Page 2 of Heart of the Sun

Emily Swanson.

Kneeling in front of the small, round window, next to my pile of books and among the other things I’d brought here, a hardcover open in her hands as she read.

No. Way.

Ofallthe people that I never wanted to find this spot or rifle throughmythings.

The burst of anger fueled my movement and I practically catapulted over the top of the ladder, coming to my feet, my head just grazing the ceiling. “What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded.

Emily whirled around, fell to her butt, and dropped the book. “You scared me!”

“I scaredyou? You’re not supposed to be here. You’re…trespassing!”

She scrambled to her feet and then immediately put her hands on her slender hips, one golden brow arching. Despite my indignation, I couldn’t help noting how pretty she was. In fact, just the day before, I’d lain beneath that very window, my head propped on my backpack as I wondered what it’d be like to brush my lips against hers. The memory made heat flood my face like she might be able to read my mind, and my anger flamed hotter. It felt like she’d not only invaded my personal space, but somehow crept into my private thoughts as well. Thoughts aboutherthat sort of embarrassed me, but mostly intrigued and excited me.WhenI was alone with them. For all my life, our parents had called us the worst of enemies and the best of friends, which I supposed was true. But now…something else was floating around the perimeter of our friendship, something I’d only begun to explore haltingly, secretly.Alone.

Emily stood, smoothing her sundress and brushing off her backside. “I wasn’t trespassing,” she insisted. “I just came out here to see my dad’s car all decorated.”

As if she had part ownership of this stable just because we’d allowed her dad to park his car here for a few days. To be fair,we’d always sort of treated each other’s neighboring orange groves as one continuous property, but I was in no mood to be fair. And anyway, what she’d said was clearly a lie. “Your dad’s car is down there,” I gritted, pointing behind me as though she didn’t already know that.

Emily moved her eyes slowly in the direction I’d pointed and then back to me, smiling sweetly. “I saw the books from below and was curious. I thought some homeless person might be living here. Maybe even a mass murderer or a…cannibal or something. I figured your mom and dad would want to know.” She looked around at the things I’d brought into my private hangout—books, binoculars, a pad of paper and a few pens, a deck of cards—and her lip quirked. Acannibal?Really?No, the little brat had uncovered a secret of mine and could tell I was mad. She was enjoying this.

“Get out before I push you over the edge,” I threatened, taking a step forward, hoping to scare her and wipe that self-satisfied smirk off her pretty face.

“You can’t do that!”

“Watch me.”

She glanced toward the edge, noting, it seemed, that she was nowhere near it, and therefore, not in any danger of being pushed. My baseless threat appeared to anger her more than anything, and with a huff, she bent and picked up one of my books and then held it in front of her. “I should have known these wereyourbooks the minute I saw them,” she said, her gaze going to the title of the one she was holding.Roman Aqueducts and Water Supply.Her expression registered dramatic disgust. “Boringbooks.” She lowered the pitch of her voice, doing a mocking impersonation. “I’m Tuck. I read boring books so I can get more boring. Boring, boring, boring.” I watched, my mouth falling open as I radiated rage and disbelief, and though I wouldn’t have admitted it, a small bit of curiosity. I was never quite sure what Emily was going to do from one moment to the next.She picked up another book,A Soil Owner’s Manual, and held it up to her face, pretending to read, crossing her eyes, taking a few steps one way and then the next in a drunken sort of stagger. “Oh good,” she said. “A book aboutdirt.I just got evenmoreboring. Just what I was going for. Maybe I can join the Boring Olympics or start a business where I help people who can’t sleep.”

“Boring is better than stupid,” I retorted.

Her mouth set. Her blue eyes sparked fire. Yes, I knew her well enough to know that that was her button. She had trouble in school. Her parents were always on her case about her grades. She was behind in almost everything, except her belovedmusicclass. She picked up one of the hand weights I’d brought up here so I could strengthen my mindandmy body, the same way my grandfather had done all those years ago, or so the story went.

“I’m Tuck,” she said, using that same mocking pitch. “I lift weights so I can get even…” she paused to move her eyes over my body “…scrawnierthan I already am.” She lowered the weight, crossing her eyes again and pretending to struggle as she lifted it, doing it again, huffing, moving her arm faster as she grunted in a parody ofme, attempting to workout. Part of me wanted to laugh at the ridiculous show she was putting on, but the larger part was still raging mad and hugely offended. And so, when she jerked her arm backward and the weight slipped out of her hand, flying over her shoulder and sailing off the edge of the loft, I let out a bark of laughter that died a quick death as the sound of breaking glass exploded from below.

Oh God.

The Thunderbird.

Emily yelped, and we both moved quickly to the edge, going down on our knees and peering over to where the weight had landed, smack-dab in the middle of the Thunderbird’s windshield, shattering it and landing in a pile of shards on what had been the unblemished white interior.

Her father’s pride and joy. The one he’d spent three years restoring to pristine condition.

Emily’s sudden wail pierced the silence and she crawled to the ladder, turning around and descending in a blur of blue sundress and bouncing blond ponytail. I followed, my body still rigid with disbelief, and a fair amount of horror.

Emily’s dad was going to go ballistic on her.

Good.

Emily was standing next to the car, leaned toward the shattered windshield, as though, up close, it might not have been as bad as it looked from high above. She wailed again, tears pouring down her cheeks as she hiccupped and blubbered. “He’s going tomurderme,” she cried. “Then he’s going to murder me again!”

I felt a small trickle of satisfaction but resisted the smile I felt tugging at one corner of my lips.

“At least it’s just the windshield,” I said. I didn’t know much about cars, but I figured that could be replaced more easily than if the weight had fallen on the hood and dented the paint and the metal. “He might onlyhalfmurder you.”

Emily threw her head back and wailed again. “I’m supposed to go to a music camp this weekend. I’m already on thin ice because of my grades. He’ll never let me go now. He might aswelljust murder me!” She let out another high-pitched sob.

God, she was dramatic. My mom called Emily a “little showboat,” even if she smiled when she said it, affection in her voice. I gave her a glassy stare. “You really are a baby, you know that? You’re going to have to tell him what you did and accept the consequences.”

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