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Every time I push him, he responds aggressively and we digress, and I’m finally getting through to him. Eventually, he reaches over to his pile of things and grabs a black bag, then pulls something small and sharp out of it.

Scissors. A whole shaving kit, actually. He leans over and hands me the pair of tiny silver scissors.

“What are you doing?” I ask him.

“I want you to fucking cut it.”

I blink at him a couple of times and shake my head. “I thought Naomi liked your hair?”

“She does,” he snaps at me. “That’s the point.”

I scoff at the tiny scissors hanging off my pinky and stare at his thick, dread-like hair. “I can’t cut your hair with these. It will take forever. It’s too long and thick. What you are asking me will literally take me hours. Plus, your hair is dirty, and it stinks. I don’t particularly want to touch it.”

He sits in front of me, stretching his legs out. “Good thing we have tons of time. Now, get to cutting.”

Fucking hell.

I suck in a breath as he pulls his hood down, revealing just how much hair he has. It nearly hangs down to his shoulders.

“Fine,” I mutter. “Sit closer so I don’t have to lean in. And remember, I only have one working hand.” I sink back into the rough texture of the rock face, appreciating its solid support against my back. I rest my hurt arm on his shoulder and start to take tiny snips, working my way from the bottom. He fidgets, clearly uncomfortable to be sitting so close to me.

“Quit moving. If you want me to do this right, sit still. Otherwise, I will just shave it bald.”

He merely grunts. “Do a good job. Make it look good.”

“I will.”

A half an hour goes by as I focus on my task, the sun moving across the blistering blue sky. Cutting his hair is almost mesmerizing.

No voices, no worries, no fear—just cutting… I see why Micah spends all his time carving.

I’m about halfway through his haircut when he turns his head toward me. “What went on with that teacher and you, anyway?”

I pause momentarily before continuing my snipping. “I fucked him once in a hotel room. His wife found out about it because he was sloppy and left receipts. She was obviously suspicious of him. My entire school blacklisted me once it got out.”

He chuckles. “That’s actually pretty savage.”

I slide the scissors down his neck, and he stiffens. “I don’t want to talk about it. He doesn’t matter. In fact, he’s irrelevant to me now. It was wrong, and I feel like I’ve been punished enough for it.”

“Sorry, I was just curious. I thought we were bonding,” he says cautiously as I work the scissors near the longer hairs by his ear.

“Don’t apologize. It is what it is, and it’s over now. I just don’t see a point in discussing my mistakes.”

He shifts forward. “Well, what do you want to talk about, then?”

I ponder for a moment and smile at the fact that Ezra Schwartz wants to talk to me at all. “Tell me about Maison. I want to hear everything, and I want to hear something about him I don’t know.”

I’ve spent the last three months with someone who would rather forget Maison, so it’s nice to be with someone who brings him alive in my head again.

“When he was in his junior year, he had a goal to fuck every girl in our graduating class.”

I poke him in the ribs. “Not funny.” But it’s likely true. “Tell me something else.”

“He was a poet.”

This catches my attention.

“He was good at it, too. He always had a way of seeing the bright side of everything.”