“What does that mean, David?”

“You don’t have a heartbeat, Laurel. You probably don’t even have a heart.”

Chapter 11

LAUREL’S WHOLE BODY WAS SHAKING NOW. SHE FELT David’s arms, warm and heavy around her, and it seemed like she couldn’t feel anything else.

He was a lifeline, and she wasn’t sure she could survive the next few seconds if he let go. “What am I supposed to do, David?”

“You don’t need to do anything.”

“You’re right,” she said in a despondent tone. “I just need to wait for the rest of my body to realize it’s dead.”

David pulled her close and stroked her hair. She clung to his shirt as tears overwhelmed her, and she struggled to draw breath.

“No,” David murmured close to her ear. “You’re not going to die.” His cheek rubbed against hers, rough with a sparse growth of stubble. The tip of his nose traveled the length of her face, and her tears halted as she focused on the feeling of his face touching hers. He was so warm against her skin, which was always cool. His lips brushed her forehead, and a tiny shiver went up her spine.

His brow rested on hers, and her eyelids opened of their own accord, her thoughts lost in the ocean of blue in his eyes. He brushed his lips ever so softly against hers, and a wave of heat unlike anything she’d ever felt spread from her lips across her face.

When she didn’t move, he kissed her again, a little more confidently this time. In an instant, he became part of the storm that raged within her and her arms twined up around his neck, pulling him in closer, tighter, trying to draw that incredible warmth inside her. It could have been seconds, minutes, hours—time was meaningless as his warm body pressed against hers and that slow heat enveloped her.

When David pulled back almost violently and gasped for breath, reality invaded Laurel’s mind. What have I done?

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Ssshh.” Laurel pressed her fingers against his lips. “It’s okay.” She didn’t let go of him, and when she didn’t seem to protest, David hesitantly leaned in again.

At the last second, Laurel stopped him with a hand on his chest and shook her head. She took a deep breath then said, “I don’t know if what I feel is real or just me panicking or…” She paused. “I can’t do this, David. Not with everything else going on.”

He pulled away slowly and was quiet for a long time. “Then I’ll wait,” he said, barely audible.

Laurel picked up her backpack. “I should go,” she said uselessly.

David’s eyes followed her as she crossed the room.

She paused to look back once more before stepping through the doorway and pulling the door shut behind her.

In biology, Laurel selected her usual spot but didn’t get her books out. She sat with her back totally straight and strained her ears for the sound of David’s familiar step. Even so, she was startled when he plunked his backpack down on the table beside her. She made herself look up at him, but instead of the tense, wary face she was expecting, she found a broad smile and cheeks flushed with excitement. “I did some reading last night,” he said without greeting, “and I have some theories.”

Theories? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. In fact, something about the expression on his face made her fairly certain she didn’t want to know.

He flipped a book open and slid it in front of her.

“A Venus flytrap? You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl.” She tried to shove the book back over to him, but he put both hands on it and held it there.

“Just listen for a second. I’m not saying you’re a Venus flytrap. But read a little about its eating habits.”

“It’s carnivorous, David.”

“Technically yes, but read why.” His fingers flew over the paragraphs he had highlighted in bright green. “Flytraps grow best in poor soil—generally soil that has very little nitrogen. They eat flies because flies’ bodies carry a lot of nitrogen but no fat or cholesterol. It’s not about the meat; it’s about the kind of nutrients they need.” He turned to the next page. “Look here, it talks about what to feed a household Venus flytrap. It says a lot of people feed it little pieces of hamburger and steak because, like you said, they just think, ‘Hey, it’s carnivorous.’ But actually you can kill a flytrap by feeding it hamburger, because hamburger has a lot of fat and cholesterol and the plant can’t digest that.”

Laurel just stared in horror at the picture of the monstrous-looking plant and wondered how in the world David could think she was like it. “I’m not following,”

she said flatly.

“The nutrients, Laurel. You don’t drink milk, do you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It makes me sick.”

“I bet it makes you sick because there’s fat and cholesterol in it. What do you drink?”

“Water, soda.” She paused, thinking. “The syrup in my mom’s canned peaches.

That’s pretty much it.”

“Water and sugar. You ever put sugar in a vase of flowers to keep them alive?

The flowers love it; they suck it right up.”

David’s explanation made way too much sense. Laurel’s head began to ache.

“So why don’t I eat flies?” Laurel asked sarcastically as she rubbed her temples.