Underneath the Sycamore Tree(53)

His chest starts moving, and I’m confused until it registers that he’s laughing at me. Peeling myself off him, I glance down with pinched brows.

“I assure you,” he murmurs, voice low and eyes dark, “my intentions aren’t nice, Mouse. But if you want to thank me for being your first kiss, then you’re welcome. It’s unfortunate though.”

He thinks kissing me was unfortunate?

Tensing, I lay back down and don’t say a word. He must sense something is wrong, because he draws me away until I’m staring back down at him again.

“Don’t get self-conscious on me.”

My jaw ticks. “You just told me that—”

“Other guys aren’t going to get you off like I did, Emery.” His words silence me. “They will take, take, take, but they won’t give. Any other guy will be ruined for you because of me.”

Maybe he thinks I’ll swoon or kiss him or thank him again. I don’t do any of those things. Instead, I fight off the laugh that wants to bubble from my lips.

His eyes narrow.

I shake my head and pat his chest. “I’m sure you’re right, Kaiden. But I’ve read that very line in like forty different books. The truth may be the same, but the delivery could get worked on for the full effect.”

Now he’s silent.

Then his chest starts shaking again.

I fall asleep shortly after he pulls me back to him, not bothering to worry about his warning.

It won’t matter anyway, because Kaiden is…Kaiden. My Kaiden. The very person I need in my life to put things in perspective.

Nobody compares.

Nobody will get a chance to.





Chapter Twenty-Six





Kaiden slips into my bedroom almost every night since break. There are no expectations, just dreamless sleep and the occasional fondling that I’m sure isn’t accidental. It’s nice, welcoming even, when I hear the door crack open and bed dip beside me. Sometimes I’ll wake up to trailing kisses or hand holding. Other times to soft snoring that makes me giggle.

December has hit in full force, with winter snowfall coating everything in white. I never liked the season, even when I was little. Lo would always drag me outside to build snowmen and snow forts, but I’d protest every time until Mama said it’s good to get out.

Now I loathe the cold weather for justifiable reasons, not that anyone truly gets it. When the temperature drops, my joints become so stiff I can’t move them for at least an hour after waking up, and there’s always a dull ache that lasts throughout the day unless I wear gloves and try to keep warm. Wearing gloves during classes isn’t an option though, so I endure the struggle of holding a pen while jotting down notes.

Even my space heater doesn’t do as much as Kaiden’s warm body wrapped around me does. I go to bed wearing layers, sometimes even sleeping in my fluffy bathrobe for extra comfort. But it doesn’t always help. The single digit temperatures do my body in, and it reminds me of the days Lo struggled to get out of bed because her body was so swollen and locked up that she had to be tended to from our room.

School has become a ready distraction from the aches and pains and late night rendezvous with Kaiden. Most girls would probably be irritated over being ignored by him in the halls, but I prefer it. Nobody sees him for who he is here. He let’s down his walls for me at home, sharing silly stories about our pasts that mean more than he could ever know.

During Thursday Book Club, Annabel sits by me instead of her usual seat. She kept looking at me in history, but never said a word. I was almost tempted to ask her to sit by me at lunch, but I’ve gotten used to the empty table that graces me for forty minutes.

Annabel brushes hair behind her ear as she settles into her seat. “I don’t think the others like our book choices.”

Three of the girls stopped showing up almost two months ago. Apparently staring at Mr. Nichols wasn’t worth the effort of reading and talking about the books.

After break, we discussed Jodi Picoult’s My Sister’s Keeper, which one of the girls protested because of its content. Both Mr. Nichols and Annabel defended my choice by arguing it should be discussed regardless of what happens to the characters.

Nobody wants to read about reality.

Mr. Nichols had asked Little Mermaid why she thought so, which she scoffed at. She doesn’t want to talk about books or why she doesn’t like reading them. But I know the answer she won’t verbalize.

People are afraid of the truth. They don’t want to accept that bad things happen to good people every single day. People struggle. People die. It’s life.

Little Mermaid called me morbid.

I called her na?ve.

Mr. Nichols told us to be respectful.

The more we talked about the book, the more heated it got. It stopped being about the content and about why authors write about realistic topics.

Fiction is the perfect platform to talk about the things nobody wants to have conversations of in real life. When you’re reading about a character’s struggles, you find ways to relate from a distance. It doesn’t always hurt as much, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt at all.

Chronic illness is real.

Death is real.

People don’t like to read about those things because they know it could happen to them. Distance or not, you put yourself in the shoes of every character you read.