Page 47 of Under My Skin
I think of my own room sitting at my mom’s house not too far from here. It’s probably been almost the same amount of time since I’ve looked through that closet. After my dad passed, I didn’t even want to go into my old room. I think I was afraid of what I’d find, and part of me still is.
“Hey, why don’t you see if Lucy needs any help while I sort through some of this. I don’t even think she can reach some of the stuff in her closet.” Simon finally sets down a disheveled yellow Camaro that’s missing a door.
I scratch the side of my head. “Uh, sure. I can do that.” Lucy and I haven’t spoken much since last night. This morning, we only saw each other in passing, and then Simon drove her here in his car, and I followed on my bike. It’s been natural, but there’s a subtle underlying avoidance. Alcohol or not, she put herself outthere last night,twice.And both times, I was the one who shut it down. I had to. She’s only here temporarily, she’s going through a lot emotionally, and bottom line is that she’s Simon’s little sister.
That’s not all I am.
Hearing her say that last night almost broke me. It made me want to kiss her, because Iknowshe’s more than that. She’s funny, smart, and gorgeous without having to try. I could listen to her talk about almost anything and be impressed with the way her mind works, and she makes me feel more seen than I have in a long time. Even though she hasn’t been through the same thing, she gets it, and just that makes being around her feel like a breath of fresh air.
Simon looks up from the tiny trophy in his hand with a kid playing soccer made of gold-painted plastic. “Why are you still standing here?”
I blink, and the main reason I can’t let myself feel any of those things with Lucy comes back into focus. “Right. Sorry. I’ll go see if she needs help.”
Simon gives me a funny look, but I ignore it and head down the hall to the room with purple walls. My heart pounds in my chest with every step, and I don’t know why I’m nervous. I haven’t felt like this since I was a teenager with a crush.
Leslie and Steve’s voices float from somewhere downstairs. I think Leslie said something about making her famous mac and cheese for lunch. Lucy did seem to handle seeing them better today. At least she looked less on-edge when we got to the house. She’s been short with them, though. Guarded. They need to talk about everything, but I doubt that will happen while I’m here. I’ll probably leave early to give them the chance.
As I approach the doorframe, I say, “Hey, Simon wanted me to see if you needed any help.”
“Shit!” she says as a box nearly falls on her from the top closet shelf. The computer chair she’s standing on spins, and she loses her balance.
Rushing forward, I steady her with both hands and block the chair from spinning with my knee. “What the hell are you doing?”
Gripping the large box tightly with both hands, she looks down at me like her life just flashed before her eyes. “Getting this box.”
“On a damn swivel chair?”
“I was doing fine until you scared me,” she says with narrowed eyes.
Ignoring her, I look up at the box in her arms. “Is that heavy?”
“Yes,” she says a little breathless. “And your hand is on my ass.”
For the first time, I pay attention to where I’m touching her. Her oversized cardigan hides most of her, but it’s definitely the curve of her ass that fits perfectly in the palm of my hand. “Shit, sorry,” I mutter as I move my hand up to her lower back. “Here. Give me the box.” Keeping one hand on her, I gesture for the box with the other. Moving in slow motion to prevent the chair from swinging out from under her, she steadily places the large cardboard box in my hand, and I curse under my breath as I balance it on my shoulder. “What the hell do you have in here?”
“I have an idea, but I’m not sure.” She turns carefully, one hand clinging to the chairback and the other on my shoulder as she steps down.
As soon as I know she’s on solid ground, I grip the box with both hands and set it on her bed.
Lucy rushes over, practically bumping me out of her way with her hip in the process. “I think these might be . . .” She opens the flaps of the box to reveal what’s inside. “Yes!”
My eyes widen. “That’s a lot of books.”
Looking up at me, she shakes her head. “Not really. I only held onto my favorites.”
Sifting through a few of the titles, I arch an eyebrow. “Everything in here is written by John Green.”
“Not everything,” she answers defensively as she snatches the book from my hands. Digging deeper into the box, she pulls out adifferent book from the bottom. “I also have the entireDivergentseries, and I think all theHunger Gamesbooks are in here, too.”
I nod slowly as I take in her collection. “So, dystopian violence, dystopian violence, and . . . John Green?”
She grins. “It felt like the perfect balance at the time.”
Sifting through more of the books, I glance at her. “There are multiples of the same books in here.”
“No, no, no, no. Those are special editions. It’s completely different.”
I shake my head but don’t bother hiding my amusement. There’s so much I didn’t know about her back then, even though she was right here the whole time. I guess I just never took the time to look. Maybe if I had, she wouldn’t beSimon’s little sisterbefore anything else, maybe she’d just beLucy.
