These Thorn Kisses (St. Mary’s Rebels 3)

It’s true.

I do draw.

Mostly I draw him – yup, I’ve been drawing him for eighteen months now – like my little fingers are his slaves and my obsessed mind is his wonderland.

But even so I have absolutely no idea where I’m going with this. Why I’m saying the things I’m saying. But keeping quiet and falling back into line like everyone else isn’t an option right now for some reason.

“If you weren’t here wasting my time with your life story, you mean,” he concludes.

And I commend myself for again not flinching at his ‘life story.’

Wasn’t he the one who said he had experience with long stories? That’s why I told him mine. That and because he was the very first person to ask.

But of course he doesn’t remember that, does he?

He remembers nothing.

And God, it’s making me angry.

So irrationally angry right now.

“Actually I would be drawing right now, if I wasn’t wasting my time on soccer,” I tell him.

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

I’ve lost my mind.

What am I doing? What is wrong with me?

This is not how I behave.

“Is that so?” he murmurs silkily, condescendingly.

But somehow I can’t stop. His tone provokes me, dares me to keep going, to be a rebel. “Yes. I have no interest in soccer. I think soccer is boring.” I swear I hear Salem gasp beside me, also Poe. “I think it’s the most boring sport in the world. And forcing me and all of us, actually, to play just in the name of team building is completely useless and bordering on cruel.”

I can’t believe I said that.

Not that any of what I’ve said is a lie.

Soccer practice is boring. It’s not so much about the sport but about an exercise in team building, or maybe just getting some physical activity. Most of the girls here aren’t even players. Well, except for a few, like Salem and a couple others. So it’s a constant source of frustration for most of us that they make us do this.

And this isn’t the first time someone has said something about canceling soccer and the other couple of sports they make us choose from.

It’s just that this is the first time I’m the one doing it.

He speaks. “Well, that’s the one thing I don’t want to be.”

His tone is as soft and as silky as ever. Like melted dark chocolate, both sweet and bitter.

And addicting.

I hate that mine in turn is high and stumbling. “What?”

It feels like his lips barely move when he replies, “Cruel.”

“So then —”

He tilts his face to the side slightly, as if in thought, as he interrupts me. “How about I make an exception for you?”

“An exception?”

“Yeah.” He nods, still appearing as if in thought. “Because I’m getting the impression that you’re special.”

That gives me a pause. That gives me all the pauses actually.

Special.

“What?”

“Aren’t you? Your classmates don’t care about soccer either, but no one has had the audacity to say a word.” He jerks his chin at me. “Except you. An artist. Different from everyone else. Special.”

I’m aware that things are heading in a bad direction for me. I can feel it. Even though he hasn’t changed his soft tone or his thoughtful expression.

But it’s hard for me to care about that right now because my heart’s throbbing inside my body.

With hope.

Because every word that he’s said is the exact replica of what I said to him that night.

Because I’m special. I’m an artist. I’m different from everyone else in this town…

God.

God.

Does that mean that he remembers after all? He remembers me?

“Do you remem —”

He cuts me off again. “So it’s only fair that I return the favor by making an exception for you.”

I look into his eyes. I study them. They’re navy blue, the color of my favorite jeans. But except for a sharp shine, they hold nothing else.

They hold no remembrance.

So maybe not then.

Maybe I’m simply making connections because I want to. I so desperately want to.

“How?” I ask.

He’s quick to respond, as if he’s been waiting for me to ask the question. “By writing you a note.”

“What kind of note?”

“Actually, it’s going to be a letter. I don’t think a simple note will do you justice,” he replies, flicking his gaze up and down my body in a quick, dismissive way, but still it makes things move inside me, in my belly. “I’ll start by describing how utterly brave you are. How courageous to stand up to me like that. People usually keep their mouth shut and eyes lowered when I’m around. Then I’ll say how original it was to see someone — a slip of a girl no less — do the exact opposite of what I asked her to do. Mostly the people I come in contact with — players and the rest of the general population really — just do what I tell them to do. They walk when I tell them to walk. They run when I tell them to run, and they stop wasting my time the second I mention it. Because I don’t really care for disobedience. Or people, especially teenagers, using their little teenage brains when I’ve ordered them to do something. But not you, no. How…” Another flick of his glance. “Unique. Which makes me think that when I’m done describing all your singular qualities in detail, I’m going to put in a further request for you.”