The Taking (The Taking 1)

Nothing, though, could convince me to change my Chucks.

That was how I filled the time between when Cat left and when school got out, trying to convince myself that I wasn’t watching the clock and silently counting down the minutes till Tyler should be home. Or that I wasn’t hoping like mad he’d come see me before I had to fabricate some lame excuse to call him first, because I totally would have. So when his car pulled up in front of his house—not that I was watching from the window or anything—I felt a surge of giddiness. Maybe this day was salvageable after all.

I’d expected him to go inside first—check in with his mom, drop off his backpack, grab something to eat—all the things Austin used to do after school. So when he started toward my house instead, I got fidgety all over again. I wiped my palms over the front of my jeans, feeling stupid for being nervous all of a sudden. It was just Tyler, after all. What did I expect was going to happen?

After consulting the mirror one more time and deciding I was as ready as I was ever going to be, I gripped the knob and warned myself to “be cool” as I stood in front of the door and forced myself to take a couple of deep breaths. I didn’t want to scare him away with my eagerness.

But Tyler didn’t come to the door. We had a thing now, and instead of knocking, I heard him tapping on my bedroom window.

I raced across the house to my bedroom and saw him waving at me from the other side of my window. Trying to tell myself it was no big deal that he was here, I opened it and shot him my best I-wasn’t-expecting-you face.

“Let’s get outta here,” he announced without any preamble.

His invitation caught me by surprise, and my inner voice abandoned me altogether. I forgot all about playing it cool, and suddenly I wasn’t sure I even understood what that phrase meant. “Totally,” I breathed, before climbing over the windowsill and dropping onto the soft ground below.

As if he was worried I might fall, Tyler reached out to steady me. He caught me by the waist because he didn’t know I’d done this a thousand times before. But I let him believe I needed his help. I let his fingers close around my hips and pretended I needed him to keep me balanced because I liked the way they felt. His hands. On me.

“Thanks.” I took longer than necessary to stand upright, but eventually I had no other choice. I couldn’t let him think the leap—or his touch—had somehow crippled me.

I’d been so focused on Tyler, and when he’d be home, that I’d nearly forgotten all about Agent Truman and his reappearing business card. But now that I was standing outside, in the open, I found myself searching for the dogged agent, for some sign that he was out here. Following me.

Except then I saw Tyler, holding his car door open for me again, and I realized it really was just the two of us, that there was no one else. I sighed and suddenly we were the last two people on Earth—all thoughts of ex–best friends and superspies were obliterated from my mind.

“You look nice,” Tyler told me, flashing his incredible smile at me when he got in.

“Thanks. Just letting my mom dress me up, like a Barbie doll.” I grinned slyly. “It was this or the holiday-sparkle gown. It’s pretty fancy. I think you’da liked it.”

Laughing, he pulled his car away from the curb. “I think you made the right call. Not sure you’d fit in wearing a ball gown.” Tyler grinned. “But I like the new you.”

I wanted to laugh, too, but instead I smiled weakly. The new me. That was the thing. I was the same; it was everyone else who’d changed.

“Yeah? Where we going?” I asked. Surreptitiously, so he wouldn’t notice, I pulled my phone out and noted the time. It was 3:11.

“I figured I’d get you out of the house before the neighbors start to think you’re some kind of shut-in or something.” He tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel while he drove, and I wasn’t sure if it was a habit or if I made him nervous. I hoped it was that last thing, because I’d hate to think it only went one way.

“Shut-in? I’ve only been home for five days, and I’ve barely been there. Pretty sure I don’t qualify as a shut-in.”

He shrugged. “Then I guess I thought you might want to grab some coffee with me.” Cocking his head, he shot me a look. “Did they even have coffee in your day? ’Cause we could go someplace else. Maybe split a root beer float or something.”

I shoved him. “Okay, smart-ass. Coffee’s good.” I laughed and wondered if he’d watched the clock half as much as I had today.

The coffee shop he took me to was cute, not a Starbucks or Seattle’s Best Coffee—the kinds of corporate places Cat and I had sworn off because Cat had convinced me they were “bastardizing” the coffee culture. Austin had gone along with our boycott because he liked making out with me, but I’m not sure why any of us thought getting our coffee from the Gas ’n’ Sip was any more humanitarian. It was a gas station, after all.

After ordering, Tyler dragged me to a spot in the back where we found a table away from all the noise. It was quieter and less crowded than near the counter, where people were coming and going, and the espresso machine hissed, and there was the constant banging as the baristas replaced old grounds with fresh ones. Tyler leaned forward, over the top of his double-shot mocha, and studied me pensively.

“I’m sorry about the other day,” he blurted out. “About how I acted when Austin came by.”