“But like he said, it was clean, and it was very, very cool.I told him so.He beamed. Then ordered, "Seat belt!" as he stowed our bags in the backseat. I was trying. I'd already scanned the duct-tape-patched roof in vain. The clip was where I expected it to be, next to my left hip on the bench seat.Not so the other half. "Oh,yeah.I forgot to mention it's a lap belt."He reached over me, his arm brushing against my chest, his hair just grazing my cheekbone as he pulled the belt from the crevive between the seat and the door. I caught my breath. And jumped a little when he shoved the pieces together with a loud click."Old parts," he apologized.Quivery parts,I thought as my insides settled.Kinda.”

“Well, good night," he said cheerfully. "Thanks for dinner.""Oh. Right." I took a half step back toward the house. "You're welcome.""Ella.""Yeah?""You've gotta be kidding."PECo hadn't some yet, so it was pretty dark where we were standing. I don't know how his hand found mine so fast, but one second I was thinking about how much I didn't want to say good night, and the next I was up against his chest, standing on my toes with my feet between his."Is this okay?" he asked, his breath chocolaty and warm against my forehead."Yeah," I answered, my own breath coming in quick little jumps. "Yeah.""Good.I have something I have to tell you."I waited."I hate that Klimt painting," he said. "I really hate it."Then he was folding me into his coat and his face was right above mine, and there was only one kiss that mattered.”

“I'm changing..." I said."Don't do that," Alex said into my hair. Then he scooped me up and over so I was below him, his knees bracketing mine, his arms curving around my head. "Don't change."Truth: When he kissed me again, I couldn't have cared less about being a good person.I felt amazing.”

“Whatever you want," he said. "Will you please come here now?"I slipped a piece of protective tissue over my drawing and flipped the book closed. A piece of blue scratch paper slid out, the line I'd copied from Edward;s poetry book. "Hey. Translate for me, Monsieur Bainbridge."I set the sketchbook on my stool and joined him on the chaise. He tugged me onto his lap and read over his head. "'Qu'ieu sui avinen, leu lo sai.' 'That I am handsome, I know.""Verry funny.""Very true." He grinned. "The translation. That's what it says. Old-fashionedly."I thought of Edward's notation on the page, the reminder to read the poem to Diana in bed, and rolled my eyes. You're so vain.I bet you think this song is about you..."Boy and their egos."Alex cupped my face in his hands. "Que tu est belle, tu le sais.""Oh,I am not-""Shh," he shushed me, and leaned in.The first bell came way too soon. I reluctantly loosened my grip on his shirt and ran my hands over my hair. He prompty thrust both hands in and messed it up again. "Stop," I scolded, but without much force. "I have physics," he told me. "We're studying weak interaction."I sandwiched his open hand between mine. "You know absolutely nothing about that.""Don't be so quick to accept the obvious," he mock-scolded me. "Weak interaction can actually change the flavor of quarks."The flavor of quirks, I thought, and vaguely remembered something about being charmed. I'd sat through a term of introductory physics before switching to basic biology. I'd forgotten most of that as soon as I'd been tested on it,too."I gotta go." Alex pushed me to my feet and followed. "Last person to get to class always gets the first question, and I didn't do the reading.""Go," I told him. "I have history. By definition, we get to history late.""Ha-ha. I'll talk to you later." He kissed me again, then walked out, closing the door quietly behind him.”

“Now,standing under our beautiful monstrosity, I couldn't help thinking that if Alex were to kiss me, it would look like that: me small and blissful and clinging, him so much taller, completely enfolding me.I averted my red dace as I headed down the hall.My room is a quarter the size of his. It felt even smaller with him in it. "Make yourself at-"He'd plunked the snack on my desk, depositied his coat on my chair, and was already roaming the room, looking at the door knockers made to look like hands. "Cool.You are seriously good." He stared for a long time at the single study I'd put up from the Willing Romance Languages Room door: the leering devil. "I would put that on my wall," he said.I hadn't said anything while he browsed, swallowing all the automatic denials of my abilities.He turned and grinned at me, looking exactly like the little demon. No surprise, since it was essentially his face in miniature. "This is the part where you remove that tack and give me the picture.For keeps.""Are you serious?" I wasn't sure."Yes,Ella.I am serious."So I removed the tack and handed him the picture. He rolled it up very gently and put it in his coat pocket.”

“When I got back to the kitchen, my heart nearly stopped. Dad was leaning across the stainless worktable, over a pile of shrimp, almost right in Alex's face. He was holding a new knife, this one small and very sharp. "You got that,kid, or should I say it again?" he was demanding.Alex looked more nervous than I'd ever seen him. But only for a second. Then his face hardened, and he slapped both palms flat on the table. "I've got it," he said. He shoved up his sleeves and reached for the knife. Moments later, he was deveining shrimp with a lot of enthusiasm and a little skill.Dad turned and caught me gaping. He tilted his head in obvious warning. Raw, icky, slippery: This was the task he'd given the boy I brought into his kitchen, and I was not to interfere.Poor Alex. He was being tested for a position he didn't even want.”

“Alex was right in front of the mantel now, bent forward, his nose mere inches from a picture of me."Oh,God. Don't look at that!"It was from the year-end recital of my one and only year of ballet class. I was six: twig legs, a huge gap where my two front teeth had recently been, and a bumblebee costume. Nonna had done her best, but there was only so much she could do with yellow and black spandex and a bee butt. Dad had found one of those headbands with springy antennai attached. I'd loved the antennae. The more enthusiastic my jetes, the more they bounced. Of course, I'd also jeted my flat-chested little self out of the top of my costume so many times that, during the actual recital itself,I'd barely moved at all, victim to the overwhelming modesty of the six-year-old. Now, looking at the little girl I'd been, I wished someone had told her not to worry so much, that within a year, that smooth, skinny, little bare shoulder would have turned into the bane of her existence. That she was absolutely perfect."Nice stripes," Alex said casually, straightening up.That stung. It should't have-it was just a photo-but it did. I don't know what I'd expected him to say about the picture. It wasn't that. But then, I didn't expect the wide grin that spread across his face when he got a good look at mine, either."Those," he announced, pointing to a photo of my mulleted dad leaning against the painted hood of his Mustang "are nice stripes. That-" he pointed to the me-bee- "Is seriously cute.""You're insane," I muttered, insanely pleased."Yeah,well, tell me something I don't know." He took the bottle and plate from me. "I like knowing you have a little vanity in there somewhere." He stood, hands full, looking expectant and completely beautiful.The reality of the situation hadn't really been all that real before. Now, as I started up the stairs to my bedroom, Alex Bainbridge in tow, it hit me. I was leading a boy, this boy, into my very personal space.Then he started singing."You're so vain, I bet you think this song is about you. You're sooo vain....!" He had a pretty good voice. It was a truly excellent AM radio song.And just like that, I was officially In Deep”