Page 20 of Catch the Sun

He draws his knees up to his chest and drops the crown of his head to the deep-brown bark. Our eyes snag for a split second before I clear my throat and avert my attention back to the blank pages of my notebook.

I chew on the end of the pen, brainstorming my letter. My letter of lies.

Perhaps I should tell Jonah I found a boyfriend here in Juniper Falls—a boy who lives in the forest and swings from vines, who eats fresh berries from fertile bushes and drinks water from streams. My brother was always eager for me to fall in love and to experience that soul-aching tug that happens when heartstrings tangle and knot. If he wanted anything for me, it would be that.

It would be love.

Removing the pen from between my teeth, I begin to scribble down my fiction story.

Dear Jonah,

Today I fell in love with a boy who

“Question for you.”

Max’s voice tears through my myth-in-the-making before I can fully develop the plot. Releasing a sigh, I flick my pen against the notepad. “Sure.”

“What’s the difference between moping and brooding?”

Our eyes meet again. “Brooding is dark and mysterious, where moping makes me think of Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh,” I explain, as if this is a tried-and-true fact. “Nobody wants to be Eeyore.”

I watch his expression shift from curiosity to perplexity. In my experience, aversion usually follows, but if that’s what he’s feeling, he hides it well. All he does is nod like he finds the answer acceptable. This is the part where I should go back to conjuring up silly daydreams for Jonah, but, for some reason, the silence is feeling heavier than normal. It’s making me itchy, so I keep the conversation going. “You know, my mother has encouraged me to make friends,” I announce, observing the way his head tilts and his foot taps at the tall grass. “Want to be friends again?”

“No.”

I am unfazed by his rejection.

“Good. I was hoping you’d say that.” I return my attention to the notebook. “I’ll tell her I tried.” He doesn’t say anything, but I sense his eyes on me for a solid minute, so I eventually glance back up as I smear a glob of ink into thepad of my thumb. “What?”

“You didn’t try very hard.”

He’s not smiling, per se, but his tone of voice has my own lips twitching as if they want to. I don’t, though—nope. Slapping the notebook shut, I purse my lips together to keep them from doing something unreasonable. “Did you want me to try harder?”

He shrugs as he drags the sole of his sneaker along a patch of loose dirt. “I’ll admit, I’m curious.”

A challenge.

I can’t back down now.

Blinking slowly, I study him sitting propped up against the mature basswood tree across from me. He breaks eye contact to stare out at the lake while the sun glimmers down on the water and lights it up like diamonds. “I guess I could fill you in on all of my good qualities,” I tell him. “There aren’t many, but there might be enough to lure you into some kind of makeshift friendship.”

“Oh yeah?” He’s still focused on the glittery water.

“Maybe.” With a dramatic clear of my throat, I attempt to enchant him. “I have very few hobbies, so I’m readily available for friendship dates. I’m also excellent at arm wrestling, for whenever boredom strikes. When I was six, I planted my orange crayons in the garden, thinking they’d grow into carrots. That’s not a quality, by the way…just a random fact you didn’t ask for.” I slide my tongue along my bottom lip as his attention falls back to me, his brows pinched together with what looks like concern. “Oh, and I’m shockingly good at catching things. All things. Especially when their trajectory is abrupt and terrifying. It comes in handy if you’re ever about to drop your casserole dish or if you’re in need of a goalkeeper.”

He blinks at me with a deadpan expression as a symphony of crickets serenades us from the shrubs.

Then it happens so fast.

His hand flies up and hurls a small stone in my direction before another meaningless word can pass through my lips.

Just as quickly, my own hand raises with the suddenness of a trap-door spiderlunging for its prey. I catch the stone with athwack, my palm encompassing the rock.

It’s pure instinct.

Max isn’t slow-clapping, but he might as well be. “Nice reflexes,” he says, his eyes appearing two shades darker when the sun sneaks behind the clouds. “I’m impressed.”

“Shit.” I sigh. “I took it too far. Now you’re in love.”

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