Another three days pass, and I realize I quite enjoy the stay at Lu's home.

My bedroom is a haven of comfort and warmth in contrast with the mid-January cold outside. A skylight window allows soft rays of sunlight to filter in every morning, casting a gentle glow throughout the room.

The cozy bed, adorned with llama plushies and a soft duvet, invites me to sink in and relax. The surprising scent of fresh flowers drifts in from the garden, filling the air with a delicate fragrance. The walls are painted in soothing pastel banana yellow tones, creating a tranquil ambiance. A small desk by the window provides a perfect spot for me to write or sketch, surrounded by inspiration. It's a space that instantly makes me feel good, comfy, and welcome.

As I settle into the room, a sense of peace washes over me, knowing that I am safe and protected here. I find solace in the quiet moments, gazing up at the stars through the skylight, feeling grateful for the kindness and generosity of Lu and her home. It feels more like home than all the costly mansions I lived in so far.

Koshka has been coming over every day, running me ragged with our training we do in the back garden. From all her poking and prodding, so far the only thing I've managed to do is to shape-change into the mountain lion and back into this weird Cat Woman form as Z called it.

I can't fully become human. Not yet.

Also, I can't remember the last time I woke up before noon, but I don't actually sleep very well. My stupid brain keeps replaying last days over and over—like the movie theater previews before the film. I see Ross every time I close my eyes, standing between me and his brother. It took me all I got not to harm either of them.

That cannot happen again. 

Not now when he even found me this refuge. Amparo knows she can't come here and visit me, not until I say otherwise. We've risked too much. Ross has risked too much. His way of life, his relationship with his brother.

And for what? What does he see in me?

I'm not a heroine in a rom-com, and guys like that don't fall for girls like me. Besides, he's so infuriatingly cute and shy. I sort of want to smother him between my thighs,  and not in the sexy way. Like literally smother him.

A rumble in my stomach reminds me I really need to get some food in me.

Ever since I've been training, hoping to be able to master this before my birthday, I've been eating three or four times more than before.

I tiptoe downstairs to the kitchen, hoping to grab something from the fridge, when a cheerful voice sing-songs: "Come in!" 

It's Lu, and she waves me inside, pointing to a plate of mouth-watering pasta.

"Oh, Lu. I thought you were at school. Thank you. I was just going to get a quick snack. You don't have to feed me—"

"Skiving off today so Ross can go. We're taking turns. And I know, I don't have to feed you, but you've been doing such a good job working on your shape changing, girl! And that needs a lot of calorie intake. Plus, I always make too much."

"Well, if you put it that way—I can eat my weight in ravioli. Also, thanks. You know, for help."

"I'm gonna make some more food. Something new and cool. Love experimenting in the kitchen." She beams at me.

I admire her so much. She is always smiley, optimistic and looks for the best in others. It's a rare trait.

I sit and shove ravioli into my mouth. "Koshka is really being hard on me."

"Kickass training for the win!" Lu yells, plopping on the chair next to me.

"She says that in some months, I might be ready to meet the other..."

"The other shape –changers? That's such a big deal. Are you serious?"

"Dead ass. Said she was passing on the legacy or something."

"Legacy of what?"

I shrug.

The snowflakes sing their gentle song against the wide window.

Lu hops back to her feet and pokes what looks like the simmering egg and yucca mix with a spatula. The heavy, mouthwatering smell of arroz con pollo and plátanos simmering on the stovetop in another frying pan greets me.

It never fails; even today, with shape-changing and danger lurking, the scent of her chicken and rice eases my mind away from all that trouble, at least for a few seconds. It wraps me up in a fragrant cloud that seems to carry me forth, disentangling my cares and worries on the way.

"Anyway, nah, I wouldn't worry about it. After a while you'll learn to full-shift. Koshka thinks so too. She was murmuring, humming to herself the other day. It's good because then Gus won't have proof for his claims. If he ever makes them."

I remember the awful scene that transpired between us only three days ago and shudder. "I hope he doesn't."

"Gus is trouble. Like bad trouble. I'm surprised he's still keeping quiet. Ross says they barely speak to each other when he's at home, and not for his lack of trying."

I gulp, feeling like someone had splashed cold water down my insides. I know I'm in too deep, and for the first time in my life, I feel like the death threat itself is staring me in the face.

"So lemme see if I have this right," Lu says, setting down two plates. "From what Ross said, you're one of the shape-changers who are born that way, yeah?"

"Right." I want to not feel completely useless,  so I set out the silverware . "It's gonna be a part of me forever."

"The form is fluid: you can morph from human into feline into mountain lion and then back again, yeah?"

I nod.

"And then when you master it you'll become even more powerful and do cool stuff and whatever." Lu hops up and down a little.

"That's probably not what the official book says? That I can do cool stuff?" I smile.

"You know what I mean!" Lu shrugs and heaps a few lumps of steamy egg and yucca scramble onto the plates.

"That old woman can totally help you unlock the secret of your shapeshifting abilities and introduce you to your birth parents and other shifters and..."

"I only hope that I don't remain snaggletoothed forever."

"There is nothing wrong with your teeth," Ross says as he enters, snowflakes ruffling his mane. "I find the asymmetry endearing." 

Ross runs his hand through his hair, just enough for a single strand to come undone behind his ear.

Just enough for his perfectly symmetrical countenance to shift to something quite different.

Just enough for my heart to thump wildly in my chest, like a jackrabbit when I realize he's wearing a dark blue suit, looking absolutely stunning.

Z-Man's right behind him, in a very ugly beige one. "We thought we'd surprise you ladies. We went suit shopping for the Snowball Dance."

"Z!" Lu places her hands on her hips. "You went suit shopping without me? That color is so not you."

"You think I should've gotten a different one?"

"For sure! Let's find your receipt,  and this time I'm coming with."

With a lot of friendly pushing and childlike giggles, they abandon the kitchen, and Ross occupies Lu's chair.

The way the suit hugs Ross' frame accentuates his height. The hint of stubble on his jawline adds a touch of rebellious ruggedness to his usually polished appearance. His blushy cheeks are apparent when his eyes meet mine.

I can't help but feel a flutter in my heart. I wish I could be at the Snowball Dance  by his side. Like a normal teen girl.

"Don't you clean up nicely, Mister." I uplift his shirt collar.

"Thanks, erm... I... Also got you this." Ross waves a book at me.

I see a celestial dance of colors, swirling and twirling in harmony. The clouds unite, creating an ethereal tapestry,  and I glimpse the words "David Mitchell" on the cover.

"The Cloud Atlas!"

"The very same. I thought you might like to read it now that you're cooped up in here. You told me your copy was back in New York, so I..."

"Souls cross ages like clouds cross skies," I say, feeling a hot tear on my cheek.

He smiles. "An' tho' a cloud's shape nor hue nor size don't stay the same, it's still a cloud an' so is a soul. Who can say where the cloud's blowed from or who the soul'll be 'morrow?"

It's the perfect, the most sublime "finish each other sentences" moment I've always wanted to have with someone.

"The book is right, you know. Embrace your soul of today."

"Why do you like books so much?" I ask out of the blue.

"We were walking along a beachside promenade once—my parents and me—and I saw this old guy with a stand of old books. Like, yellow pages and all. He was reading one of them out loud–badly–well, I wouldn't call it reading. It was a prequel of a modern audiobooking, in a flat voice. And people were giving him money! Maybe it was out of pity or something but still. I loved his passion and fervor. I wanted to feel that passionate about something, too."

"That's actually quite poetic. I thought you were just one of those compulsive researchers who has to look everything up?"

"Guilty of it, too. The more excited I am on the subject, the more I want to delve into it, the more I want to learn about it. Nerdy, huh?"

"It's part of your charm?"

"I like to be prepared. But it can get boring at times. That's why I admire your spontaneity. You're a free spirit. You do whatever you want, and don't care what people think."

"If only that was true."I sway with the cadence of his voice, feeling each word deep in my heart.

This profound soul baring conversation is beautiful. I close my eyes, feeling his voice vibrations to my very core. This. This moment is everything. My problems do not matter. I am the story. He is the story. We are both the story. We are connected, sharing the same tale thread, united by this soul entwining plot.

Unity.

I can't describe this vibe any other way.

"I am so loving this conversation," I say it out loud.

"Never seen you so... uninhibited and carefree." Ross glows with delight.

How does he know me so well already?

I shrug, unable to speak with those intense brown eyes sparking into me. "I've never experienced anything like that. With anyone."

"Me neither." His lower lip trembles. "I feel so comfortable with you. One hundred percent raw, unfiltered me. I've never said this to anyone before, but... All this suit buying for the dance made me think. I'm really scared of what happens when the final trimester is over. Of leaving New Town."

"For college?" I spur him on, thinking, at the same time, how I might never go to one. Never might lead a normal life.

Oh, the dreaded question. I hope Ross doesn't ask me that. What could I even say? Sorry, I'm a useless, skill-less failure and I can't even complete one essay so I'll just live as a beastly hermit in my room for the rest of my life. Reading novels and eating caviar paid for by my dearest mama and papa.

Ugh, that sounds depressing even in my head.

"Yes. For college. I want to leave so badly. I want that adventure in the great wide somewhere, you know? And yet... I get worried that I'm not as independent as I think I am. I'll get to school and I won't know how to work the laundry machine, even though I've been doing my own laundry for years. Or I won't know how to get around the city, and I'll get lost. My mom seems happy, but I'm worried she'll overwork herself. I'm worried Gus won't be able to outrun it all."

That is the most I ever heard Ross speak in a single breath.

"It's normal," I comfort him and it's strange, because it's not our dynamic, for the past month, it's always been the other way around. He was the one to save my soul so if I can, I will return the favor.

"I worry too." I want him to see I can relate. "I worry that wherever I am, I won't be able to learn who my father and mother really are. Sometimes I worry I will never meet my biological parents... What if my father was a violent man, and I will exhibit his traits? If he had a hereditary disease I do not know of... That's fucking terrifying."

"You won't," Ross says, tapping his shoe with mine, letting me know I'm wrong, that I'm not doomed. "You are nothing like that."

I really like Ross. I like how he makes me feel. Like I'm the awesomest, most talented person in the world. Like everything I do and say is fascinating. How fast will that change once he finds out the truth about me? That the best grade I could manage was C+ and everything else was either failing or close to it? He'll no doubt see me differently once I'm an academic loser in his eyes.

Academic loser and a beast, now that's a dream date if there ever was one.

This boy is gentle to his core. He spars with his words, not his fists. Even if his words can set the world ablaze.

My world.

He is so close that I could use the tip of my nose to connect each hair on his stubble.

Forget counting.

His mouth looks soft, and I wonder how he'd kiss—slow and deliberate or hard and desperate, if he'd grip my waist or my hips. Would he be measured, each motion of his lips plotted out beforehand? Or would he turn off his mind, let his body take over?

The thought of him losing control like that is almost too much for my poor brain to handle.

"We don't have to talk about it," I say. "If you don't want to."

"That's the thing. I think I do. I've not talked about it for so long, and with you... for some reason, it's not as hard as I thought it would be."

"I want to make a dirty joke right now, but I don't want to embarrass you."

He rolls his eyes and nudges my shoulder with his. It's a friendly teasing kind of gesture that makes me think thoroughly unfriendly thoughts.

And our legs—still almost touching. I have never been so aware of every nerve on my outer thigh.

A car honks on a driveway, and when I turn my head on instinct, I realize a bit of my hair is stuck between the slats of the chair. Just in case I wasn't enough of a mess today.

I reach up to turn it into a messy bun that is more mess than bun at this point and, upon realizing it won't work because of the stupid fluffy ears, tug-tug-tug it out of its elastic and pins.

"It might be a lost cause," I say by way of explanation. "I sealed its fate when I showered in the dark this morning and couldn't dry it, and it's been getting exponentially worse by the hour."

Ross watches me comb my fingers through it. "It, uh. It doesn't look bad, you know. You've been training and playing with it all day, but it always looks nice."

And then he does something that maybe shocks us both: he reaches for one of my curls loosened by the pins, grazing it with a fingertip.

As though to say, This. This is the hair that always looks nice. It's so light, that touch.

The gentleness decimates me, the way he's uncertain but brave at the same time. The fingertip is gone before I can lean into him, even as I'm imagining what it would feel like for him to slide both of his hands into my hair.

It always looks nice.

"And I don't actually hate the way you look in a suit," I tell him. "I mean, don't get cocky about it or anything. It's still a supremely dorky thing to wear in high school, but... you don't look terrible in it."

"We're not the best at compliments, are we?"

"I'm better," I say, and he laughs.

Behind his glasses, his dark-brown eyes light up, turning amber. Again I'm convinced I've never paid enough attention to him when he laughs. Maybe he hasn't done it enough in my presence. But all I can think of as I sit next to Ross is how I want to make him laugh again and again.

Heart hammering, I shift my leg until it's finally right up against his, closing the distance between us. I couldn't take it anymore, not touching him.

His breath catches in his throat. God, that is a great sound.

"You cold?" he asks, and it makes me feel slightly guilty, given I'm wearing a hoodie.

"A little," I say, surprised by the sudden scratchiness of my voice. If being cold makes him inch closer, then I am fucking Antarctica.

Then I hear, feel the rustle of fabric as he moves his leg against mine too, this pressure that confirms what's happening is absolutely deliberate, and we are hip to hip and thigh to thigh and knee to knee.

He brushes my knee once with his thumb, a quick little swipe.

That swipe deserves its own romance novel.

"Okay?" he asks.

 I don't know if he's asking if I'm okay, if what we're doing is okay, or okay as in am I ready to go, and I'm not. I'm not. It's still cold here in Lu's kitchen, but I could light a fire with how it feels to be this close to him. Yes, this is okay, but it's also not nearly enough. All I can do is nod.

This entire month, I've been defending my emotions because I couldn't admit the reality: that I have real feelings for this boy.

There are so many things I didn't know about him, like that he is a fan of photography and his favorite cat breed is a Main Coone and he alters some of his suits himself.

He cares about his mother and even his despicable brother.

He cares about me, Beatrice Laurent, the girl who's been a walking catastrophe since she was brought to this world.

I've never experienced something earth-shattering like Ross Thorne. But I have a feeling that if something happened with us... it might be. And that possibility is what pulls me like a magnet toward the boy, who is looking at my mouth like he has just discovered the perfect synonym for a word that doesn't have any.

And maybe it's what pulls him to me too.

A sudden onset of angry voices, their tones sharp and filled with frustration shatter the ambiance.

Ross and I spring apart before our lips meet.

A/N: Theme song: Sting "Shape of My Heart (Leon)"