Page 51 of Catch the Sun

I swivel to face him and note the smitten glow in his brown eyes as he peersat Brynn! through long, black lashes. Somebody has a crush. As he moves to retreat, I snatch him by a backpack strap. “Hold up. Let me formally introduce you to my sort-of friends—Brynn!, McKay, and Max.”

He gulps.

Brynn! lights up, bobbing her head. “Hey! You’re in one of my classes. Art, I think?”

“Yeah,” he replies, hands stuffed in his pockets.

Max interrupts. “Sort-offriends?” he parrots, leveling me with an arched brow of mock outrage.

I give him a one-shoulder shrug but step forward and link my arm with his. “I suppose you’ve earned an upgrade. The crayon plant won me over.”

Everyone goes quiet when our arms loosely hitch.

Why did I do that?

Now I’m entirely aware of how good he smells.

I don’t know why I’m touching him. McKay clearly doesn’t know why either as his gaze locks on our joined arms.

Max senses my pullback and tugs me closer by the elbow. “Is it a carrot yet?” he asks, gazing down at my red face and pop-eyed expression. I think he’s teasing me, but his mouth doesn’t lift and his eyes look heated and intense, instead of playful.

“The metamorphosis is beginning,” I croak out. “It’ll be ready for stew in no time.”

Brynn! looks completely confused, but she goes with it. “I love stew.”

Kai is lost. “I’m going to head to lunch now. Bye.” He makes a hasty retreat without another word, and I immediately feel a kinship toward him.

With an overdramatic throat clear, I slide my arm from Max’s and take a sizable step backward, almost bumping into another student. McKay is still eyeing me, and I can’t really read him, so everything is awkward. “So,” I mutter, drawing out the word. “Lunchtime. My favorite. I’m going to go find a quiet bathroom stall to dine in.” Not waiting for a response, I whip around and book it in the opposite direction, paralleling Kai’s escape.

It’s not long before footsteps race to catch up. “You’re not eating in the bathroom,” Max says, walking beside me.

“I like reading the graffiti on the stalls while I eat. It’s therapeutic. Did youknow someone turned the second stall into a makeshift ‘Dear Abby’ column? They’re giving advice on everything from forbidden love to biology homework. It’s like a live-action, anonymous Reddit thread.”

“Ella.”

“I never see you eating in the cafeteria, so you can’t judge me.” It’s true—I’ve never once seen him there. Brynn! and McKay are usually in their own little love bubble and I’m not one to intrude. She’s invited me to sit with them a few times, but there’s only so many kissing noises I can take while I’m trying to eat a turkey sandwich.

“I usually eat outside by the willow tree or hang out in the library,” Max says. “Come join me.”

I spare him a glance as my feet keep sprinting forward. “Just the two of us?”

“Sure.”

“Because we’re friends.”

“Yes. The arm-link sealed it.”

My face heats again. “Sorry. That was weird and intrusive.”

“More or less than when I snuck through your bedroom window three times?”

My lips curl into a small smile and I bite down to repress it.

Following Max’s evening visit, he stopped over two more times after school last week. Mom was at work and kept the front door locked, so he claimed the window was more convenient since I didn’t need to get out of bed and walk down a short hallway to the foyer. Thoughtful, I guess. And some foreign part of me kind of enjoyed the little secret we shared.

The visits were fairly uneventful, but we listened to Fleetwood Mac playlists, talked about autumn plans, and I showed him some of the bookbinding work I’d been doing. We kept the conversations light—no talk of what happened at the lake, or of Jonah, or of his father and his tumultuous family situation. I appreciated the reprieve from my usual dark cloud of woe.

During the last visit, I had just battled through my final brush with fever and passed out on the bed while Max flipped throughThe Bell Jarby Sylvia Plath. It was a copy I’d created my own cover for and the leather-bound novel was decorated with a fig tree made of felt and fabric scraps, some of the figs ripeand vibrant, while some were rotting and shriveled.

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