The Artist and Me by Hannah Kay

Author:Hannah Kay [Kay, Hannah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Young Adult Fiction
Publisher: Finch Books
Published: 2016-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

Julie

“Starlight, star bright. The first star I see tonight. Wish I may, wish I might… Have the wish I wish tonight. ” The rhythmic sound of words from my lips, a remembrance of the innocence of childhood.

His eyes cast downward to capture mine in the moonlight. “What’re you wishing for?” It was hardly over a whisper, his dark gaze watching my face ever carefully.

“A lot of things.” It was the simplest answer. My emotions were going viral. I liked this guy. I really did. Lucas was nice and nerdy and awkward and adorable and great. He made me feel alive and happy and noticed in a way that wasn’t creepy, like the Goodman twins, but there was that feeling again in the pit of my stomach. I could feel the tightening monster of doubt swirling. It was tearing me apart. Over all of it, though, I wished I had my mom. If Mom was here, maybe she’d tell me it was okay to feel the way I was feeling. Maybe she’d say they aren’t all bad and the bad stuff could be worth it.

Things is, Mom and I never really talked about what happened with Dad. I pieced together what I thought happened. In fact, we’d never talked about love. I’ve never felt like this. I’ve never met a boy that made me feel this way. The extent of our ‘boy talk’ entailed us on the beach, discussing how hot the guy in the red swim trunks was and how great his abs were. Yes, my mom and I talked about that once—or twice. Or a lot, okay? Mom had a thing for abs.

So now, here in Hendleson’s bed, snuggled into Lucas’ arms, I felt a tandem of emotions, completely unsure of my feelings.

He didn’t respond right away. “Any of them have to do with me?” It wasn’t flirty. Instead, it was just like his question, a whisper. His eyes were endless but they weren’t looking at me. His head was against the cold glass of his truck and he was looking toward the heavens. His fingers brushed lightly against my thigh, right above my knee, before sliding back into my hand. His eyes met mine again.

“Maybe,” I uttered, but it was under my breath, a choked sound in the back of my throat.

He nodded as if he’d heard it, so maybe it had been aloud. It was hard to tell sometimes when it was your volume you were gauging. He smiled, eyes brightening a bit. “Care to dance?”

I almost laughed at his change of pace, but it melted into a smile. “Sure.”

We climbed from the bed of the truck and dialed in the radio once more. He extended a hand to me and I sighed, stepping into his embrace keenly. It was a slow song, full of mellow chords and smooth lines. Our bodies melded together easily—my head on his shoulder and his arms around my waist. He was quiet and when I pulled my head back to see his expression, his eyes were closed.

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