Summer Lane - State of Emergency

“Hey…” I say, grinning. “That is one macho rooster.”

Jeff laughs. I watch a colorful rooster strut across the dirt in front of the barn.

“He reminds me of someone,” I say. “Oh, yeah. My ex.”

“Was he really that bad?” Jeff asks, surprised.

“I was just saying that for comic value.” I stroll along, plucking a leaf off an oak tree that’s hanging low.

“What? You don’t date much or something?” Jeff trails behind me like a puppy. He’s been doing that ever since Chris and I had our argument about me going to the cabin. I’m guessing Jeff doesn’t get much interaction with people living in the middle of the sticks. I must be a novelty, especially since I come from the “big city.”

“You’re a legal adult, though,” Jeff says. “You could date, right?”

“I could,” I agree, kind of weirded out by his question. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” Jeff replies, a little too quickly. “I was just curious. You know. My mom never let Chris date when he was growing up, and he had girls all over…” he trails off, noticing my glare. The last thing I want to hear about right now is Chris’s history of womanizing. Or whatever.

“Anyway, they don’t let me date either,” he says. “They’re all about working hard until I turn eighteen, then I get to do what I want. Chris joined the military when he turned eighteen.” He sighs. “Doesn’t look like that’s what I’ll be doing anymore.”

“Hey,” I say, nudging his shoulder. “Cheer up. You know what you got?”

He shakes his head.

“You’re alive,” I exclaim. “You know how many people are dead or starving right now? We’ve got it made. We’re living in the lap of luxury compared to some of them. Cheer up, will you?”

Jeff starts laughing again. It’s not hard to get him to do it, unlike his brother, who seems like he’s made of stone half the time. “You have a point,” he admits. “I can see why my brother likes you.”

I shift uncomfortably.

“Yeah? You think he likes me?”

“I know he does.” Jeff looks a little depressed. “I mean, he wouldn’t have stuck with you for a week if he didn’t. Believe me. I know.”

“Huh.”

There is a dirt road that curves up the side of the foothill, right up to the house. It’s extremely well hidden from the main highway. Mr. Young told me that when he saw the Omegatroops rolling through, he knocked down his mailbox and camouflaged the entrance to the turnoff with bushes and trees. It’s like this place was made for a situation like this.

“Chris told me you were doing a charter school,” I say as we walk into the barn. It’s a big wooden building with straw and a couple of animals that stink worse than a litter box.

“Yeah,” Jeff answers. “It was okay. At least I got to get off the property for a few hours every week.”

I don’t respond. If I lived here, with parents like his and a property like this, I don’t think I’d care if I “got” to go to school. Then again, the grass is always greener on the other side. All I wanted growing up was a happy family. I only got half of one. Anyway, I’m sure Jeff has his own reasons for what he wants.

“Cassidy?”

I turn around, watching Chris walk into the barn with a box of tools in his right hand. He’s hauling a couple of pieces of wood over his shoulder. “I’m fixing the leak in the roof,” he announces. “Want to help?”

I think that’s code for “Want to talk?”

I nod.

“Sure.”

Jeff sighs, seeing that he’s been dismissed from the conversation yet again. I smile apologetically but he waves it off. “See you later.”

Chris is already halfway up the ladder.

“How do you do that?” I ask.

“What?” He climbs onto the loft and sets the tools down.

“Climb without using your hands. It’s awesome.”

“Years of practice.” I reach the top and step onto the creaky boards. There’s a bunch of straw up here, and I can see the gaping hole in the corner that Chris is going to fix.

“What happened?” I say. “Did a meteor hit?”

“Nah. Just a couple of weak boards.”

He starts working on patching it up, removing his over-shirt in favor of the black tee. I lean back on the wall and watch him move, not realizing that I’ve been staring until he turns to me. “You’re staring again, Cassie,” he says, a wry grin spreading across this face.

“No, I’m watching you patch a hole,” I reply, embarrassed. “There’s not much else to do around here.”

“Then don’t watch,” he says. “Do.”

“Excuse me?”

He holds out a hammer.

“You hammer in the nail while I hold this last piece of up. Can you handle that?”

“Duh,” I reply, making a face. “If I can survive a week with you, I can do anything.”

“Ha. Ha.” He holds the last piece of wood up to the wall. “Go ahead.”

I take the heavy hammer and pound it against the big nail in the wall. Even with all my muscle power, it’s still hard to drive it through the hard wood.

“Too much for you, Thumbelina?” Chris laughs.

“Shut up,” I say, slapping his chest. “I can do it.”

I pound a few more times, getting the nail in halfway. Enough to hold the board up. Epic win. “Ha,” I say, smug. “See?”

“You’re hitting it at an angle,” Chris replies, rolling his eyes. “That’s why it won’t go in all the way. Here.”

He wraps his arms around me from behind and puts his hands over my hands. My whole body tenses up with his closeness. An alarm bell goes off somewhere in my head.

“Swing back,” Chris says, pulling my arms back, “and hit it head on.”

He slams the hammerhead against the nail and it goes in all the way. In one sweep. What a showoff.

“Lucky shot,” I shrug.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really.”

He draws one hand up my arm, fingering my long hair before tucking it behind my ear. “You know what I think?”

I shake my head, frozen.

“I think you’re stubborn.”

“How enlightening.”

His breath is hot against my cheek. He drops the hammer on the ground, making me jump.“You also won’t admit it when you can’t do something,” he says, and I can feel him smiling against my ear.

“So I have some pride,” I whisper, curling my hands over the top of his, which are now resting on my stomach. “So what?”

“Nothing. I was just making an observation.” He slowly kisses my neck, lingering just long enough to shift his position and brush his lips across the side of my cheek. He stops talking and, miracle of miracles, so do I. I seriously can’t think of any sarcastic, spur of the moment quip.

I must be in love.

He kisses my other cheek, inching his hands up the side of my hips, careful to avoid my bruise. Then, without missing a beat, he tips my head to the right and leans in to press his lips against forehead before dipping his head down. I close my eyes, forgetting about the stupid nail and hammer and end of the world for two seconds, and slide my hand around the back of his neck, bringing his lips down to mine.

I’ve never kissed a guy before, so I’m surprised at how easy it is to fall into. He tastes like coffee and smells even better, filling up every sense in my body. Sensory overload.

Chris turns me around and presses me against his chest, his strong arms caging me in. There’s no escape, and that knowledge sends a thrill through me. He’s holding me so tight that I can’t breathe. Apparently love isn’t only blind, it’s also bad for your health.

Frustrated that I have to stand on my tiptoes to reach him, I jump up and wrap my legs around his waist. Chris holds me upright without flinching, slipping his hands under my legs, sinking down into the itchy straw. I break off the long kiss and rest my forehead against his. Chris is breathing hard — no harder than me, at least.