Play On - Michelle Smith Page 0,35

to make wishes on them, as if little balls of gas hold some sort of magical power. I think I have too many wishes for those things to handle, anyway. They’d explode under the pressure.

Like right now? More than anything, I’d wish to have the answer to a question I’ve been asking for two years: why the hell anyone would kill themselves. I don’t get it. I won’t pretend to get it.

Twigs and rocks crunch as I step to her side. I glance over at her, but she’s gazing out at the water, arms still crossed. Pieces of hair have fallen out of her ponytail and blow around, crazy in the wind.

I don’t have a clue what to say. Things seem perfect for her: perfect house, perfect parents, perfect brain, perfect personality. So why the hell would she try and—?

No. Nope. I can’t do it. I can’t even think it. My throat tightens as I kick at the grass. Dad seemed pretty damn perfect, too.

“Please don’t tell anyone else,” she says. I look up. She turns to me, arms wrapped around herself like a security blanket. “I’m okay now, I swear. But I don’t want people looking at me like I’m some sort of freak, you know?”

I nod once. It’s all I can do. My words stick to my throat.

“I won’t blame you for thinking I am a freak,” she says, the words tumbling out. “And I won’t blame you for running, or if you never want to see me again, or if you want me to quit the shop.”

Hold up. How’d we get to that? I step toward her, but she keeps on.

“I just thought that maybe you should know the truth because I like you. I like you a lot. And I don’t even know if I mean that I like you, like you, but I like spending time with you, and if we’re going to hang out or whatever, you deserve to know the truth. But if—”

I grab her shoulders, silencing her. “Stop if-ing,” I tell her. “I want to see you again. I would never ask you to quit the shop. And I like you, too. A lot. So please, stop with the ifs. It’s just—”

I search her face, which is equal parts hopeful and amazed and utterly confused. And I have a feeling that what I say next will make or break whatever friendship we’ve built up over the last few weeks. I’ve known her for one freakin’ month, so I have no idea why I’m so invested, or why my heart feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest, or why all I want to do is hug her and have it be enough to make her okay.

But I am. It does. I do. That’s all that really matters.

“It’s just,” I continue, “that seeing that scared the hell out of me. It’s hard to imagine you not being here. To think about never having met you. Because you’re pretty awesome.”

Finally—finally—she smiles. It’s tiny, but it’s there. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that tonight.”

She shivers, and I unzip my camo jacket and wrap it around her shoulders. Her smile stretches a little more as she slides her arms into the way-too-huge-for-her sleeves. I grasp her hands and pull her toward me and rub her arms, trying to warm her some more. Her eyes are full of secrets, full of trouble, full of pain, but there’s a twinkle of light in there. A month ago, I was convinced I couldn’t have room in my life for a girl. Now I wish to all that’s holy that she would make room for me.

“Maybe you should take some time to think about this.” She gestures to herself. “About me, I guess? About whether you’re sure dealing with me is worth the moments like this one when I melt. Because sometimes, I do melt. This wasn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last.”

I’m not sure about what the heck is in the future. What I am sure about is the girl standing in front of me, right here and right now, and the way she makes me want more. I want more seconds, more minutes, more and more hours with her.

So when I tell her, “You’re so, so worth it,” I mean every word.

She gazes up at me, her lips slightly parted. “Thank you,” she whispers.

“For what?”

“For staying here. For looking at me. Most people—most stop looking.”

Ah, hell. I wrap