“Wow.” I gape at the water, squinting from the reflection of the sun along the choppy waves.

  Henry takes a deep breath and folds his arms around his body, tucking his arms under his biceps and bouncing on his feet a few times to stave off the chill.

  “It’s pretty great, right? The first time I came up here I knew this would be the place I went to hide.” His eyes drift out to look at the same view I was just taking in. I take advantage and look at him. His jaw works, teeth chewing at his inside and eyes flickering from the bright reflection on the lake.

  “What do you hide from?” His mouth twitches at my question.

  “People, I guess.” His answer is too simple, but I know better than to press for more. I’ve known him for a year, yet what I know of him is so basic. He rarely shows his emotions, and sometimes I wonder if he ever gets upset. I suppose I don’t share when I’m excited or upset either, but I have the luxury of knowing I feel both the highs and lows. I experience them. I don’t have proof that Henry does, other than this one tiny clue that this space up here is where he plans to come to bury his secrets.

  “How did you get up here before you were a student?” I know Elena is a graduate and a major donor to the school. Her money heeds a lot of control over this place from what little I was able to read in online articles and gossip posted about Satis.

  He shrugs at first, but after a few moments of silence, he snaps back to present, leaving whatever troubles he was burying behind.

  “Elena thought it would be cool if I got to know the engineers on the project when this was built. I came out with this guy Lionel; he’s the president or CEO or whatever of the company. He basically got the bid because of Elena, so it’s not like he could say no. Anyway…I’m sure I was supposed to learn some cool technical shit that would make me uber-successful when I’m twenty-five, but all I basically took away from those meet-ups was how to get through the door.”

  He holds his palm open to unveil a key, and I flash my eyes wide.

  “We’re not supposed to be up here?” My pulse jets. All of my firsts with Henry seem to be about breaking rules!

  “If that door wasn’t locked, everyone would be up here. Nah…this place is private.” His mouth forms a crooked smile as he pushes the key deep in his pocket and holds out both hands toward me with his palms up.

  “Private, huh?” Nervously, I reach for him. He is going to feel my fear the moment our hands touch.

  “I mean…I guess I could let you borrow the key anytime you want,” he winks, immediately chuckling when my hands nervously cover his.

  “You are still a bad hand-holder, Lily Ames!” His voice echoes off the retaining walls that we could easily climb over on a dare if we wanted to. That thought continuously runs through my mind because daring things seem to be Henry’s muse.

  “Shut up, jerk! I’m nervous because I didn’t know I was going to break the law on my first day of school!” I grab his hands firmly, maybe a little anger in my hold. Henry just throws his head back and laughs at the sky.

  “There’s no law about being on a roof, Lily Ames…” His chin falls and his eyes settle on mine with all of the warmth of the sun. His teeth barely part, hiding his tongue behind the devious smile that lives on those lips.

  “Quit saying my entire name!” I shake his hands once in mine as I shout nonsense at him. He’s trying to goad me. He does this sometimes. I’d rather not be goaded on a rooftop though.

  “Lily Ames.” The words spill out in a breath, all gravely and deep in a voice that switched from young to mature over the course of our relationship. I narrow my eyes on his in a challenge, defiant only because I don’t want to give in. I’m stubborn. Always stubborn rather than giving over and letting Henry bring out my joy.

  He works for it, just as he does every time. Like an older brother poking at his baby sister’s weak spots, he sings my name out loud, so loud I’m sure it’s carried over the roof and into the corridor below.

  “Shhhhh!” I say, stepping closer to him and flattening one of my palms over his mouth. I can feel his breath as he laughs, and damn him the entire thing forces my mouth to curl into a relenting smile.

  “Lily! Ames! Rooftop dancer!” He howls after he declares my latest dare for the entire world—at least this small corner of Chicago.

  “Henry!” I giggle out his name, my hand still struggling to cover his mouth, doing a poor job of it. Tangled arms and hands wrestle, while our feet jockey for dominant positions. I’m destined to lose—I always am with him—both because of his six-inch advantage and because my heart gives in too quickly.

  My grip weakens just as his slows and grows more tender, his hands both cuffing my wrists loosely, one in the space between us and one against his cheek, a light brush of his jawline runs against my skin as he shifts my hand just enough for his lips to dust against my veins.

  My constant state of vibration is making the earth move in my vision. This is the first time I’ve held his hand minus playful slaps since the cab ride, which was so very special. This moment right here has left that memory completely in the dust.

  Henry presses a soft—no…a precious—kiss against my wrist before holding it firmly against his cheek. At some point we began to rock our steps, and as Henry’s eyes reflect against the setting sun, the brown and green mix in a hypnotic gaze that stops my heart ever so briefly. It skips. I die, just for a breath. I die—and I come back.

  “Dance with me,” he says, lips falling into the casual smile a boyfriend would wear. Perhaps it’s just the smile of a truly best friend. A best friend whose lips have the power to cripple me with smiles and slight touches.

  “Okay,” I say, voice crackling through the word. Henry’s chest quakes with quiet laughter at my expense.

  “Always so nervous,” he says, drawing me to his chest, pressing my right hand to his chest as he abandons it. His other hand follows the curve of my side and the lower part of my back. I fit with him, my head falling under the weight of his chin while we draw tiny circles with our feet under a beam of rays that poke holes through Midwestern clouds. The air is getting crisp, and I tuck my face against his warmth, thankful for the excuse. I smell him—his shirt like warm, pressed cotton, his cologne a wooden honey and spice. I listen to his heartbeat through his chest, through bones and skin, his body against mine.

  I have no idea what we are, or why I’m the one he brought up here. I fight off those thoughts that tear me down, screaming that it will be another girl tomorrow. It doesn’t matter, because today…it’s me. I’m the girl in Henry Alderman’s arms dancing as the sun sets, welcoming four years of a future I’ve dreamed of in a place I somehow was lucky enough to come.

  This place is for secrets. And this shall be mine.

  CHAPTER 5

  Theology is not my best subject. Two months into my first semester, and I am barely holding on to my B. Everyone at Satis is expected to have a “well-rounded education.” For a girl whose family—both the version with my parents and the life I have now—has never set foot in a place that could remotely be considered a church, a semester of theology is a lot like hell.

  Not that I would know, because apparently, I have no concept of what hell is. I failed my quiz on the subject. Mr. O’Farland is letting me retake it—tomorrow. Which means tonight, while my roommates are singing off-key karaoke in the common area with everybody else, I am in the study room that painfully overlooks the fun I won’t be having.

  “All right, your expert on hell has arrived. What do you need to know?” Henry flops into the leather of the couch that backs up to the window, folding his hands behind his head as he kicks up his feet.

  Normally, I welcome his distraction. But right now, all I want to do is get this information from this book to somehow stick in my head for twenty-four hours. I don’t have time for distractions—even ones that smell like cinnamon and fire and take up the entire length of the sofa with their body.

  “I’m going to fail. I’m going to fail, and then I will slip to a D in that class, and then I will lose my scholarship.” I start to cry from panic, so I slam my book closed and ball my fists against my ears. I’m melting down in front of him. Not my best moment.

  “Relax,” he says, and my initial reaction is to fling my book from my desktop. Henry catches it right before it hits the floor. I deflate into the wooden chair, the railings hard against my tired back. I’ve been hunched over, staring at these pages, for two straight hours.

  “You know this stuff…” he starts, but I interrupt with an emphatic shake of my head. When his fingers splay out over my back I freeze. I follow the path my book takes back to the place it started in front of me as Henry slides it in place, flipping open to the chapter I’m trying to memorize. Knelt down next to me, he leans closer, resting his right arm next to my left one—we are touching.

  I swallow. I’m going to fail. I cannot memorize something like the varied historical degrees of differences between a Protestant hell and a Lutheran one while the master of all hotness is sharing a desktop with me. My arm hairs are literally electric, standing up and reaching to plant themselves in his skin. I’ve gone completely primal—my body convinced that I am the gatherer in need of this hunter.

  “Look,” he says, leaning in even closer and reaching to flip the pages. I barely register the movement of his thumb under a bold section of words. When his eyes catch mine still stuck on his face, I jump in my seat a little.

  “Sorry,” I say, clearing my throat. “I’m just overwhelmed. Maybe a little slow, too, from being in here so long.”

  It’s partly true, but I’m also just crushing. Crushing—that’s what Nicki calls it. She rolls her eyes every time she catches me doing it too, then labels it with that word. I crush in the dining area. I crush between classes when Henry pokes my arm with his index finger as we pass in the halls. I crush when I watch him sprint across the lawn every day at three in the afternoon, late for rowing. It’s literally become how I know it’s three o’clock! My body just instinctually glides toward my window at exactly 2:59. Pathetic!

  At this point, we should just say that I’m crushed rather than crushing. Crushed and utterly destroyed of all pride.

  I am gatherer.

  “What you need to do is make up a rhyme. Something that will help you keep all of the key words in your brain so when it comes time to write them down in order, you’ll have them there.”

  I draw in my lips and let the acid climb up my throat.

  “I don’t even understand that. Ugg, I’m hopeless,” I say, letting my head fall flat against the book. I bounce my forehead there lightly while I eke out a desperate laugh at my own expense.

  “You aren’t hopeless.” I feel the warm breath from his chuckle and smell the mint of his gum, and it’s intoxicating enough without his touch, so when the warm hand slides the hair from my cheek I go full hypnosis. His fingers trace my jaw, and my head lifts from the light pressure of his hold. For a moment, I believe in myself just because of the look in his eyes when our stares meet. He’s dead serious—and God, the way he’s looking at me, hair all tousled, smile soft and true, cheeks lifted as if they’re glad to see me.

  Like a drunk, I lean closer, my lips parting and ready—my mind imagining everything I’m about to feel—Henry’s mouth on mine, the graze of teeth against my lips, us standing as his arms sweep around my back before his hands rush up my spine into my own messy hair.

  None of that happens.

  I get an inch away from his mouth, my eyelids fluttering with nerves and uncertainty whether they should close or remain open, and Henry turns a few inches to his left, stiffening and backing away just enough to keep me from making this worse—as if I can make this worse somehow. The rush of heat that coats me isn’t from passion—it’s from humiliation. My eyes remain open just long enough to see the movement in his neck as he clears his throat. His soft smile is replaced with a hard line, drawn under the pity that slants his eyes.

  I think I understand hell a little better now. It helps that I’m in it.

  “I’m just tired. I…” Why I try to speak, I don’t know.

  “It’s fine.” His voice is laced with discomfort. In one blink I erased everything that was easy between us. All because of my damn fantasies.

  Fine. That word—so short, so four-lettered. Such a lie. I ruined everything.

  “It’s the stress…and I really have been at this for a while. I think I probably need a break, or to get outside or…”

  Henry stands while I stammer, pushing his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and backing away a few steps.

  “No, no…I get it. Your test is tomorrow. I should probably let you keep cramming. I’m…you know what? You’re probably better your way. Just keep at it. It will work. You’ve got this.” He glances at me for a breath, flashing the smirk of a salesman. The only thing missing is the wink that seals the deal. “Your roommate is going to sing soon. I need more things to blackmail her with, so I’m gonna head down and video it. I’ll send it to you.”

  He points at me as he swings open the door, the finger’s version of a wink. I don’t answer. My head says I should smile, but I’m pretty sure my face just contorts into a painful bitterness. I quit trying when his back is to me, and I groan heavily when the door clicks shut.

  Concentrating at any point tonight will be impossible. A good ten minutes pass before I blink my gaze back to the page, and another fifteen go by before I even attempt to read the words. I’m too stunned to cry. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to. I just…can’t.

  Defeated, I flip my book closed again. I’m sure I’ll get the exact same grade.

  I drop my book into its space in my backpack, just between my music sheets and the geometry book that someone drew naughty pictures in the year before. I shuffle my feet to the center of the room with my bag dragging on the ground at my side, and I stop long enough to try to spot Henry in the crowd below. The common room in a giant, sunken living-room type space built into the atrium of our two dorm buildings. The study hall rooms for every floor—on both the boys’ side and ours—have windows that look out over the space. Enormous wood-carved trees and leaves crawl up toward the glass ceiling. The sculptured artwork was donated from a former student who now designs pieces for celebrities and dignitaries. An Le, the name I read on the plaque, is the same person who designed the ornate pillars that welcomed me for a year through Elena’s front door. Henry said that Elena’s company is filled with work from the artist; they knew each other when they attended the school.

  I like this piece here at Satis House more than the ones I’ve seen in books and at Elena’s though. It’s soothing. Sometimes the air inside the building touches the thinly carved leaves just enough to make them rustle like the giant cottonwood trees that lined the river my dad used to take me to for swimming in the summer. I hold my breath to listen now, hoping maybe the branches will move enough to make a sound. The air is quiet inside tonight, though. It’s getting colder out, so I probably won’t hear that sound for months now. Not until the air conditioning comes back on in the spring.

  Henry is leaning against the thick, glazed trunk. So boyish from up above, he’s talking with my roommate and tilting his head with laughter. I imagine the sound of it, so clear in my head. There are things about him I’ve memorized.

  Crushing.

  Crushed.

  “Right,” I say to myself, pulling my bag up over my shoulder. Henry was right…ish. I should know this stuff on my test. If I don’t by now, another two hours in here is not going to help. Denying myself a little fun is just going to make me resentful. Plus, I don’t think I will ever sleep if I don’t somehow fix the mess I made between me and that stupid, adorable boy below.

  I flip the lights off on my way out of the room and stop at my room to dump my school bag on my bed. I lock up then take the stairs rather than the elevator down to the main floor. I like the time to think, and the elevator always smells like pot, so I try to avoid it when I can. I push open the heavy glass doors and am surrounded with a Lady Gaga-like wall of sound immediately. When I search for the source and find Anya, the small girl down the hall standing on the circular stage in the very middle of the pit, I let my mouth fall way open and begin to clap.

  “She’s good, right? Like…she’s the legit real thing,” Nicki shouts in my ear.

  I stare at her and nod, still in shock. It seems impossible for the sound we hear to be emanating from such a tiny frame. With every new note that Anya climbs to, we bend backward and shout “Whoa!” in synchrony. By the end, Nicki and I have decided that Anya needs to be discovered, or that Nicki and I need to form a corporation to sign her and turn the three of us into multi-millionaires.

  We inch our way close to the stage to greet our friend on her way down from the stage, and I grab both of her arms as soon as I can touch her, shaking her lightly and forcing out an embarrassed laugh.

  “Girl, what the hell was that?” Nicki play slaps Anya’s arm. She shrugs under my grip—I’m not letting go until I understand what I’m looking at.

  “You guys knew I was a vocal emphasis.” Her lips pucker into a modest smile, and Nicki and I bark out a laugh.

  “Anya, that’s a powerhouse—not an emphasis!” Her eyes meet mine at my compliment, and they fire up for a tiny second.

  “Thank you,” she says, her voice sheepish. Modesty takes over again quickly, but I saw it there—just a glimpse. Anya was proud, and she was fully aware of what she did up on that stage. That wasn’t her first time, and it won’t be her last either.

  “Ring…ring!” I stiffen when I hear Henry’s voice, and Nicki’s eyes squint the smallest bit. She tilts her head a hint with suspicion, so I give her a shake of my own and mouth the word “later.” Maybe she’ll be able to help me untangle the mess I made thinking Henry and I were about to kiss when clearly…we weren’t.