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purpose.”
    â€œRelax. A little human contact won’t hurt us.” Teasing, I tilted my head to the side to let it rest on his shoulder for a few seconds.
    Kian froze. Then he slowly turned his face toward mine, so I could see the ridge of his nose, his inky lashes, all the imperfections in his skin. Mostly, though, I saw the stunning disbelief in his jade eyes behind those lenses. I didn’t pull back, though I shouldn’t be close enough to kiss him. It was kind of weird, and he was too young, which made me feel like a creeper. I mean, obviously he thought I was only a year older, not four. Okay, three and a half. At Blackbriar, there were seniors who dated freshmen, but everyone kind of side-eyed over it because it seemed like they only did it because it was easier to get into their pants.
    But he didn’t lean in, exactly. He rested his head on mine briefly and then dug into his backpack. “Not sure if you’re interested but I have some music we can listen to…”
    I took the earbud and put it in my left ear, leaving him the right. It didn’t surprise me to learn that his favorite listening could’ve been featured on the soundtrack of Fallout: New Vegas. As the bus carried us closer to our destination, I listened to a mad soulful version of “I Had the Craziest Dream.” The song would’ve been the perfect choice for him to make a move, but Kian didn’t have the confidence for that. His gaze lingered on my lips for a few seconds, but I made the decision to shift away.
    You can’t.
    â€œYou like it?” he whispered.
    â€œIt’s fantastic. Who is this?”
    â€œNat King Cole. He’s best known for ‘Unforgettable.’”
    â€œOh yeah. I’ve heard that one.”
    We listened to another song before I nudged him that we had to get up. Kian glanced out the window in surprise. Apparently, he would’ve been happy to ride around the city with me all night on this crappy bus. My heart turned over. Don’t let him fall for you all the way. But I didn’t listen to that cautionary voice; I grabbed his hand and towed him toward the doors. The solitary point of contact made me feel like singing. His fingers were cold when he wrapped them around mine. He’s holding my hand. Not dead. Not gone. Not in extremis. The tears I couldn’t cry in the tub last night threatened at the worst possible time. I couldn’t let him think I was unstable; it might scare him away.
    â€œThis way,” I said, swinging our hands like little kids.
    There, that’s the opposite of romantic.
    When he saw the neon MADAME Q’S HOUSE OF STYLE sign, he paused. “Are we actually going in here?”
    The wigs in the window were a little creepy, but … “My wardrobe could use some augmentation, and my budget doesn’t stretch to the mall. I didn’t want to go shopping alone, though. Do you mind?”
    â€œI guess not,” he said.
    The bell tinkled when we stepped inside. A willowy woman wearing one of her wigs—or so I suspected—came out to greet us in a drift of colorful scarves and lilac perfume. This must be Devon’s mom. She beamed as she realized she had two customers.
    â€œAnything I can help you find?”
    â€œT-shirts, if you have any.”
    â€œSure, over here.” She forged a path through the racks to a table near the back.
    The store was crammed full to the point it was hard to maneuver with racks of old dresses rubbing up against vintage suits. If I ran the place, I’d organize the clothes by style instead of putting all the pants together. But maybe space didn’t permit a better system. I glanced at Kian, still standing awkwardly by the door, and beckoned.
    â€œHelp me pick something out.”
    â€œYou don’t want my help,” he mumbled.
    But he still came over as I picked through the offerings. Eventually, I dug up a couple of cool ones near the bottom, one