Something fills my chest, and he’s so close, it makes me feel so weird. Like something is pulling me.
I can’t look away, and he holds my eyes, too, and it’s like I can’t stop it. The pull.
His lips touch mine, and I feel like I’m on a roller coaster.
It makes me stop breathing as tickles hit me everywhere, and then I pull away.
I clutch the board tighter, heat rising to my face. “Why did you do that?”
“I didn’t do it. You did it,” he charges.
“I did not.”
God, I’m so embarrassed.
I glance back at him, trying to see if he’s mad, but he looks just as embarrassed as me.
I didn’t kiss him, did I? It was him.
Or both of us. Ughhhh…
He nudges me. “Hurry. Come on.”
And although I’m still mortified, I breathe easier knowing he still wants to go up in the tree.
Cool. Let’s just forget about it then.
I climb to the top and stop, waiting for him to catch up behind me and push open the door. He does, and it flies up and tips over, hitting the floor.
I smile, relieved. I scurry the rest of the way and crawl up onto the floor of the treehouse, pulling myself to a standing position.
I rise, the wind blowing against me and the leaves of the tree rustling all around.
“Whoa,” I breathe out.
It’s like another world.
I turn in a circle, the space kind of an odd-shaped circle but so big, and I can see out over some of the trees, finding the clock tower in town and the roofs of some of the estates in the area.
I point, smiling. “I see the ocean!”
Through the branches, out beyond the forest, lays the silver water spanning all the way to the horizon, and I tip my head back, looking up into the clutter of leaves over our heads and the branches within reach in case we want to climb farther.
He’s so lucky. This is the best. I wish I had this at my house. I’d never leave.
He lets me take it all in as he puts his hands in his pockets and walks around me. I scan the treehouse floor, seeing a lantern, a sleeping bag, some drawings, and empty chip bags, and soda cans.
I look at him. “Why do you hide in the fountain when you have this place?”
“Because they know about this place.”
He’s quick to answer, so he must know from experience. How often does he hide? Is he always alone when he does? He shouldn’t always be alone.
I walk to the railing facing Damon’s house and see some of the party going on, but I’m too far away to recognize anyone or hear any of the music.
He comes up to my side. “Why are you named Winter?”
“It’s a poem by Walter de la Mare,” I tell him, still taking in the vast scenery as I recite part of it. “‘Thick draws the dark, And spark by spark, The frost-fires kindle, and soon, Over that sea of frozen foam, Floats the white moon.’”