The Unexpected Everything - Morgan Matson Page 0,80

to ignore.

“What thing?”

“This idea that the person who kisses you first gets, with that kiss, a little piece of your soul. And they have a hold over you. Most people don’t ever use it against you. But some people do.”

I turned this over in my mind, feeling like maybe I would have to read Clark’s books now. “So where’d that come from? Is that what happened with your first-kiss girl?”

“No,” Clark said, laughing. “She’s fine. We’re friends online, and I get to see pictures of most of her meals, even though we haven’t spoken in seven years.” He turned to look at me. “What about you?” he asked. “Ever think about your guy?”

“Well . . . yeah,” I said, realizing I was starting to choose my words carefully again. It was one thing for my friends to know about Topher, but I wasn’t about to give out details that could identify him. “He—I mean, we still occasionally . . .” I trailed off, not exactly sure how to put this. “We’re kind of off and on.”

“Oh,” Clark said, and he sounded much more awake now. “Are you now? On, I mean?”

“No,” I said quickly, now feeling more awake myself. “Are you? On . . . with anyone?”

“No,” Clark said just as quickly, and I felt myself let out a breath. “I was . . . My last girlfriend and I broke up at the end of the semester.”

“Semester?”

“Yeah. She was a freshman at Colorado College, and I was living in Colorado Springs, so we started dating. But when school ended for the year, she said she wanted to explore life’s possibilities. That’s a direct quote, by the way.”

I made a face, and Clark laughed. “But I thought you said you lived way out in the woods. Near Wisconsin?”

“Wyoming.”

“Right.”

“That’s where my parents live,” Clark said. “It . . . I moved out last year and got my own place. It just seemed easier.”

I nodded, even though I had a feeling there was a lot to this story that I wasn’t getting. I was about to remark about how strange it was that he lived on his own, when I realized that was what he was doing now. And if he’d followed the usual path, he’d be going to college. So maybe it wasn’t that weird. But even so, I could feel a slight envious twinge in my stomach, thinking about this college freshman girl who had been Clark’s girlfriend, whoever and wherever she was. “And now you’re here.” I yawned hugely again.

“That I am.”

I looked over at him in the moonlight. This should have been strange—sleeping next to a cute guy, with a large dog snoring between us—but for some reason, it really wasn’t. Maybe because we were both pretending we weren’t really going to sleep. Or maybe I was too tired to feel awkward and had used my embarrassment quotient up with the dog vomit.

“Get some sleep,” Clark said, even though he sounded like he was going to drop off at any moment. “I’ll stay up and watch Bert.”

“No, I can,” I said, but even I could hear how unconvincing this was, as my eyelids started to close.

“I’ve got this,” he said. The quiet of the night took over the room, punctuated only by Bertie’s breathing and the occasional snore. “Night, Andie.”

I opened my eyes and looked over at him to see that he was sitting up like he’d said he would be, watching Bert, albeit while covering his mouth as he yawned. “Hey,” I said, and he looked over at me, his expression open, absolutely nothing hiding behind it. He’d looked that way at the restaurant, too, I realized now. I just hadn’t let myself see it.

“Hey,” he said, a question in his voice.

“I just . . . ,” I started. “You asked me before about my mom.” Clark nodded, but I could feel how still he’d gotten otherwise, like he wasn’t going to do or say anything to stop me. I took a big, shaky breath and made myself go on. “She died of ovarian cancer five years ago. They thought they got it in time. But they didn’t.” The words hung between us for a moment, and there were tears somewhere behind my eyes, and I knew when I closed them again, they would slip out, that I would be too tired to fight to keep them back.

“Thank you for telling me,” Clark said, his voice quiet. Silence fell again, and I was about to let my