the coffee: I can’t say no. “Why should I be careful? You think Josh Collier’s going to break my heart?”
“Not worried about your heart.” His voice is rough and low.
“Then what?”
For a moment, he looks far too serious for this semi-flirtatious conversation. Then he shakes his head. “So, about that word problem.”
I laugh again. “I never know where you’re going next.”
“Good. It’s in Latin.”
Frowning, I search his face, which, trust me, is no hardship. “You don’t take Latin.” Not that many kids take Latin at Vienna High—and Levi is definitely not one of them.
“I need something translated.”
“I thought you needed help in math.”
He shakes his head. “Latin.”
“Then,” I have to acknowledge, “I’m your girl.”
He gives me a direct look and half smile, squeezing my hand a little. “If only.”
Whoa, he’s good. Electrical, magnetic, combustible. Levi is a human physics class full of energy I can’t resist. But I have to. I slide my hand away. “What’s the Latin issue?”
“Why won’t you hold my hand, Mack?”
“Why do you insist on calling me that? No one does, you know. It’s Kenzie. Or Mackenzie. Not Mack.”
“Really? Mack fits you. It’s unaffected and straightforward and not quite what you’d expect.”
Am I all those things? “I don’t like that name.”
“Why not?”
Because my brother called me Mack from the day I was born, and sometimes, when I’m going to sleep and the guilt and pain creep up on me, I imagine he’s down in that storeroom, his T-shirt caught in the conveyor belt, his head being pulled in a different direction from his body, trapped and alone and dying. Did he call for me? Did he scream, Hey, Mack, I need help!
Or did he just … die trying to retrieve the trinket I’d lost?
“Earth to Mack.” Levi waves his hand in front of my face.
“Sorry.”
“Where were you?”
A bad place. I can’t answer, and attempt a shrug.
“My guess is someone special called you that name. Someone who puts a sad look in those baby-blue eyes.”
I want to make a joke, be light, even flirt. But he’s so damn close to the truth I can barely breathe.
“Your first love?” he asks.
“Don’t.” My voice cracks with one word and instantly he has my hand again. “What Latin help do you need?”
“You’re going to tell me,” he says with one of those sly smiles. “It’s my secret superpower. People tell me shit.”
“Trust me, Levi, you have more than one superpower.”
He holds my gaze for what feels like an eternity but is probably just the span of four or five of my crazy-fast heartbeats. And during that time, I feel all the things I didn’t feel with Josh last night. The toe-curling, breath-stealing, tummy-fluttering sensations of … attraction.
Great. Just great. Couldn’t get all gooey over the good-looking jock, could I? No, I have to pick this one, with his record and his background and his scary, sexy eyes.
“You have a pen, Mack?”
I produce one from the cross-body bag I’m wearing. While he grabs a napkin and flips it to the side with no words, I take the shared coffee and sip. It’s almost cold now, but I don’t care.
I watch how his lashes shadow his cheekbones as he looks down, and study the set of his jaw and the shape of his lips.
I want to kiss him.
All that guilt evaporates, only to be replaced with something worse. Fear. I’m scared of this kid, and so, so drawn to him.
He looks up and catches me, but I don’t care. “This is private,” he says.
“Okay.”
“I mean, do not repeat what I’m going to show you.”
I almost laugh. “And I was just about to tweet it.”
“I’m serious.” He narrows his eyes and lowers his voice. “Dead serious.”
“Okay,” I say again, just as gravely.
“I need to know exactly what this means.” He still doesn’t turn the paper over, reaching for my hand. “Exactly. Word for literal word.”
“Okay, I’ll do my best.”
He turns over the paper so I can read:
Nihil Relinquere et Nihil Vestigi
I don’t have to think long; these are not unusual words. “It says ‘to leave nothing behind and no trace.’ ”
He frowns. “Google said ‘leave nothing and trace nothing.’ ”
“Google Translate is mentally challenged.” I study the words again, double-checking the tense and grammar. “Yes, nihil means ‘nothing’ but relinquere is the verb ‘to leave behind.’ ”
“Not ‘to leave’?”
“No, it’s referencing what’s left when you’re gone. Also, the second clause is a partitive genitive, so while it directly translates to ‘nothing of trace,’ it means ‘no trace.’ ”