I'm still not entirely sure how I ended up in this position. And I surely cannot attest to the truth that the person I see in the mirror staring back at me is me, or even one of the many mes I have been throughout these nineteen years. From the neck up, I look my normal self — dark hair, dark eyes, dark expression. But from my shoulders down? I look...

"Kinda weird; I'm not gonna lie," Eli admits.

"Yeah, no kidding."

"Well, this is good. We learned that the summer color palette isn't for you," Kei says in an attempt to save her dress from further ridicule.

"Yeah, no kidding."

The dress is unmistakably, (comically, even, if it weren't so terrifying) similar to the one I'd worn in my dream. It's pink, very pink, too pink. It has a sweetheart neckline, a bejeweled corset-like torso, and a body of fluffy tulle that flows all the way to the floor. I'd hated it from the moment I'd seen it, but Kei was trying to do me a favor by lending me her old prom dress from a couple years ago because I don't have three hundred bones to just throw away on one, and I hadn't had the heart to say no.

"To the Goodwill, it is, then," I say.

Kei sighs as if she's upset with herself for not succeeding in transforming me into a pretty prom princess. Little does she know that that's going to take a lot more than just a fluffy pink gown.

"Alright, núzhiⁿga," she says, "back outside so I can help her out of it."

Eli raises his brows at me once, twice, as if to suggest that he is excited that I will be scantily clad for a few brief moments behind a closed door which he will stand on the other side of. I wonder if his aura would be lusty plum if I could read him. Then I think better of it. Elijah Whitney hasn't a sinful bone in his body.

Kei brushes my ponytail to the side and unzips the top of the dress. It clings to me like a parasite, and I have to peel it off of my milky skin. I step out of it carefully as Kei squats to the ground to save her dress from imploding, although I swear it's so stiff it would just stay standing completely upright, holding the space I'd been within it like an Aspen-shaped mold.

I now stand in front of her floor-length mirror, and I wear nothing but a pair of black cotton panties and a black t-shirt bra, that, paired with my ponytail that still hangs over my right shoulder, only seems to make me look even paler. I've always made it a point to maintain a healthy body — I want to be strong if ever I come face to face with my monster. But since enjoying Theresa's smorgasbord every Thursday night, I've put on a few extra pounds, which I can't help but to take a little pride in, although the praise should really go to my generous hosts. My thighs press together and my face is fuller — making me seem less rigid and frail beneath the freckles. And I suddenly have hips!

I slip my jeans and tee back on just as Kei comes out of her closet from putting the cotton candy puff ball back where it belongs. But this time she holds a long black garment bag and a huge smile on her face and yellow excitement in her aura.

"I totally forgot about this one," she says, and her smile takes over her whole face just like Sol's and her brother's. "I wore it to the Honor Society banquet at uni last spring. Which was a big mistake, because it's really not a spring color at all. But it might be perfect for you."

She lays it atop her paisley-covered comforter and unzips it slowly, carefully, as if it holds the crown jewels of the kingdom. And as she does, I can see that it's not much. The color is a deep, deep purple, so dark that it's almost black. She lifts it up and out of the bag and drapes it gently over her arm, holding it out to me.

Once it's on me, I learn the dress is blouson styled. The spaghetti-strapped top is made of sheer fabric and hangs off of me loosely, folding under at the waist and turning into a silky skirt that hugs my hips and drops right at my ankles. I look in the mirror and I see my mother.

"Wúhu'á..." Kei breathes out. "Eli! Come see!"

"What, is she naked?!" Eli exclaims, obviously an attempt at being humorous, but when he bursts into the room he stops abruptly and gawks at me with an open mouth and wide eyes. "...Dude."

"I know," Kei says, pleased with herself. She claps her hands together proudly. "I've done it again."

Eli takes a shy step towards me. "You look..."

"Different?" I offer.

"Fantastic... Údoⁿtʰígthe."

Instead of letting my disbelief of that specific adjective actually pertaining to me show, I pretend for a moment that I am as confident as Eli and his sister. "Thanks, but I was going more for majestic, actually."

Eli bows to me. "Your majesty."

"It's not exactly a prom gown, but I think paired with the right hair and accessories, we can make it work," Kei says.

I give her a hesitant look. "I'm not really an icing kinda girl."

"I'm not saying a tiara," she insists. "I'm just saying that right now you look like you're going to dinner theatre. But if we let your hair down, let the hem out, get you some silver heels, maybe a nice bracelet, and trade out those studs in your ears for a pair of white gold diamond posts? You'd look like you're—" she says the rest in an awful English accent and I'm not certain as to why "—going to a gala in North Hollywood."

I make a smile out of a grimace. "How about I just look like I'm going to the York High prom?"

Kei cocks a hip, looks me up and down, purses her lips. Then she smiles. "Yeah, I can do that, too."

🦎

          And she does. Come the Saturday of prom, she summons me to her at one pm sharp and gets to work. She puts huge rollers in my hair and I'm embarrassed when Eli comes to check up on me and bring me a glass of sun tea; he so politely refers to it as my "Grandma hair".

When Kei takes the rollers out and lets my hair down, it falls in a big frizzy lump, so she takes the curling wand to it in small pieces here and there until my hair gives the illusion of having produced loose waves down my back. She lightly teases the straight black bangs that hang right above my brows and the hair at the crown of my head and then pushes them beneath a thin black headband. And then, to my astonishment, and even after all the time she'd spent curling my hair, she takes a handful of pins and pins it up, piece by piece, loosely, to the back of my head. A few strands fall around my face, and I almost feel like a pretty prom princess.

I slide into the dress, and after a few minutes of arguing, I finally allow Kei to extract two of the four earrings from each of my ears and replace the bottom piercings with her diamond studs. The only shoes I own are boots and sneakers, so Kei lets me try on a few pairs of her heels, one black and one silver and glittery, and they are both too small for my feet. She panics and dashes to her mother's closet, and when she comes back she dangles a pair of very thin, shiny gold heels between the fingers of one hand. They're at least four inches, and I know I'll still be shorter than Eli in them, but walking in them is going to be a whole other story. When they fit, Kei mumbles, "Well I'm glad we let the hem out," and trades the black headband for a gold one.

She sits me down in front of the mirror and does my make-up then, although I protest. I'm fine with the way I do my own make-up. She's not, though. She says the thick liner against the fair color of my skin washes me out. I tell her I like it, so she compromises. She curls my lashes up and out and covers them in black mascara, and she draws a thin black line atop each lid. Then she instructs me to close my eyes. She tells me what she's doing as she's doing it — a mixture of beige and purple eyeshadow, a dash of golden powder on my T-line, a hint of peach blush on the apples of my cheeks, and a dab of purple lipstick (about which I ask, "Won't that wash me out?" And she replies, "Not in the same way.")

An absurd amount of minutes later, she steps back. "Alright. You ready?"

"Nope."

"Open your eyes."

I open my eyes. I see, for the second time in my life and the second time in two weeks, even though I've been at least seven different girls in the past eleven years, a girl I do not know.

"Pretty, huh?"

I've always been told I was pretty, from my parents and the few girl friends I'd had and the lustful auras of the occasional boy. I don't think I've ever actually believed it until now.

I stand up and give her a hug, something Aspen Quinn never would've done, but Alyssa George does without hesitation. "Thank you."

"No problem," Kei answers. "I didn't really give you much of a choice."

There's a knock at the door, and Kei goes to it and opens it up just enough to poke her nose through.

"Are you done? Can I come in?"

"You can't see her 'til tonight."

"We're not getting married, Kei."

"My dress, my artwork, my rules."

A little louder. "Alyssa, I think my sister's personificating you."

"Do you mean objectifying?" I correct him.

"Yeah, that."

"It's called 'personifying', anyway," Kei also corrects him. "Not 'personificating'."

"Whatever, Misses English Major," Eli says. "You guys suck."

"It's Miss English Major. I'm not married."

"And you never will be if you keep correcting people!"

I laugh and I wonder, maybe for the first time ever, what it would've been like to have had a sibling. But then I think better of it. This world Dad and I live in is not one I wish any more of my parents' blood and bones to have to endure.

My gaze trails back to the mirror then, and I think that maybe, if just for tonight, I can pretend that my blood and bones doesn't live in it either.

🦎

          Eli gets permission to use Sol's truck tonight, and he's adamant on driving the three minutes to my house to pick me up, old-fashioned style. So Kei has to drop me off at home and I have to wait around for an hour for Eli to get ready himself and come get me.

Dad looks at me like he's seeing a ghost. "You look just like her."

The ghost of my mother. "Yeah."

"That was a compliment, Pen."

"Thanks."

He looks around the room aimlessly, uncomfortably, olively. Maybe because I look like Mom, or maybe because I'm going to the prom; I don't know.

"So, uh, this Eli fellow... He nice to you? I mean... He a good guy?"

"The best," I say, and my answer surprises the both of us.

"So, you like him, then, huh?"

No, I wouldn't go quite that far. "Well, yeah," I say. "He's my friend."

My father smiles knowingly and gives one large nod. "Oh, so it's like that."

I can't help but to smile back at him. "Yeah, it's like that."

He clears his throat. "So, listen, uh... I, uh... I got you something."

He rounds towards the refrigerator and opens it up, bending down to the bottom shelf. "I didn't know if he was gonna get you one or not — I don't really know how prom works these days — but back when I went, the girls all wore corsages." He pulls out a little, clear, plastic box and hands it to me. "You said your dress was purple... I realize now that it's not the right color."

Inside the box is a bundle of tiny lavender flowers entwined with spring greens and attached to an elastic. I'm horrible with gifts; it's one reason why my particular predicament works in my favor. I don't have a reason to keep people around, so I don't have a reason to get gifts, so I don't have a reason to be flustered and awkward and feel bad because I'm not making a big enough show of adoration or praise to my gift giver.

So instead, I just hold my wrist out and say, "Can you put it on me?"

His aura is maroon — the color of love, of course — and he takes this as affirmation of my gratitude. He lifts the corsage carefully out of the box and slips my hand through it.

My mother is maroon, too. I can feel it.

"You hungry?" he asks.

"Starved."

I put a robe on over my dress as I eat and stuff a towel into the neck. Dad laughs, but Kei would kill me if she knew I was having a turkey dog and EasyMac while wearing her ensemble.

I brush my teeth after, and Dad asks if I plan on kissing anyone tonight. He is halfway serious. I say no, and I am all the way serious. I re-do my lipstick, coating it thicker than Kei first had.

The doorbell rings promptly at six o'clock, and Eli is wearing a standard black and white suit with a jacket. We don't really match, but it doesn't really matter because he doesn't seem to care at all that his junior prom date is a tad bit unconventional.

"You look perfect," he breathes out, nearly dropping the camera he's holding.

"Thanks," I say, but it feels weird, like I should add something. "Your mom's heels are a little loose, but I'll manage," is what I come up with. Why didn't I say that he looks nice, too? What's wrong with me? If I say it now, it'll seem ingenuine. I missed the moment.

My dad rounds the corner then, perfectly on cue and just as we'd rehearsed. I was afraid that if he'd answered the door, Eli would've been creeped out. Or Dad would've.

"Hey, Mr. G!" Eli extends a hand. "I'm Elijah."

"Andrew," my dad says as he gives Eli's hand a firm shake.

Eli wastes no time with small talk or expending the entirety of his knowledge on the weather or politics or the stock market on getting to know Dad, and I am glad because my dad hates lying just as much as I do, but I am almost let down because I was so sure that I'd pegged Eli to be parent-pleaser.

He holds out the camera he's brought to my father. "D'ya mind? I wasn't allowed to see her earlier and Ma and Pop didn't get to get any pictures, so."

I feel the ever-present olive in Dad's aura; he is wary of my being photographed. But this will not be hung in a museum, nor will it be documented in any other way than on the Whitneys' home computer. This is only a memory. I give him a nod of reassurance. He gives a curt nod back, but I can see the stiffness of his jaw.

I have no idea how to pose for a formal shot — or for any shot, for that matter — but Eli guides me through it smoothly. He rests a hand on the small of my back, points his toes towards me, faces his upper body towards my dad and Theresa's camera. I stand there, limp, until he reaches for my hand and brings it up to rest on his chest. I can feel his heart beating, calmly, normally, and it relaxes me. I give the camera an easy, close-lipped grin.

We're getting ready to walk out the door when Dad stops us. "Oh, wait. I forgot one thing."

He hurries to the master bedroom and we wait until he returns seemingly empty-handed. But then he opens his palm and dangles a gold chain between two fingers. At the end of the gold chain is a small locket in the shape of a heart, a tiny diamond in the center of it.

I suck a sharp intake of breath. "Mom's necklace."

The story is my mother wore this necklace every day ever since my father gave it to her for their one year wedding anniversary. Neither of them could ever seem to get it to open, but that flaw somehow only added to its charm. Ever since she's been gone, he's kept it shut away somewhere.

I turn around so Dad can fasten the necklace around my neck. I smile down at the gold shoes I'd ended up wearing. It's like she knew.

I turn around and give my dad a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," I whisper.

"Alrighty, then," he says, and I can tell he's getting a little choked up, which makes me a little dark blue. "You two kids have fun."

Before I have the chance to change my mind and stay home with my dad, my date speaks. "I'll have her home by midnight, Mr. G," he says, an attempt at being funny, because we both know my curfew is ten-thirty.

🦎

          My first impression of the prom is five-fold: It is dark; it is loud; it is hot; it is packed; and it is plum purple. Purple, purple, purple, everywhere, the color of my dress, all around me. Eli smiles from ear to ear and grabs my hand and guides me through the crowd of sweaty bodies, all collectively grinding on each other like one huge cotton candy puff ball gyrating off-beat. We end up in the back corner of the gymnasium in a small group containing the majority of Eli's peer circle. Sampson's date is named Eileen, Reggie came with a girl named Dallas, and Dex brought Lia Darwin from my English class.

"Where's Jules?" I yell over the music.

"He's throwing an anti-prom party," he says into my ear and it tickles, but I don't hate it. "He's quite the anarchist. But all of his friends came to prom, so he's most likely eating Flamin' Hot Cheetos and drinking Code Red Mountain Dew and playing Call of Duty by himself. Because we all know he secretly asked Skyler Petersen and only decided to boycott prom because she was already going with Chris Whitelaw."

Then, as if on cue, some line dance comes on, and the pulsating pack of teens all horizontalizes itself. Eli grabs my hand again and pulls me into the line nearest us. I stand there, completely still from shock, and Eli helps me out once again. He stands in front of me so I don't get trampled over by the students all swapping lines. He performs the moves for me and I catch on quickly, as I do for most things, and when the line switches again he takes my hand and we perform the steps together until he sees that I've got it and lets go. It's easy keeping up with everyone else — kids who have surely participated in this dance every year, twice a year, since junior high, probably — even despite the heels. And what's more is it's actually really fun. As soon as it's over, I can't wait for the next one.

Sampson and Reggie dance with their dates like they learned their moves from watching music videos featuring people in the club — something the teachers still call "booty dancing" and that is strictly prohibited. So Eli and I wind up keeping to ourselves, mostly. We join hands and he swings me around just like he'd done in my dream and my smile is so big I think my cheeks might crack.

Slow songs come, and when they do, I make excuses. During the first one I ask to go to the restroom; during the second I want a sip of water. It's not that I'm scared of dancing with him, or even that I don't want to... It's just that I'm pretty sure I know he's developed a small crush on me, and I don't want to contribute to it blossoming into a full-blown like-liking. But another one comes on, and I'm wracking my brain for another thing to go do besides have Elijah Whitney hold me close to him, any other thing...

He smirks at me. "What, the great Alyssa George finally ran out of excuses?"

As if he's the mind reader.

"C'mon. What're you scared of? I'm not gonna step on your feet or nothin'."

I smirk back and try to play it off. "More like I might step on yours."

He slinks an arm around my waist and pulls me to him quicker than I can protest. "I'll take my chances."

I ease my arms around his neck like I've seen people do when they slow dance in movies, and we begin to sway. And as we sway, he very stealthily sneaks closer to me, and closer and closer, and soon the entirety of both of my arms wrap around his shoulders. I don't want to look into his eyes for fear of what I might find there, so instead I close mine and rest my head against his chest, to which he only hugs me tighter. I feel his heartbeat, and it is racing by at a rapid rate. I try to tune it out because I don't want to think about what it might mean, and instead I focus on the colors around me. Still some plums, surprisingly some maroons, less surprisingly some dark blues from the girls that aren't getting held quite like I'm getting held right now.

I draw my mind farther back into the gym, to the center of it, up to the ceiling. I imagine I am floating there above everyone and all of their auras, and I allow them to blur into one. And Eli sways, and I sway, and he rests his chin atop my head and holds me sweetly, and I could stay like this forever. Sway, sway, sway. Beat, beat, beat. Tick, tick, tick. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in. Blue, purple, yellow, green, maroon, gray.

...Gray?

Gray.

I jolt my eyes open and push myself off of Eli, whip my head around, searching for something I can't see, my manners frenzied, my heart pounding, my thoughts wild.

Eli is alarmed by my sudden alarm. "What? What is it? What's wrong?"

I close my eyes and reach my brain outwards again, try to find the gray, clutching to the lapels of Eli's suit jacket for dear life, knuckles white. But I can't feel it anymore. It's not there; the aura has surpassed, the emotion subsided. But it was there; I know; I felt it.

I move my grip from his tux to his arm. "Eli, we have to go."

"What?"

I tighten my hand around his forearm and begin to weave through the crowd, still coupling and swaying.

"Where are we going?"

I push past the people without so much as an "excuse me" or "I'm sorry." I shove and weave and drag my hostage along behind me, bumping him into whomever need be and offering no apologies.

"Alyssa! Slow down! What happened?! What's wrong?!"

I keep moving. I need him to shut up. Gray will hear him. Gray will know. Gray will find me. I need to get us out of here. But Gray could be watching me. He will follow. Where should I take us? I can't go home. My father will be harmed. My father... I need to call my father... Warn him of what's going on... But I didn't bring my phone... I didn't have anywhere to put it... I can use the Whitneys' phone. They will let me use it to call my father. But, no, we can't go back to the Whitneys'; that will endanger them; they've been so kind to me...

Eli stops cold and I jerk forward and am slung backwards. He puts his bony hands on my shoulders and swivels me around to face him. His features are calm, but his eyes are crazy with worry.

"I'm not taking another step until you tell me what's going on."

I'm flustered; I shake my head. "I shouldn't have come... This was all a mistake... It's not safe... I shouldn't have come..."

He looks more hurt now than worried. "What do you mean it's not safe?"

I take a shaky breath. Calm down, I have to tell myself. You're in a public place. You're surrounded by people. He can't hurt you. "I just need to leave. I need to go home. I need you to take me home. Please."

The disappointment is plain on Eli's face, but he nods his head in agreement. "Okay."

Once we're locked safely into Sol's truck, I finally start to breathe a little evenly. We drive a few blocks and Eli lets me simmer down before he pulls over onto the shoulder and parks the car. I lean over myself and hang my head in my hands. Breathe. Breathe. You're safe. You're with Eli. He can't hurt you now. Eli doesn't say anything, just waits for me to talk. I owe him that, I know. I just cost him his prom. So I take a shaky breath.

"I was in some trouble. Before I moved here."

"Does this have anything to do with the reason you didn't wanna be on the prom court?"

I don't say anything. I can't lie to him. He's sharper than I've previously given him credit for.

"You can tell me. I won't say nothin' to anybody."

I finally look up at him. "I can't tell you. That's the thing. I can't. I can't tell anyone."

"Can you tell me what happened in there, at least?" he asks gently.

I can feel my eyes welling up with water as I remember the gray.

"No, no, no, no, no... It's okay..." He unbuckles his seatbelt and throws his arms around me, pulling me to him, and I feel safe again. "Don't cry," he says. "You'll ruin my sister's artwork."

I chuckle dryly and pull back from him, wiping a finger beneath each eye to catch the stray tears, stained by mascara. "I'm sorry I ruined your prom," I say halfheartedly.

He gives me a half smile. "I don't care about the prom," he says. "I care about you." His gaze holds nothing but pure adoration, and I know that he means it. For once I am glad that Elijah Whitney is very animated in his expressions because it makes up for his colorless brain.

"I thought I saw someone there," is all I can give him. "Someone who tried to hurt me in the past."

Eli is patient. "If you left him behind, why would he be here?"

"He... follows me."

"Is that why you moved here?" He guides the conversation so smoothly that I barely realize I'm giving away confidential information.

I nod.

"And you didn't want to be on the prom court in case he found your name published somewhere."

Actually, my picture posted somewhere is more the issue. Because my name always changes. But Eli doesn't know that. So I nod again.

"Okay. Well, where can I take you where you'll feel safe?"

And that's when I realize there's nowhere on earth that I will ever feel safe again until the man who hunts me is behind bars.

I want to go home. Check on my father. But, then again, alone in my bedroom is the last place I want to be right now. Gray didn't get me. It might not've even been him. It very well could've been a mixture of the vast amount of colors in the room and my mind playing tricks on me. I needn't worry my father. I'm not ready to leave York yet. My time here isn't over yet. My time with my friend isn't over yet.

"Can you take me to a place where you feel safe?"

My friend smiles. "For sure."

🦎

We pull into his driveway, and I can't say I'm at all surprised. I really should've known. He's had a near perfect life, a near perfect upbringing, with a family who loves him and takes care of him. Of course he'd feel the most safe in the house he grew up in.

I wait in the living room while he goes upstairs to fetch something. He comes back down wearing a pair of jeans and the white tee he'd been wearing beneath the suit. He is barefoot and clutching another t-shirt and a pair of green basketball shorts in one hand and a flashlight in the other.

It is nearly ten o'clock by now, and not a creature in the house is stirring but Eli. I assume his family rests safely in their beds, but the doubt nags at me until I have to ask.

"Anybody here?"

"Kei's at a friend's house, I believe. But, yeah, Ma and Pop are asleep."

I silently thank whoever is listening.

"Ready to go to my secret safe place?"

He leads me through the kitchen and out the back door. We walk through the small, fenced-in backyard to the only tree in the very back corner. He shines the flashlight up to its branches. And then I see that I was wrong. His safe place isn't the house he grew up in. It's this treehouse.

"Here we are. Home, sweet home."

"You didn't really expect I'd climb up there in your sister's dress," I say.

"Not hardly." He tosses the shirt and shorts to me. "You change. I'll be waiting inside." And then he starts up the ladder.

I go back into the house to change in the downstairs half-bath. I drape the dress carefully across the back of a dining room chair. Then I begin my ascent.

When I reach the top, Eli instructs me to knock four times and say "kookaburra" thrice to be granted entrance. He pulls open the door hatch and I climb in.

He's got a battery-powered lantern up here, which makes seeing the treehouse in the dark a lot easier. It's much like I'd expected — one square room, a bucket on a string hanging from a window cut out of one wall, a deck of cards atop a carboard box in one corner, scratched out games of Tic-Tac-Toe scribbled on the wooden walls in sidewalk chalk. It's barely tall enough for me to stand up straight in, so I know Eli hasn't been able to for years. He sits atop an old patchwork quilt on the floor and motions for me to sit next to him.

"So this is your safe place, huh?"

"Yeah. Me and my granddad built it together the summer after I finished the fourth grade. My parents were going through a hard time financially and he was trying to give me something to take my mind off of it. They were fighting a lot, and if it weren't for our faith they probably would've separated. When they fought, I'd run outside and up here where I couldn't hear them anymore."

He looks at me pointedly before continuing. "That's why I was so beat up when you told me your mom died. My parents had to go to marriage counseling with Pastor Pete because my mom wanted Pop to leave the house. I didn't know that until years later, of course, but I remember thinking that I would've braved dozens more nights of them arguing about the bills than for my dad to have not been here every day when I got home from school."

I had been badly mistaken. Eli's childhood hadn't been perfect. "Well how'd they get through it?" I ask out of curiosity. "They seem fine now. I mean, everything seems better."

"He got a better job, started working longer hours. And then we weren't struggling for money any more. He's at home less now, but when he is everyone is in cheery spirits and no one's threatening divorce, so I guess it was a fair trade."

I look at him and try to express sympathy through my gaze. And then, because that isn't enough, I say, "I wish my parents were just divorced. I wish that's all it was. That she was still alive."

Eli only looks at me sadly, and I know he wishes he knew the words to say to make me feel better. But words won't bring her back.

"Sorry. I wasn't trying to make it about me," I say once I realize what I've done. "Just wanted to say it could be worse."

He nods solemnly. "I know." He just looks at me for a few moments, and then his eyes light up. "I didn't even show you the best part!" he exclaims and props himself up on his knees. He finds a latch in the ceiling and undoes it, opening a sunroof type of thing. And I can see the night sky closer than I have in a long, long time.

"It's better when you lie down," he says and stretches out atop the quilt, arms folded behind his head.

I blink at him, weighing my options, and he smirks. "I'm not gonna bite you or nothin'."

I lay down next to him slowly, but he's positioned exactly centered beneath the window, and I have to scoot super close to him to be able to see. It's like this plan has been spinning in his head all along. He sees that I'm struggling for the view and he smirks at me and pats his chest, his smirk turning into a devilish grin. I roll my eyes at him, but I lay my head against his chest, nevertheless. I'd expected it to be hard and bony like the rest of him, but it's surprisingly comfortable. I feel him lower an arm from behind his head and rest it around my back, and it amazes me how he doesn't seem nervous at all, like he's completely certain about every single move he ever makes, regardless of the potential consequences.

We lay there in silence, looking at the stars, and he draws circles in my back with his fingers, and my head rises and falls in time with his breathing, and the stars are magnificent here above the earth among the trees, and I think that if I stayed here with Eli in his treehouse for the rest of forever, I would be safe from all the things that haunt me on the ground.

__________

So I've hit 1k reads! Thanks so much, y'all. I hope you stick around.

THIS is my favorite chapter so far (and also the longest chapter to date.) This is where the real plot starts, and I AM SO EXCITED. Please let me know what you think! About fashion-forward Kei, about the gray!, about the treehouse!!! (The treehouse is important, y'all. A lot takes place in the treehouse.)

My Liliana actually didn't make this edit, for once. It was my new friend @IleanaLewis, and I couldn't be happier that people are ACTUALLY MAKING ME EDITS.

If you're a reader of The Lunar Project (which duh you are) there's an Easter egg in here that I hope you caught. :)

ALSO I SAW TAYLOR SWIFT LAST FRIDAY NIGHT AND I STILL HAVEN'T FULLY RECOVERED. IT WAS MY FIRST TIME SEEING HER AND I HAVE STANNED HER SINCE "TEARDROPS" AND SHE IS SO INCREDIBLY LOVELY AND MAGICAL AND SHINY AND FLAWLESS IN REAL LIFE AND SHE. SOUNDED. SO. GOOD. Seriously. I was so proud of her.

Soundtrack: The song they were line-dancing to was "Footloose", and the song they swung around during was "Shut Up and Dance" by Walk the Moon (because every time it comes on the radio I picture them dancing to it.) They slow-danced to "Santa Barbara" by Nick Jonas because reasons.

Glossary:
Núzhiⁿga - boy; youth; "small man"
Wúhu'á - an exclamation of surprise
Údoⁿtʰígthe - to become good suddenly; to improve