She shakes her head. “No. You wouldn’t hurt me.”

She picks up a stick and starts to draw in the dirt, her arm clenched around her knees until she’s folded into a ball.

She looks up, her green eyes bright in the firelight. “I just don’t like to be touched.” She shrugs. “That’s all.”

“Can we work to get around that, princess?” It comes out more like a whisper.

Her eyes fill up with tears, and she blinks them back furiously. I want to touch her, but I have a feeling that would be the wrong thing to do.

“It’s me,” she says. “Not you.” She waits a beat. “I’m sure you’re a perfectly amazing kisser. And I’m missing out on one of the best experiences ever.” She lays a hand on her chest. She’s teasing me now. This is better than a moment before. It’s easier to deal with. But I almost long for the quiet, emotion-filled whispers. “You’ve kissed a lot of women?” she asks.

Ouch. I’m sure she doesn’t want the truth. “A few.”

“A few hundred? A few thousand?” She laughs. It’s a tinny, hollow sound.

“A few,” I repeat.

“Does it get more common feeling after a while? Like your heart stops feeling like it’s going to beat out of your chest after you’ve done it a few thousand times?”

I chuckle. “Not if you’re doing it right.” I adjust my body, hunching over my lap a little. Her whispered words and heat-filled glances are affecting me, and I’ll be damned if I want her to see it. “You feel like yours is going to beat out of our chest when you kiss a man?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“Then why are you asking?” I ask.

“I feel like that now,” she says. She gets up, and I want to grab her and pull her to me. “I had better get to bed.” She stretches, and I can see the little strip of skin between the bottom of her shirt and her jeans. I reach up and tug her shirt down. She covers her belly with her hand, like she wants to block my touch.

She stares into my eyes. She doesn’t say a word. “Can I kiss you yet?” I blurt out. God, you’d think I’d never seen a girl before.

“No.” She laughs.

“Can I keep asking?”

She nods. It’s a quick jerk, almost imperceptible, but she’s biting her lower lip and smiling. “Good night,” she says.

“Good night,” I call to her retreating back. She walks into the darkness until it swallows her up.

Reagan

My knees are still wobbly when I get to the house. I go in the kitchen door and find my parents sitting at the table with cups of coffee. They’re talking quietly.

“Have fun?” my mom asks. She stares at me over the rim of her coffee cup. She looks a lot like me, with her dark-blond hair and her sun-kissed skin. My dad says she looked just like me when they met. Her hair is completely straight like mine, and she’s tall and willowy like me, even after all these years.

I nod in answer to her question. “We were roasting marshmallows.”

She quirks an eyebrow at me. “That’s what they’re calling that now? When I was young, it was just called flirting.”

Heat creeps up my face. “I wasn’t flirting.”

“Mmm hmm,” she hums. But she’s smiling.

“Let her be,” my dad growls playfully.

“What’s his name?” she asks.

I’m purposefully obtuse. “Gonzo.”

My dad snorts. “Gonzo is the fifteen-year-old who was hanging out with Pete, the mentor for the boys from the detention center.”

“Pete, huh?” Mom asks. Mom knows that Pete’s the one who found me. “What’s he like?”

I shrug.

Her eyebrows draw together. “You get any strange vibes from him?”

“Mom,” I warn. “Leave it alone.”

“Pete’s a mentor? Or is he an ex-con?” Mom looks curiously at Dad.

Dad nods. “He’s out of jail on parole.”

Mom inhales quickly. Dad shoots her a look. “He didn’t do anything violent, did he?” Mom asks. My heart stops. It trips over in my chest and then stops completely. I don’t dare to even breathe until I hear the answer.

“I wouldn’t have admitted him if he was violent,” Dad says. He points to a stack of folders by his elbow. “I just finished going through his file again, to see if there’s more I can do to help him.” He jerks his head toward it. “Want me to give you an overview?”

I shake my head. “I don’t need to.” I’d much rather hear it from Pete. “He seems nice.” I glare at Dad. “Even though Dad threatened to chop his nuts off.”

Mom snorts into her coffee.

“Hey, it works,” he says. But he’s grinning.

Mom bumps my elbow. “How are things going with Chase?”

I shake my head. “He’s not my type.”

My dad says in a singsong voice, “But Pete’s her type.”

I pick up the stir stick he discarded on the table and throw it at him, but a grin tugs at my lips. “He was very nice. And I promise not to get pregnant.” I get up quickly while he’s still rolling that around in his head. “Good night,” I chirp as I start up the stairs.

“It’d be hard for him to get you pregnant if I chop his nuts off!” Dad yells to me.

I laugh and shake my head.