Page 9
The grown-ups—still in the depths of noisy, good-humoured conversation—pay us no notice, so I put down my book and reach for the pink packet. The boy takes the blue one—salt and vinegar—and soon we’re munching away.
He offers me that grin again, the same one he gave when we were rafting. I smile back then lower my gaze, hoping my cheeks aren’t burning as pink as the crisp packet.
“Is your book any good?”
I glance up. “Mmm . . . it’s okay.”
“There’s this spot upstairs where I read. It’s the only place I can get peace and quiet. Two brothers and a sister, you know?”
I nod, though I don’t know. It’s just me and my dad. Sometimes it’s too quiet.
“Anyway, this spot, it’s kind of a secret. But I can show you it, if you like?”
“Okay.”
That grin again. “Follow me.”
I look back over at Dad, who’s in the middle of an anecdote. He meets my eye and, smiling, gestures that I can head upstairs if I want. So I do: I follow the boy to the top floor. There, he opens a door marked private. Beyond is a cupboard filled with cleaning supplies.
I give him a hard stare. “Really? I’d rather read downstairs.”
He winks at me then moves aside a panel, revealing a hole. “C’mon!”
He grabs a hold of my hand, both surprising and exciting me. I’m certain my cheeks are burning now, but if he notices, he doesn’t comment.
He tugs me down to my knees then releases my hand to crawl through first, ushering me to follow him. Once through, he flicks a switch, and a battery-powered lantern comes to life, illuminating a small, cosy space beneath a sloped roof. Cushions and blankets cover wooden floorboards. Rain patters overhead.
“It’s not much, but—”
“I love it! It’s like something out of a film or a book. A secret den!”
We finish our crisps, not saying anything but enjoying each other’s company. It’s not until we’re done that he speaks again, in that Scottish accent of his—an accent I’m fast growing fond of.
“You’re going home tomorrow, aye?”
I nod.
“Thought so. There’s something I’ve wanted to do since you got here. I suppose this is my last chance, so . . .” He scoots closer to me. “Would it be okay if I . . . ? I mean, can I . . . can I kiss you?”
My heart pounds. My mouth feels as dry as sandpaper. I’ve never been kissed by a boy before.
“Sorry, it was a stupid idea. Just forget—”
“Yes!” I say. “You can kiss me.”
His eyes widen. “Great.”
But he doesn’t move, and neither do I. I don’t know that either of us really knows what to do. Then, hesitantly, he takes my hands in his, leans closer to me, and presses his mouth against mine.
Our lips part. His tongue darts against mine. My whole body tingles.
It’s only a quick kiss, and when we break apart, his grin is back. He scratches his head, watching me. He glances down at the floor then back up again.
“Er, was that okay?”
Shyly, I nod.
His grin widens. He turns and hunts for something in the corner of the den. A penknife. He flicks open the blade.
