Kim Harrison - Early to Death, Early to Rise

“Yes, thanks to you,” I said, shoving the note in a pocket. “I really wanted you to come. Nakita can’t carry more than one person.”

His eyes went to the open archway to the kitchen. “It’s okay,” he said, dropping a step back to the door. “Just don’t make me into the librarian guy who looks things up for you and always misses out.” He smiled. “Dinner was good.”

“I’ll take your word on that.”

Josh took his truck keys from his pocket and reached for the door behind him. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, slinging his book bag over his shoulder.

Disappointment seeped into me, but what had I expected? It wasn’t like we’d been on a date—except for last year’s prom, and that was a disaster. Reaching out, I touched his hand. Josh halted, the door cracked open.

“Thank you,” I whispered. “Josh, I mean it.”

He looked down at our hands, then at the kitchen where my dad was noisily putting dishes in the dishwasher. “Will your dad freak if I kiss you good-bye?” he asked.

I blinked, my heart giving a thump before I stopped it. “Probably,” I said, feeling breathless. I’d kissed boys before—my mom didn’t ground me because I was a saint—but I’d been flaking out lately about being dead and had been holding myself apart. That he might want to kiss me thrilled me down to my toes.

Josh took my hand more firmly. From the kitchen came a clatter of pans in the sink. I held my breath, feeling the memory of my heart pound all the harder. “Don’t forget about me?” he whispered, his head beside mine, not kissing me, but really close.

The scent of spaghetti, bread, and shampoo filled me with a feeling of security. “Never,” I said, meaning it. Tilting my head, I closed my eyes. Our lips touched, like I hoped they would. Warm against mine, his were hardly there before he dropped back. A quiver rose and fell through me, and my eyes opened, finding his. He was smiling softly. It had happened too fast, and he ducked his head when the silverware clinked. I felt flushed, warm. Excited and calm all at the same time.

“I should go,” he said, hoisting his bag to his shoulder again.

“Yeah,” I said, wondering how something so simple made the world look so different.

“See you tomorrow, Madison,” he added, glancing at the kitchen.

“Bye.” I really didn’t want him to go.

Josh reached out, taking my hand and then letting it slip from his as he walked through the door and shut it behind him.

I let go of a breath I’d taken who knew how long ago, my attention flicking to the kitchen when my dad shouted through the open window, “Bye, Josh. Take it easy going home.”

“You got it, Mr. A,” came back faintly, and I turned to the stairway, jerking when I saw Nakita waiting for me at the top. Josh hadn’t given any indication that she’d been there, but I knew from her bothered expression that she’d seen the entire thing.

“He kissed you,” she said before I was even halfway up.

“You want to say that a little louder?” I said sourly. “My dad might not have heard you.”

She stepped aside as I came even with her, her posture uneasy. “It made your pulse start,” she said, falling into step behind me.

“Yep,” I said, smiling. Through the house, I heard Josh’s truck rev. My thoughts were still on him as I flopped onto my bed. He really was a nice guy.

Nakita shut the door behind her. “Do you think I should paint my nails?”

The shift of topics pulled my attention from the ceiling, and I propped myself up on an elbow. “You saw my dad look at them?” I asked, and she nodded, her beautiful face holding an almost comical amount of worry. “If you want.”

“I want to,” she said, looking relieved now. “And my toes.”

“I like them the way they are,” I said, rolling onto my stomach to reach the bedside table. Pulling it open, I rummaged until I found a bright red that went with her purse, now sitting on my dresser beside our textbooks. Josh had brought them over, too. Man, I really owed him.

“Good?” I asked as I held it up to her.

Nakita took it, her expression empty. “Do you have a paler color?”

I suddenly realized she was trying to look normal—to fit in—and I rolled back to look again. “I’ve got pink,” I said, and Nakita visibly relaxed.

“Thank you.”

She was all smiles again. Thinking that anyone else would get labeled with bipolar disorder, I shoved the drawer shut and dug the photography class–supplies list out of my pocket, going over the crumpled paper and mentally comparing it to what I had in my closet. “Most of this I’ve got,” I said, rolling over and finding my feet. “Do you want my red camera or the black one?”

“Black. No, red,” she said immediately, and then followed it with, “Which one would you pick?”

I opened my closet. Hands on my hips, I looked for the box I’d stashed them in. Josh said I took great pictures. My dad had said the same thing, but hearing it come from Josh so casually left me feeling warm—when warmth was something I hadn’t felt in months.

“There it is,” I said softly, leaning in past my skirts, tops, and jeans to reach the box in the back. It was from my mother’s grocery store, and I felt a twinge of homesickness as I set it on my desk. Call Mom. Don’t forget.

The unmistakable scent of electronics sifted out when I opened it up, tickling memories. “The red one is newer, but the black one has more versatility,” I said, and when she blinked vacantly at me, I handed her the black one. “This one takes better pictures. It doesn’t focus automatically, and you can choose what you focus on. Sometimes shooting something fuzzy makes it easier to see what you’re trying to show.”

Okay, it didn’t make much sense, but she took the old camera, carefully unzipping her purse and setting it inside. I swore I saw her smile as the up-to-now-useless bag suddenly had a purpose. It was the only thing in there.

“You can keep the nail polish, too,” I said, thinking that a purse should really have more than one thing in it.

“Thank you,” she said seriously as she set the bag beside her books and kicked off her sandals like a normal person. Normal, yes, but the wedges landed neatly under my wide window as if having been placed there. “I’ll never be as good as you,” she said wistfully.

I glanced at her perfect feet, then looked away. Jeez, no wonder the guys fell over themselves to talk to her. Even her feet were beautiful. “Being as ‘good’ as someone else isn’t the goal,” I said, dropping back on the bed to stare at my ceiling. I’d call my mom later. “Finding a way to show how something makes you feel is. There’s no wrong way to take a picture. If it makes you feel something, then you’ve done it right.”

The bed moved as she sat down on the end, and I shifted my weight. “Do you think your dad will like them?” she asked. “My pictures, I mean.”

Nakita was so confident of herself when she was on a scythe, it was odd to see her so unsure. “I know he will.” A smile curved up the corners of my mouth as I imagined her showing them to him. My dad loved my photography. He had an entire wall in the formal dining room devoted to my stuff, with lights shining on his favorites and everything. He was the one who told me about capturing how something makes you feel, and I think he tried to figure out what was going on in my head by what was coming out of my printer.

The biting smell of polish was strong. This waiting-around stuff was aggravating, but we couldn’t leave until my dad was in bed. My gaze drifted, finding the picture of Wendy and my ex-boyfriend, Ted, on my mirror. They looked happy together on the beach at sunset. I rolled over so I could see my old friends upright. I’d let go of the idea of Ted in my life almost as soon as I’d moved up here. Guys were like puppies sometimes—loyal but easily distracted—and I had known that as soon as I was gone, he’d find someone else to follow around. That it had been my best friend, Wendy, wasn’t a surprise. Squinting, I wondered if I could see a haze of blue around Wendy, mixing with a shadow of yellow about Ted. Their auras? My thoughts flitted back to Josh and that first kiss. And I smiled.