Finding Cinderella (Hopeless #2.5)(2)

“Sorry,” she says. “I should go.” She places her palms beside me on the floor and starts to lift up, but I grab her face and pull her back down on top of me.

“No,” I say. I bring her mouth back to mine and I kiss her. I keep our lips pressed firmly together as I lower her to my side and pull her against me so that her head is resting on my jacket. Her breath tastes like starburst and it makes me want to keep kissing her until I can identify every single flavor.

Her hand touches my arm and she gives it a tight squeeze just as my tongue slips inside her mouth. That would be strawberry on the tip of her tongue.

She keeps her hand on my arm, periodically moving it to the back of my head, then returning it to my arm. I keep my hand on her waist, never once moving it to touch any other part of her. The only thing we explore is each other’s mouths. We kiss without making another sound. We kiss until the alarm sounds off on my phone. Despite the noise, neither of us stops kissing. We don’t even hesitate. We kiss for another solid minute until the bell rings in the hallway outside and suddenly lockers are slamming shut and people are talking and everything about our moment is stolen from us by all the inconvenient external factors of school.

I still my lips against hers, then slowly pull back.

“I have to get to class,” she whispers.

I nod, even though she can’t see me. “Me, too,” I reply.

She begins to scoot out from beneath me. When I roll onto my back, I feel her move closer to me. Her mouth briefly meets mine one more time, then she pulls away and stands up. The second she opens the door, the light from the hallway pours in and I squeeze my eyes shut, throwing my arm over my face.

I hear the door shut behind her and by the time I adjust to the brightness, the light is gone again.

I sigh heavily. I also remain on the floor until my physical reaction to her subsides. I don’t know who the hell she was or why the hell she ended up here, but I hope to God she comes back. I need a whole hell of a lot more of that.

She didn’t come back the next day. Or the day after that. In fact, today marks exactly a week since she literally fell into my arms, and I’ve convinced myself that maybe that whole day was a dream. I did stay up most of the night before watching zombie movies with Chunk, but even though I was going on two hours of sleep, I don’t know that I would have been able to imagine that. My fantasies aren’t that fun.

Whether she comes back or not, I still don’t have a fifth period and until someone calls me out on it, I’ll keep hiding out in here. I actually slept way too much last night, so I’m not tired. I pull my phone out to text Holder when the door to the closet begins to open.

“Are you in here, kid?” I hear her whisper.

My heart immediately picks up pace and I can’t tell if it’s that she came back or if it’s because the light is on and I’m not really sure I want to see what she looks like when she opens this door.

“I’m here,” I say.

The door is still barely cracked. She slips a hand inside and slides it around the wall until she finds the light, then she flicks it off. The door opens and she slips into the room, then quickly shuts it behind her.

“Can I hide with you?” she asks. Her voice sounds a little different than last time. It sounds happier.

“You’re not crying today,” I say.

I feel her make her way over to me. She grazes my leg and can feel that I’m seated on a countertop, so she feels around me until she finds a clear spot. She pushes herself up beside me and takes a seat next to me.

“I’m not sad today,” she says, her voice much closer this time.

“Good.” It’s quiet for several seconds, but it’s nice. I’m not sure why she came back or why it took her a week, but I’m glad she’s here.

“Why were you in here last week?” she asks. “And why are you in here now?”

“Schedule mishap. I was never assigned a fifth period, so I hide out and hope administration doesn’t notice.”

She laughs. “Smart.”

“Yep.”

It’s quiet again for a minute or so. Our hands are gripping the edge of the counter and every time she swings her legs, her fingers barely touch mine. I eventually just move my hand on top of hers and pull it onto my lap. It seems odd to just grab her hand like this, but we pretty much made out for fifteen minutes straight last week so holding hands is actually reversing a base.

She slides her fingers between mine and our palms meet, then I fold my fingers over hers. “This is nice,” she says. “I’ve never held anyone’s hand before.”

I freeze.

How the hell old is she?

“You’re not in junior high, are you?”

She laughs. “God no. I’ve just never held anyone’s hand before. The guys I’ve been with seem to forget this part. But it’s nice. I like it.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “It is nice.”

“Wait,” she says. “You aren’t in junior high, are you?”

“No. Not yet,” I say.

She swings her leg out to the side and kicks me, then we both laugh.

“This is kind of weird, isn’t it?” she asks.

“Elaborate. Lots of things could be considered weird, so I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”