Foes & Cons by Carrie Aarons (i am malala young readers edition .txt) 📗

the whole thing is going to end in a spectacularly bad fashion, but I’m not meddling in anyone else’s love life. Mine is far too complicated as it is. Or it was.

“You ready?” Sawyer asks, lacing his gloved hand, not holding the massive snow tube in my gloved hand.

“Race you to the bottom!” I shout at Matt and Laura, as Sawyer and I hastily climb in.

I’m up front, with Sawyer behind me holding my waist. With him in back, we’ll be shooting down the mountain at light speed, but I kind of welcome the rush.

“You’re my wild thing.” He presses his mouth to my ear as the wind invades every nook and cranny of my bones.

I’ve never been called wild or had it said in such a territorial way. But it heats my cells, muscles, and pores against the freezing temperatures, and sends a thrill through my gut. Once upon a time, Sawyer and I went on every adventure together. Hand in hand, we climbed obstacles, slayed imaginary dragons, snuck through graveyards, and pushed each other’s comfort zones.

When we fell apart, I lost a piece of myself. I gained independence, yes, but without my partner in crime, stuff like this just wasn’t as fun. As we whiz across the slick snow, I grab his hands that are solid around my middle.

My heart beats for him, for this. We might fall, go flying, hurt ourselves. But I know that when we do, he’ll be there picking me back up.

31

Blair

There is a ping at my window, and I sit straight up in bed.

I usually don’t buy into ghost stories, and aside from The Exorcist when I was ten, scary movies don’t affect me all that much. But when a second ping sounds in my dark room, goose bumps pop out along my flesh.

If there is one thing I don’t love, it’s the dark and strange noises.

Ping. Ping.

It comes again and again, right from the window, and I look over. The next time it happens, I see a little flash, and I carefully toe my feet out from under the covers and set them on the floor. Creeping to the window, my hands shake and a nervous shiver runs down my spine. The ping comes again and I nearly jump, though it spurs me on to really investigate.

My nose is nearly at the pane of glass, dread filling a pit in my stomach, when I see what is making the noise.

Looking out, I see the boy I’ve been in love with nearly my whole life standing on the ground below. The breath I’ve been holding for what seems like an hour exhales like I’m rapidly letting it out of a balloon, and I roll my eyes.

Wrenching open the window, I’m prepared to rip into Sawyer.

“What the hell are you doing?” My voice is almost silent, hoping my father can’t hear any of this.

He’s standing in the moonlight, dark hair tousled from the wind and hands stuffed into the pockets of his letterman jacket. He’s the picture of a prom king, and that familiar ache between my legs feels heavy. How the heck can he do this to my body with just one look?

“I didn’t want tonight to end.” He shrugs from the ground.

My heart melts. Earlier tonight, Sawyer took me out to dinner for Valentine’s Day, our first one as boyfriend and girlfriend. We ate at Marianna’s, our favorite Italian joint, and he brought me a bouquet of roses when he picked me up. Sawyer opened my car door, asked me if he could order my dinner for me, and took extra long on the drive home so we could stop and make out.

“Me either.” I sigh, feeling like Juliet up on her balcony. “But you could have sent a text message. We don’t live in the Stone Age, literally.”

“I thought this would be more romantic. Come on, get dressed.” Sawyer’s face is lit by the moon.

“Where are we going?” I ask, but I’m already one foot out the window.

“For a drive.” That devilish smirk makes his dimple pop out.

Five minutes later, I have jeans and a sherpa on, with my hair pulled back in a ponytail. My sneaker-clad feet are inching out my window and onto the roof, but fear is seizing me by the throat.

“I don’t actually think I can do this.” The only other time I tried was when we were twelve and I nearly broke my arm.

“Trust me,” he says, holding out his arms.

The ground seems impossibly far in the dark, and if I’m not careful, I’ll break both my legs or something. Or, worse, wake up my dad.

“You can’t catch me!” I whisper-hiss, because that’s some unbelievable thing you see in a movie.

“B, you weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. I think I’ve got this.” Sawyer’s voice drips with sarcasm.

My stomach takes a nose dive, and it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m dangling from the trellis outside my bedroom window. He just used his nickname for me, and every time he does that now, I’m reminded how long I went without hearing it. But I can’t let go.

“You don’t trust me.” It’s a statement from down below, not a question.

I chew on my tongue, trying to come up with a response that won’t offend him. “It’s not that at all, I just … I don’t want to die.”

“Blair, I’m not going to let you fall. I wouldn’t be standing here, in the middle of the night, outside your window, if I wasn’t serious about being in love with you. I’m not going to let you fall. Trust me.”

My eyes flutter closed and I teeter on the edge, the night wind licking at my ears and neck. With a whispered prayer, I jump, hoping to God I don’t injure myself or him.

The ground rushes up at me, and I watch Sawyer brace himself. Strong arms catch me around the waist, but my momentum is too strong. Sawyer staggers backward, and I’m trying to