Nina Berry - Othersphere

I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to say good-bye to these characters who have changed my life. My debt to all the people at Kensington Books for making these books a reality, and for making me a real-life, actual, no-kidding, honest-to-goodness writer can never be repaid. In particular, all gratitude goes to the insightful, supportive Alicia Condon, queen of editors. Additional fountains of thanks to publicist Vida Engstrand and to fellow KTeen authors Jennifer Estep, Brigid Kemmerer, Marni Bates, and Erica O’Rourke.

Thank goodness for the essential support, both emotional and editorial, of my gorgeously talented critique partner, Elisa Nader, and beautifully sharp fellow TV/YA writer Jen Klein.

A special hug of gratitude to my agent, Tamar Rydzinski, the first professional in the business to take a chance on me.

Friendship has been an important theme throughout these books, and I couldn’t have written about it without my friends, who not only help me laugh my brains out, but provide endless inspiration and encouragement: John Mark Godocik, Brian Pope, Michael Musa, Valerie Ahern, Ruth Atkinson, Cathleen Alexander, Maria de la Torre, Peter Shultz, Pilar Alessandra, Pat Dodson, Cheri Waterhouse, Naomi Catalano, Paul and Dara Cuoco, Corey and Carrie Elliott, Pam and Scott Paterra, Frank Woodward, Jim Myers, Meriam Harvey, and Maritza Suarez.

Then there’s the extraordinary group of buddies that got me through my own insane teen years and beyond: Diane Stengle, Roger Alt, Alden Zecha, Matt Chapman, Cathryn Kleigel, Kat Munchmeyer, Jennifer Frankl, Lisa Moore, and Chris Campbell.

A particular shout-out to Wendy Viellenave, whose friendship and support have never flagged, and whose game company and generous use of her frequent flier miles have made my life infinitely richer and more adventurous.

I’m deeply indebted to all those readers who said kind things about my books, whether at a signing or via Facebook, email, or Twitter. You keep me writing.

Lastly and especially, thanks to my parents, Paul “Doc” Berry and Jacqueline Berry, whose love and respect laid the foundation for all the good things I’ve been lucky enough to have in life.

I balanced carefully on the first step of the ladder, the folded wallpaper in one hand, and used the other to steady myself as I moved up. My eyes became level with the toes of Lazar’s worn brown boots, pointing at me from the other side of the ladder.

“Hey, look,” I said. “You under-pronate more on your left foot than your right.” And I grinned up at him.

From the top of the ladder, his tousled golden head haloed by the skylight above, Lazar smiled down at me. “I love it when you talk dirty.”

My cheeks got hot, and I ducked my head down to stare at my own feet and took another slow step up the ladder. The knees of Lazar’s jeans came into view, both blotched with a Rorschach of wallpaper paste.

Even after nearly four weeks of us, well, dating, I guess you could call it, it still surprised me when Lazar said anything risqué. He was normally such a gentleman, one with even less dating experience than I had. His strict father had never allowed him to go out with anyone, so I still couldn’t quite believe it whenever he said or did something suggestive.

I moved up again on the ladder, the walls narrowing around me, and my eyes came level with Lazar’s thighs. I concentrated on making sure I didn’t drop the wallpaper as I put my foot on the next rung. Hello, Lazar’s belt buckle.

“In that case,” I said, staring at the simple brass clasp and brown leather above his fly, “you’re going to wish you knew what I’m thinking now.”

His hips shifted slightly. “But I can imagine.”

I took a hasty step up. My stomach had the jitters. It scared me sometimes, that I could feel anything for someone other than my ex-boyfriend, Caleb, gone who-knows-where for six weeks now. Scarier still was that any feeling could push through the overwhelming grief that overwhelmed us all. Siku had been killed six weeks ago today.

Time to change the subject. “It’s still hard to believe that wallpaper can block wi-fi signals from getting out and infrared scans from getting in,” I said. After we’d destroyed the particle accelerator built by Lazar’s father, Ximon, Ximon and his remaining men had fled. At Lazar’s urging, we’d plundered the abandoned facilities, taking whatever equipment we could that remained undamaged. This high-tech wallpaper had been one of our best finds, and once this skylight well was done, the whole school would be shielded.

Lazar’s shirt rode up as he lifted his arms to check the primer on the wall beside the skylight, treating me to a glimpse of taut six-pack abs with twin vertical lines gliding alongside his hipbones.

I swayed slightly.

“You think I made it all up just to get you on this ladder with me?” Lazar placed a warm steady hand on my arm to help me to the next rung.

“I wouldn’t put it past you.” My head moved past the top of the ladder, eyes now at the level of his chest. When I glimpsed it this way, up close, in a simple blue T-shirt, I couldn’t help thinking of Caleb. Although, Caleb’s T-shirt would have been black. The half-brothers were so different in many ways, one blond, the other dark. Lazar was polite, reserved, more innocent and yet more wounded than the sophisticated, reckless Caleb, who had been all over the world and hadn’t endured life with their abusive, manipulative father, Ximon.

But they did have the same shoulders and strong arms corded with lean muscle, and the same strong chin, high cheekbones, and thick, expressive eyebrows, even if their coloring was different.

And they had the same taste in girls. At least in one girl.

I rose another step, trying not to stare at the cords of muscle on either side of Lazar’s long neck, or just above that, his lips, a bit fuller than Caleb’s.

Stop comparing him to Caleb all the time. He’s his own person.

“Can you blame me?” His eyes, caramel brown where Caleb’s were black, sparkled with mischief. Then he bent down and kissed me.

He kissed more softly than Caleb, more gently. I leaned into him, the top of the ladder pressing against my chest, the wallpaper still in one hand.

He put his other hand on my ribs, next to my breast, and lifted me bodily up to stand on the next rung so that we were almost the same height. My lips opened beneath his.

There was something irresistible about Lazar’s neck. I put my free palm over the vulnerable spot at the back where his hairline ended and slid my fingers up into his thick, silky hair.

He pulled me closer, his hand sliding up inside my T-shirt, fingers tracing the upper edges of my demi-bra. My nerves sparked, whole body flushed with heat. There was nothing but warm skin under my fingers, the taste of Lazar’s sweet mouth, and his hand trailing fire.

The ladder rocked.

“Whoa!” We broke apart. I dropped the folded square of off-white wallpaper. It wafted down to land against a leg of the ladder.

Lazar put one steadying hand on the wall, and reality came rushing back in. When we did that, when he scooped me up and pressed me against him, I forgot about the hole in my heart left by Siku’s death, and the achingly painful wound caused by Caleb was anaesthetized.