, oatmeal sludge, and watered-down orange juice.“This had better be worth it,” Wes says. “By my calculation, I’d say you’re denying us at least thirty minutes of sleep.”“Not to mention precious primping time.” Kimmie motions to her outfit: a black leather poodle skirt paired with a glittery pink T that reads DEMON IN TRAINING. “Like it? I also have a coordinating pitchfork, but in all this rush I forgot it at home.”“Along with your sense of style,” Wes jokes, resting his cheek against her shoulder.”