Page 48 of Stone Vows

Out in the courtyard, we resume the same spot we had last week. And just like last week, she takes in a huge breath through her nose, savoring the aroma of what must be her favorite flower.

I sit on the bench and take the Jell-O cups from her, making a pile next to me. “Whose turn is it?” I ask, as if I don’t know. As if the memory of every minute I spend with her isn’t chronicled in my head.

“Mine,” she says. “I’ve had a lot of time to sit around and think about it, you know.”

“Fire away,” I say.

“Okay. Never have I ever been arrested.”

I chuckle. “Good one, but not good enough.” I leave the cups sealed and untouched. “Although I did have a few near-misses back in high school. One time, a bunch of guys and I got drunk out on a golf course. The night watchman chased us all over the back nine before he pooped out. Damn, I haven’t thought about that in a while. Good times.”

“Now you go,” she says.

I don’t miss the fact that she doesn’t ask me any questions about what I just said. Questions like where was the golf course or what high school did you attend. She doesn’t ask me questions like that because she knows I’d quid pro quo.

I try to think of a question that won’t stir up bad memories. “Never have I ever kissed someone of the same sex on the lips.”

Her face pinks up and her eyes close briefly as she grins and shakes her head back and forth. “Give me the orange one, please,” she says, holding out her hand.

My jaw drops.

She rolls her eyes. “Tenth grade. Her name was Jewel. Let’s just leave it at that.”

I open the orange Jell-O and hand it to her along with a spoon.

“I’m a guy, Elizabeth. I can’t just leave it at that.”

She laughs right before taking her bite. “Eww,” she says, making a face. “Definitely not my favorite.”

“Did this kiss involve Jell-O?” I ask. “Or perhaps melted chocolate?”

“Oh, my God, Kyle. No. It was a dare. But I got the idea she liked it way more than I did. She stalked me for weeks after. It was humiliating. Rumors started. Apparently, I was the only one in tenth grade who didn’t know she liked girls.”

“Was she blonde or brunette?”

“What?” she asks, scrunching her nose. “What does that matter?”

“I have a thing for brunettes,” I say. “Was she blonde or brunette?”

“Oh,I’m. . . I mean, uh . . .shewas brunette.”

I can’t help my smile. She was about to tell me she’s a brunette.

“My turn again,” she says. “Never have I ever stolen anything.”

“Doesn’t that kind of go along with being arrested?” I ask.

“No, not necessarily,” she says.

“You’re right, it doesn’t.” I pick up a spoon and take a bite of the orange goo.

She’s raising her eyebrows at me, waiting for an explanation.

“I was fifteen. We had recently moved to L.A. and I was going through a rebellious phase. We were in the mall and I swiped a pair of sunglasses. Funny story, it’s actually how my brother, Chad, got discovered as an actor.”

She looks vaguely embarrassed. “I know, Mallory told me.”

“Told you my brother was an actor, or told you I stole something?”

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