The Weight of Blood (65)

Kenny hesitated, unable to cook up a solid reason. “I don’t know. I just . . . found myself in front of your house.”

Maddy raised an eyebrow, mouth forming an O.

Kenny jumped to explain. “I know, it sounds crazy. But I was just taking a drive and, well, here I am.”

“Do you do that a lot? Take drives?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes. Guess I have a lot on my mind.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Like what?”

He sighed. “School. Life. Prom.”

Maddy’s eyes fluttered down at her lap. “You don’t have to take me if you don’t want to. You can still go with Wendy.”

“No!” he blurted out, and quickly adjusted his volume. “No, I want to go with you. It’ll be fun.”

She chuckled. “I’m not that much fun.”

“I have fun when I’m with you.”

She stared at him, or through him; he wasn’t certain.

And it was true. He could see them laughing, smiling, not just at prom but at the movies, on camping trips, in the back of his truck, or at Sal’s. Was she the type of girl who’d come to his games? he wondered. Would she help him work out? He’d never seen her in the weight room or on the track. But then his thoughts shifted. He didn’t want a gym buddy. He wanted someone he could just exist with on nights like these.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

“No. Why?”

She bit her lip, glancing from the corner of her eyes. “Um, you’re . . . staring at me.”

Bro, stop being a creep!

“Oh shi—shoot, my bad,” he said with a strained laugh. “Hey, how’d you know I was out here?”

“I, uh, just . . . knew.” Her eyes grew big. “And! I can see your car from my window.”

He grimaced. “Oh. Yeah, right.”

She smiled. “Here, I brought you something.”

She placed a red-checkered napkin in his large hands.

“What’s this?” he asked, opening it up. “Oh cool, cake!”

“I just made it.”

“Really?” He broke off a piece and took a bite. “Whoa.”

The buttery loaf melted on his tongue. Warm, moist, flavorful, and sweet . . . the best cake he’d had in his entire life.

“Whoa,” he said again. “Aye, this is really good. You weren’t playing when you said you knew how to cook.”

She beamed with pride. “Do you want some milk? I can get you some.”

Her hand inched toward the door and he shot out to stop her. “No! Don’t leave. I mean, can’t you stay just a little longer?”

She glanced at the house then nodded and let go of the handle. Kenny finished the cake, resisting the urge to lick his fingers. She’d probably make him an amazing cake for his birthday or Christmas or any time he wanted. He rested his head back, daydreaming of the idea.

“You’re really quiet,” she quipped with a smirk.

He laughed. “I’m just . . . actually, can I tell you something? Or wait, I’m going to tell you something.”

She giggled. “Okay.”

“I like being quiet. Everyone always wants me to talk, expecting jokes and burns, and I’m just like . . . it’s cool not to say nothing. Sometimes I just want to chill. Like this.”

He had her full attention. “Oh.”

She leaned back, her eyes fluttering up to the ceiling, out the sunroof, staring up at a fat moon in a black velvet sky. They sat there for a long while, the silence not loaded with alienation but comfort while the crickets came alive, competing with the radio.

“See that?” she said, pointing up, drawing a shape in the air. “That’s Aries.”

“Oh, so you know your signs?”

She shrugged. “A little. Read about it the other day.”

“My mom’s really into that stuff. She’s always reading my horoscope. You believe in it?”

She thought for a beat. “It seems . . . strange that God would put people on this earth who can read stars and they mean nothing. God doesn’t make mistakes. So maybe that’s their purpose. To tell people about the stories written above us.”

He chuckled. “Well, we do live on a floating rock in the middle of the universe with like a billion stars and other rocks floating nearby. Kind of makes sense for that stuff to be real and God be the puppet master.”

Maddy giggled, an adorably sweet sound. “What’s your sign?”

“I’m a Leo. You?”

“I’m a Cancer,” she said proudly.

“Ah, right. The sensitive type.”

“I was born on the cusp,” she said, wringing her fingers. “I’m made of magic.”

He smirked. “Who told you that?”

She lifted her chin, gazing at the sky with a deep exhale. “My mother.”

Kenny noted the longing in her voice and wished for nothing more than to take her pain away. But then he tipped his head and squinted.

“Hey, what happened here?” he asked, brushing a cool finger against a patch of burnt skin on the back of her neck that he’d never noticed before.

Maddy slapped a hand over the scar, her eyes wide. She ripped out her rubber band and combed her hair down.