Imaginary Lines (New York Leopards 3)

Chills ran down my back. “You remember that?”

His eyes were hot and dark. “You were the first person to ever tell me she loved me. That’s not the kind of thing you forget.”

“I was nineteen.”

He leaned toward me. “You meant it.”

Warm shivers ran though me, and I shrugged. “Yeah. I guess I did.”

He smiled. For the first time in my life I absolutely could not read him. “What are you thinking?”

He shook his head. “If you don’t know, I’m not telling you.” He stood, and then braced one arm on the wall beside me so he could lean down close enough that his breath kissed my cheek. “See you later, Tammy.”

He walked out of my apartment, and I let go. Then I clutched my pillow to my chest and fell back on my bed, certain nothing would ever be the same again.

Chapter Thirteen

I fell in love with Abraham Kramer when I was twelve years old.

I’d never been to California before, but when my mother’s college roommate invited our family for her son’s bar mitzvah, Mom leaped at the chance. Most of this had to do with the old roommate’s husband, who worked at an expanding start-up in the same field as my dad. Especially given that Dad had been out of work for eight months, and Mom’s librarian salary wasn’t exactly thrilling.

It felt like a thousand people came to the ceremony. At our own synagogue back in Illinois, I knew each of the hundred members, but we didn’t have this kind of population density, or this kind of popularity. I sat between my mom and an older lady who smelled like heather, and watched the boy who walked onstage.

Even then, he had wide shoulders and stood taller than most kids our age. His floppy hair kept falling into dark eyes that tilted downward at the corners. He had a strong, confident voice, like he wasn’t nervous at all, and if his voice cracked or if he stuttered I never heard it. I thought, as I watched and listened, that I’d never come across anyone as attractive as this bar mitzvah in his suit and tie, with the contagious smile and open face. Not even Brandon Miller, and he was openly acknowledged as the hottest boy in the seventh grade.

At the party, I sat at a round table with the children of the Krasners’ other family friends. Some of them had met before, at breakfasts or other mitzvahs, but they were strangers to me and I focused on my food. I resisted eating the colorful fondant flower that came on my piece of cake; I knew from past experience that it would turn my mouth and tongue magenta.

I kept sneaking glances at Abe’s table, clearly filled with his best friends—loud boys in black ties and girls in pretty dresses and pierced ears. I wished I’d worn something better than the blue pastel dress I’d bought for the seventh/eighth grade semi-formal. I’d picked it because I’d liked the color, even though it was two sizes too big, but now I realized that the extra fabric just made me look silly and childish.

As soon as dessert finished, I slipped back to Mom’s side. She had to push me out onto the dance floor, where all the other kids milled about as the DJ played Top 40 songs. I lingered at the edge, still and uncomfortable, and hoped the next game announced would be something easy and solitary, like Hula-hooping. I was a champ Hula-hooper; I’d already won two contests this year, and gone home once with inflatable shoes and the next time won oversized sunglasses with star-shaped lenses.

The DJ slowed the music and leaned into the mike. “Time for Coke and Pepsi!”

My heart sank. The game required a partner. Two parallel lines formed, and when the announcer called out a beverage, players pulled different stunts. The slowest pair was eliminated each round. I doubted anyone would pick the shy unknown girl to partner up with, so I started to back away.

“Don’t you want to play?”

I stopped as I nearly backed into Abe’s mom, who smiled down at me. Unlike Abe, she was small and dark—his height and hair color must have come from his dad. Or maybe they were recessive traits. We’d just learned about that last quarter. Our science teacher had paired us up in duos, and given us an activity to see what traits our children would inherit. I flashed on trying that experiment with Abe, and quickly ducked my head, flustered. “I don’t have a partner.”

“That’s not a problem.” Mrs. Kramer lifted an arm. “Abraham! Why don’t you come partner with Tamar?”

My belly spiraled into my toes. No way would Abe want to pair up with me when he probably had a crush on one of those pretty girls. Cheeks even hotter, I risked a glance.

And to my astonishment, he came toward us with a smile.

Mrs. Krasner smiled kindly. “This is my son, Abraham. This

is Tamar Rosenfeld, the daughter of one of my best friends from college.” She gave me a small push forward.

Abraham caught my hand.

My heart cavorted about my chest like a frantic bird, and my eyes widened into saucers.

He grinned at me. “Hi.”

I cleared my throat. “Hi.”

We stood in silence for a moment as his mom wandered back to the adults, and I scrambled for something, anything to say that wouldn’t make me sound like an idiot.