Damon’s [POV]
The shouting began the moment I set foot in the house. “Your behavior at school is unacceptable.” George stands in the lobby of the monstrosity of glass and steel he calls home. It’s as cold as ice and cost him a fortune. Giving Mom the proper care would have cost him a fraction of that.
“Tell that to someone who cares; I’ve got to go.” I throw the backpack on the floor, pushing it away with my foot.
“Where are you going?”
“That’s none of your business.” I make a point to stare anywhere except at him. I look like him, and I hate myself for it-what if I’m like him? What if the greatest things I’ll achieve will be gambling my way through life and ruining other people? I take a step back, repelled by his presence. This man represents everything I hate.
“You live under my roof, Goddamn you.” He does a poor imitation of a father figure, not that I can compare him to anyone. I never had someone to fill in that role, and I was happy with the way things were.
“Not by my choice. I’m happy to leave.”
“You need to behave, boy.” His face grows harder by the second, the veins in his temple thickening. It’s almost comical. “I am just starting to build a reputation with my business partners, and you will not ruin it.”
Squinting, I chortle. “So that’s what this is about.”
“The principal called me today and told me you were seen with the Cohen girl.”
“What the fuck?” I force myself to breathe in and out and to keep my hands from throwing punches at him, which is something I’ve wanted to do since I first saw him. “You pay him to spy on me? That’s low, even for you.”
“Damon, you’re a ticking bomb.” Throwing his hands in the air, he looks a tad theatrical. Fake it till you make it hold for wannabe parents, too. “He’s watching you for his school’s sake, not because I’m paying him. Stay away from that girl.”
“Stay out of my business,” I say through gritted teeth then trot past him, heading for the door.
“Where are you going? We’re not done.”
“I’m done,” I throw the words over my shoulder before banging the door in his face, stepping out right in the blinding light. “Fuck.” Is the sun always up in this craphole even in January? I miss home: the rain, the wind. I could always count on that to cool me off.
I cooled off when I was on the rooftop with her. I could lie to myself and say it was the breeze, but it was her presence. Her innocence made me think that maybe not all good things in this world have ended. Her laughter filled a void that felt unfillable and her curiosity about me… it almost convinced me that I’m more than a fuck-up without a future.
I like her.
In other words, I’m screwed.
Dani’s [POV]
On Monday, Damon comes to school with a black eye and a split lip. I watch with horror as he enters Trig, fifteen minutes after Mr. Smith started torturing us with the lesson. Damon proceeds to his seat, ignoring the teacher’s reprimands. But there is more in Mr. Smith’s tone than annoyance at Damon’s late arrival. There is worry, and I worry, too.
“What do you think happened to him?” Hazel whispers while pretending to solve the exercise Mr. Smith gave us. We both dislike Trig, which makes this class downright painful.
“I don’t know.” Secretly, I have a somber feeling I do know. I flip my smartphone between my fingers, tempted to text him, but I’m not bold enough. He hasn’t texted me at all since Friday. Maybe it was just a one-time thing.
“Ask him,” Hazel beckons as if reading my thoughts.
I glance at him, making a truce with myself: if he’s playing with his phone, I’ll text him. If not, I’ll swallow my curiosity. To my astonishment, Damon is bent over a notebook, scribbling. I suspect he’s doing crosswords or whatever, but when Mr. Smith asks, “Anyone have the answer?” Damon is the only one who says yes.
Mr. Smith reluctantly asks him to explain his solution on the whiteboard. Damon writes out the answer with a mix of carelessness and confidence. Anna and her friends watch him, whispering continuously. I have a hunch they’re not gossiping about his Trig knowledge. None of them looks at him with worry, though. I guess the bruises just make him even more attractive. Whatever.
“He’s hot and good at Trig?” Hazel says, groaning. “This should be illegal.” As should showing up bruised at school. “I think we should resign from our jobs as Chief Nerd Officers.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“What’s the point of being a nerd if I have to spend hours studying for Trig to get it, and then someone like him walks in and just knocks it out of the park?”
I swear that when he puts down the marker and swirls around, biting his lower lip, there is a collective sigh from Anna and her friends.
“That’s a neat way to solve that exercise, Damon,” Mr. Smith says, clearly impressed. “Were you in an Advanced Placement course in your previous school?”
“No, but I was in a math contest. Our teacher did some extra lessons with the participants.”
“Well, your teacher did an excellent job.” Mr. Smith eyes Damon’s bruises like he wants to say something about them but then dismisses the class. Hazel and I barely pack our bags when Anna is already at Damon’s desk, trying to make conversation. There goes my chance to ask him about his weekend during this break.
“I bet she’s asking him for tutoring in Trig,” Hazel says.
“I think she can come up with more exciting activities, Hazel.”
“Come to think of it, maybe we should ask for some tutoring.” She nudges my shoulder. “You could ask him.”
“Why me?” My neck grows
Warm. I told her about having lunch with him on Friday, though I didn’t go into much detail.
“You know why. Go ahead; ask him.”
I nod, but I want to ask him something else.
***
I don’t get to talk with Damon all morning because, during the breaks, Anna is hovering around him. At lunch, Hazel and I are among the last to arrive in the cafeteria. We stand in line for the unhealthy food-pepperoni pizza today.
“Lunch on the roof?” a deep voice asks right into my ear. My reaction is instantaneous and unsettling. Goosebumps dance on my neck and arms, and when I swirl around and meet his eyes, there is this weird jumble in my stomach again.
“Yes. I see you found the right line today,” I say.
“I’m a fast learner,” he declares proudly.
“So we’ve heard in Trig,” Hazel interjects.
I can’t help looking at his split lip and black eye, but I can’t say anything with Hazel around. We get our food in silence, and then Hazel says, “I’ll eat inside today. I need to finish my Physics homework.”
“You finished it this morning before Trig,” I say dumbfounded.
“I want to go over it again. I think I got one wrong.”
“We’ll stay inside, too-”
“Nonsense,” Hazel says. “You two go up and soak in a bit of sun. I’ll see you later.”
Only when Damon and I are already on the roof does it occur to me that Hazel might have wanted to stay inside on purpose, so Damon and I could be alone.
“How was your movie marathon?”
“Great.” I’m surprised and pleased he remembers my plans for the weekend. We eat in silence, and when he swallows the last bite and leans on his back, I finally pick up my courage and say, “You promised not to get into trouble with your dad.”
“I didn’t.”
“This is how you look when you don’t get in trouble with him?”
He narrows his eyes. “You think my father did this?”
“He didn’t?”
“No, Dani. He didn’t.” He runs a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it. “Trust me, if he ever attempts to, he’s a dead man.”
“So, why are you looking this way? You did get into trouble with… someone.”
“That’s my problem,” he says flatly.
I lower my eyes to the uneaten crust of my pizza slice. Damon’s phone buzzes.
“Aren’t you going to stop that thing?” I ask.
“No. That’s Anna, asking if I want to buy her lunch.”
He gave her his number. I feel a pang of something gripping me. With dread, I realize it might be jealousy. “Why don’t you? Anna is beautiful.”
“Not my type.” He groans, winking at me. “I don’t even know how she got my number.”
I stare at him. “She’s everyone’s type.”
“Do I look like everyone to you?”
“No,” I tease. “You’re special. Don’t all bad boys think they’re special to everyone?”
“I’m not interested in being special to everyone. I want to be special to someone. That’d be enough for me.”
“That’s a hell of a statement for a guy.”
He laughs softly. It’s a surprisingly melodic sound. “It’s your fault. I don’t usually wear my heart on my sleeve. You make me feel too comfortable around you. When you don’t insult me.”
Comfortable. What’s that supposed to mean? That’s the kind of word you use to describe fluffy pajamas you love wearing on lazy days, but wouldn’t be caught dead wearing outside the house.
“Do you keep in touch with your friends back home?” I inquire.
“I didn’t have too many close friends. Mom was one of my best friends.”
“Oh,” I say before I can stop myself. “It must have been rough, what with her illness and all…”
“It was challenging because she could hardly move on her own.” He hesitates, his fingers twitching. His chest rises and falls in slow, uneven beats, as if breathing has suddenly become a chore. I study every line on his face; the way his brow furrows in what he’d like to pass off as concentration, when it is an effort to withhold tears. “We managed. A neighbor helped us a lot, looked after her when I was at school and work.”
“You worked?” The concept of work is foreign to me. I volunteer often, but I haven’t worked one day in my life.
“Had to,” he says in a clipped tone. “Mom’s benefits barely covered our basic needs.”
“And you also had time for math contests and such? That’s impressive.”
He shrugs. “School was important to Mom. I wanted her to be happy.”
I lie on my back next to him, watching the clouds.
“What was she like? Tell me. What was her favorite food? Music?”
“She listened to eighties hits, mostly. She loved lasagna. After she got sick, she couldn’t cook by herself. It took me about two years to get that damn lasagna right.” His voice is a tad uneven. “No one’s asked me about her. It’s like everyone wants me to forget she existed.”
“I suppose they think it would be easier for you.”
“And you don’t?”
“I don’t know,” I admit. “Does it hurt talking about her?”
“Not with you. I liked taking care of her. It was such an integral part of my life. And now that she’s gone, I feel lost.”
Many people feel lost at our age but for very different reasons. He was forced to mature earlier, to take care of someone else, and now that she’s gone, he doesn’t know how to fight the loneliness. I wish I could show him he’s not alone, but what can someone who only knows loneliness teach him about driving him away? He looks so desperately lonely that it hurts me. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see his lips curl upward in a smug smile. Before I can read too much into his smile, though, another thought takes hold of me: those are some beautiful lips.
“You’re not all that bad for a rich girl,” he says.
This snaps me out of my daydreaming. Or, well, lip-dreaming. “You say it like I should take it as a compliment.”
“It is a compliment. You’re a breath of fresh air.” He shifts on his side, facing me.
“So are you. You’re different from everyone I know.”
“Is it because I’m devastatingly good-looking?” he says mischievously.
I roll my eyes at him. “It’s because you are extremely modest. We should go back. You know, hanging around with me is going to ruin your reputation.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You didn’t notice the way people looked at us last Friday? Or today in the cafeteria?”
“So what?” His eyes widen, and he grins. “You’re ashamed people might see you with me?”
I gasp slightly. “That’s not true.”
“You’re afraid they’ll think we were secretly making out,” he teases.
“They will not think that.” Heat surges in my cheeks.
“Hazel seems to think exactly that.”
I can’t be blushing. I can’t be blushing. Damon eyes one of my cheeks and then the other. His grin widens. Of course, I’m blushing.
“You’d like to make out with me? You just have to say it. I assure you I’m a perfectly good kisser.” He leans into me, his eyes scanning me playfully. Does he know what he’s doing to me with his dark green eyes and his annoyingly beautiful lips? He, who must have touched tens of other lips with his, and toyed with as many hearts? My heart beats so fast I legitimately fear I might faint. He’s just joking, Dani.
“Not every female around wants to kiss you.” How I muster the wits to say the next words, I’ll never know. “You’re not as good-looking as you think.”
“But you admit I’m good-looking?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t deny it,” he says.
“Please, go work your charm on someone else who is more experienced with these games. I’m not.”
He pulls back. “What do you mean?”
“We have to go.” I take my plate and jump to my feet. He catches up with me on the stairs, grabbing my arm.
“You’ve never been kissed?” he asks.
I debate lying for a second, but I’ve never been any good at it. “No, I haven’t. Go ahead. Laugh.”
He’s not laughing. “Why?” he seems genuinely confused, and I almost laugh. He reminds me so much of James right now, who is always completely bewildered by the fact that no guy is into me.
“I don’t think I’m anyone’s type here at school,” I explain.
“Figures. I knew most here are idiots; I didn’t realize just how much.”
The implication in his words fills me with warmth and relief: that there is something wrong with them. Not with me.
“So, no one was lucky enough to taste your lips,” he says, and then does something that petrifies me. He runs his thumb over my upper lip, then my lower one. My thighs involuntarily press themselves together as heat billows between them. A whiff of breath rushes through my lips.
“We should go to class,” I murmur.
“Sure.” A smile plays on his lips to the class. We attract stares, just as I predicted. This time, he does notice them. Leaning into me, Damon says, “You were right. They are looking at us, but I was right, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re convinced we spent the entire break making out. And if you continue to blush so deliciously, I’ll wish we had.”
***
Tuesday, I give in and ask Damon for help with Trig. He agrees instantly, and we decide to study on the rooftop, which is slowly becoming our designated meeting place. Hazel was supposed to study with us, but she came up with an excuse at the last moment. I suspect she wants us to be alone.
When we take a break from the exercises, I listen to Damon rant about how awful California is for five minutes before I can’t stand it anymore and interrupt him. “Why don’t you focus on the fact that you are awesome at Trig?” I want to push him to see his strengths and play with them. It has an immediate effect on him; he straightens his shoulders as if a weight has been lifted. Unfortunately, this also makes the lines of his toned chest much more visible, which means I’ll pay zero attention to Trig.
“Focusing on me is boring,” he says with confidence.
“Let’s focus on you.” He pushes the books away, propping himself on an elbow, his green eyes scanning me intensely. “Tell me about you.”
I swallow hard, peeling my eyes away from his body. I’m not used to talking about myself, not even with Hazel or James; though for some reason, opening myself up in front of Damon seems less daunting. “I’m more of a listener.”
“Do things differently for a change.” Leaning into me, he whips my breath away. “I’ve told you enough about me. I want to know more about you. I’m listening.”
Under his watchful gaze, words tumble out of my mouth without effort. “I like ice cream and chocolate. Christmas is my favorite holiday. I want to try bungee jumping on my birthday.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard.” He pushes himself up on his forearms. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Why do you want to know that?” I ask suspiciously.
“So I can paint a mental picture of you in a bikini.” It takes a few seconds for his words to sink in. When they do, there is nowhere to hide. I cover my arms, hoping I can hide the goosebumps on them, but I’m not fooling him. He relishes what he’s doing to me, a grin cracking on his face. “Or maybe I want to buy you something in your favorite color. You’ll never know if you don’t tell me.”
“I have two. White and red, but I don’t wear red much. It feels like drawing attention to myself.”
“So what?” His eyes widen all of a sudden.
“I don’t feel comfortable when people look at me. I don’t like being the center of attention.”
“How about when I look at you?” He wiggles his eyebrows in an exaggerated move.
“I-well, I…” My words come out jumbled, so I decide it’s best to shut my mouth. I now understand why the word ‘crush’ is so popular to describe these butterflies rumbling inside me. The feeling crushes everything in its way-including my ability to think. Let’s hope it won’t break my heart, too.
“I think you should put yourself in the center of attention,” Damon says. “Look at me; I do it all the time.”
Drumming my fingers on the tiles, I can’t help snapping, “You’re the center of attention because you’re a jerk to everyone.”
“Not to you.” He wiggles his eyebrows again, fixing me with his eyes.
“You have to stop doing this.”
“What?” His tone is a little too innocent.
“You know what.” My throat goes dry as my eyes wander to his lips. “Let’s get back to Trig.”
***
One and a half weeks later, Damon texted me to meet him in front of his locker before going to the first class. He waits for me propped against the metal door, wearing a smug look and keeping his hands behind his back.
“What are you doing?” I ask. “The class started already.”
“We’re late anyway, another minute won’t hurt. I want to give you a present.”
“Oh.” I readjust the strap of my backpack on my shoulder, looking down and trying to keep the excitement from showing. No use. It runs like a current from my toes up to my ears, and I grin like an idiot. “Why did you get me a present?”
“Because it’s Valentine’s Day. What did you get me?”
“I-didn’t…” Words fail me as I try to make sense of all this. Why should I have bought him a present? It’s not like we’re dating… Are we? Alarm flits in my mind until he grins.
“I’m kidding. I just bought it yesterday and didn’t want to wait to give it to you.”
“What is it?” I make a mental note to find a way to get back at him for fooling me. Though I won’t deny it, the thought of dating him, even if it was an illusion, was wonderful. On second thought, I should get back at him for not making the dream last longer. Or making it real.
“I’ll only show it if you promise you’ll use it.”
“Pfff…” I try to play cool, though I’m dying to see what he got me. “No. You’ll give it to me anyway because you’ll look like an idiot carrying whatever that girly thing is.”
“Fair point. Well, if you won’t wear it willingly, I’ll make you wear it.” He moves his hand, revealing a bright red scarf. It’s beautiful, made of smooth silk.
There are a thousand more appropriate reactions, but all I can come up with is, “Why?”
“Because sometimes it’s good to push past something that makes you uncomfortable. Will you wear this?”
“Yeah, sure. It’s gorgeous. Thanks.”
He steps up to me, swinging the scarf over my head, letting it fall over my hair, electrifying it in the process. I raise my hand to smooth it and meet Damon’s. The split-second our fingers touch, the current of excitement from earlier turns into a full-on fire.
“Let me do it.” His voice is breathy and uneven as he pats my hair, which only makes it worse, but I’m not about to complain. I hold my breath when he arranges the scarf around my neck, watching him run his tongue over his lower lip and then nip at it with his teeth. I’m painfully aware of the heat in my cheeks, but hopefully, my flush will go unnoticed next to the bright red fabric. “There you go. Happy Valentine’s Day, Dani.”
He throws one last look my way before opening the door to the classroom, and I’m a goner.