Jessie Humphries: Killing Ruby Rose

“Don’t hurt yourself, Ruby, you just got here,” he said, slipping one arm under my head for support and the other one around me. Was it me, or did the flames in the pit just kick their intensity up a notch? The heat between us burned just as strong, as if the anger, sadness, fear, and pain over the last year had culminated in one bonfire of emotion. Maybe the feel of his abs through his shirt had something to do with my rising temperature as well.

I wanted to say something to him. Express how grateful I was for him sticking by me, never turning on me when it might have gotten him out of jail earlier. The words weren’t forming in my mouth.

Liam moved his face toward mine. Tingly anticipation tiptoed across every inch of my skin. I lingered in the moment, recalling all the times I’d fantasized about these breathless seconds. We were too close, and it was too dark to see his eyes, but I was pretty sure they were closed and waiting. Patiently hanging on for Ruby Rose’s petals to bloom.

Whatever light was left in the twilit sky disappeared as I closed my eyes to give in to him. I clutched his shaggy hair and kissed him in a way I didn’t know was possible. It felt like every time our lips moved against each other, a chunk of the wall I’d worked my whole life to build crumbled into the sea.

I grasped the back of his neck with my fingers and pressed my hips against his. My head arched backward when he moved his mouth down my neck and around my ear. Pulling my V-neck shirt off my shoulder slightly, he kissed my exposed skin. Every part of my body tingled—I’d never been touched like this before. I felt like my heart was going to burst out of my chest.

“I think I’m about to tear a stitch,” I said breathlessly.

“Are you serious?” he asked.

“Maybe, if I could just keep my heart from beating a million times a minute, it wouldn’t feel like my side is going to explode.”

“Right,” he said apologetically. “I should have thought of that. Sorry—”

“You don’t have to apologize for anything.” I took a few measured breaths. I unlocked my legs from his, and snuggled up to his side. I felt the Challenge Coin in my pocket. “Let’s just lie here for a while. You can stay, right?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said, brushing my cheek with his lips.

The moon was directly above us. The few stars brave enough to shine through the smog, cloud cover, and city lights of the Los Angeles coastline twinkled down on us. I glanced at the foaming whitewash on the beach and imagined my dad, Jack Rose, coming in from one of his twilight surfing sessions by the Pier. I could almost see him in his wet suit and with his longboard securely tucked under his arm.

I closed my eyes to better picture him. He stopped, shook out his wet hair, and smiled down at the little girl running up to his side—the little girl I used to be.

A few tears escaped from my shuttered eyes, and when I opened them again, the image was gone.

Dad had made it to his shoreline.

And he’d never stop guiding me toward mine.

The wind picked up a little, reminding me that Martinez and other dangers still loomed out there. But instead of baring myself to its power, I dipped under the covers and breathed in Liam’s fresh scent until I fell asleep in his arms.

I am especially grateful to the following people, who helped turn my dreams of publication into a reality:

To Courtney Miller and the entire team at Amazon Children’s Publishing, whose brilliance has blown me away. To Marianna Baer, whose editorial guidance and knowledge of the cost of shoes has saved me much embarrassment. I am honored to work with such a supportive and innovative group of people.

To Sarah Davies, who let me persuade her to plant me—and Ruby Rose—in her Greenhouse, where we always belonged. She is, quite simply, my dream agent.

To Erin Summerill and Peggy Eddleman, my two writing partners and best friends, who’ve read all the crap I’ve ever written and still like me. Or at least pretend to really well.

To Sarah Donovan for being there from the start. To Emily King for keeping me from quitting. To Elana Johnson for guiding the way. To Angie Cothran, Chantele Sedgwick, Katie Dodge, Ruth Josse, Kim Krey, and Taffy Lovell for all the critiques, fun writing retreats, and never-ending support.

To my parents, who call me “spirited” when they really mean “sassy,” and who are never surprised by my success. To my siblings, John, Michelle, Julie, Chris, and Jeff, who have put up with me all these years…and hardly ever call me a B-word to my face.

To my Mr. Humphries, my best friend and leading man, for letting me be “yellow” and reminding me not to let “my dreams be dreams.” Je t’aime. Finally, to my kids, who are Brave, Brilliant, Big-time, and Beautiful. In that order. You are my favorite B-words.