Dark Heart (Dark Heart 1)

I shrug, feeling my cheeks burn. “It seemed less trite than some of the other things.”

He shakes his head, smiling slightly. “Shakespeare—trite.”

“People have made it trite. Over the years.”

It’s been twenty days since I got grounded. It’s a Thursday, and which means that after school tomorrow, I won’t see him for two whole days.

“Sad things are more true anyway,” I try.

“Yeah, but does that make them better?”

“Are you saying all the bullshit happy quotes are better?”

He shrugs. “Gotta take the happy stuff where you can get it.”

“What happy stuff can you get?”

He gives me a small smile, his eyes looking tired. “You.”

I snuggle closer to him. “I’m a pessimist, I think.”

“Are you?” He runs a hand down my arm, leaning in like he might kiss me.

“Yes.” I shut my eyes. “Are you an optimist?”

“Nah. I’m a realist.”

“What did you pick to say in front of everyone?”

He smiles. “Sonnet 116.”

“I remember that one from the slide she showed in class. Do you know it?”

He gives me a mysterious look, but he can’t help smirking.

“I bet you know it by heart already. Ree is in your homeroom. She says you got in trouble at the start of school for not doing your homework in there, and the teacher made you show it. Turned out, you had nothing to do in homeroom because you do all your homework at home.”

“Imagine that.”

I laugh.

“Actually, I do it on the train.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a good time to do homework.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“What question?”

“If you’ve got it memorized.”

He clears his throat and lowers the book, which was shading his face from the sun. He shuts his eyes against the light and begins.

“Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove: oh no, it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken. It is the star to every wandering bark, whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. Love’s not time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle’s compass come: love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”

I lean in and kiss his cheek. Because I can’t not. He laughs, and then sits up and looks down at me.

I smile. “That was a rebuttal to my lines.”

“I would like for it to be seen that way.”

He takes my hand and pulls me to my feet, and we walk around the track to the spot where we can see the river best. I’m playing with a little ball of Saran Wrap—from the lemon cake he brought me today. He takes it from me, stuffs it in his pocket, smiles like Cheshire Cat.

“I’ll bring more cake tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” I say, feeling suddenly shy. He squeezes my hand as we walk toward the school door.

“I don’t think it is,” he says.

“You don’t think what is what?”

“That life is meaningless, like your quote implied.”

I let my breath out slowly, looking at the grassy path before our shoes press over it.

“I know you kind of do,” he says. “It’s okay. Sometimes I do too, but I think we’re both wrong.”

“Why?”

His face turns thoughtful. “I don’t know. It’s just this feeling I get. Like things’ll turn out okay.” He gives me one of his decadent smiles. “Mostly happens when I’m with you, but I trust it.”

“I’m going to Columbia,” I blurt.

Surprise flickers through his features. “Oh yeah?”

“Here in New York.”

“You’re kidding.”

I elbow him.

But I can’t help the way my heart pounds as I look up at him. “Will you be…around here?” I manage. “In Brooklyn or somewhere nearby?”

“I think so.” He gives me a small, strained smile. “Don’t know where else I would be.”

“I want to see each other,” I breathe. Blood whooshes in my head as I wait for him to process and answer. His lips twitch into something, but I wouldn’t call it a smile.

“We can see each other whenever you want.”

We’re at the door. He goes to push it open but I grab his arm and pull him up against the brick wall with me.

I look up at his face, trying to find words to explain. “No, Luca. I want to see you next year. I want to see you. As much as we can. Unless you don’t.”

His eyes shut. A breath moves through him. Then he leans down, kissing me so deep and hard it hurts. We kiss until my heart races, and then he hugs me to him like he’s hoping we’ll merge into one.

“I love you,” he says, quiet and low.

“I love you more than lemon cake,” I whisper.

That’s the first time we say it.Chapter TwelveLucaFor the rest of the school day, I carry her with me like something tangible. Elise O’Hara. Mine.