Page 86 of Even After Sunset

I let my eyes roam from his lips to his eyes, then further up. And I burst out laughing.

“You’ve got so much cotton candy stuck in your hair! You look like a granny who just came back from getting a rinse or something from the salon.”

He rolls his eyes. “Wow. Sexy.”

And then he looks down at my hair and cracks his own smile. “You’re not entirely cotton-candy-free yourself, Ms. Delaney. Just what have you been getting up to this fine evening?”

We both laugh this time, and then I lean into him, up on my tiptoes, and kiss him on the lips. He still tastes like spun sugar and laughter.

“Thank you,” I say. “For tonight… For saving my butt, and for helping me out.”

He grins.

“Thanks for not kicking me to the curb when you first found me passed out on your bed.”

I come down off my tiptoes. “I don’t suppose the generous cotton-candy machine guy also happened to throw in a jumbo-size bottle of spray cleaner, did he?”

Silas mashes his lips together, like he’s actually thinking about it.

“Can’t say that he did,” then he grins, and adds: “That stingy bastard.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jackie

The next morning, we have breakfast up on Trudy’s back. Silas’ idea, not mine. He wakes me up at five-twenty in the morning to ask if I feel like watching the sunrise with him on the roof, and no way am I going to say no to that—even if five-twenty is really,reallyearly. But once I’m up, I’m so grateful that he did wake me, because it’s one of the most beautiful sunrises I’ve ever seen. And we’re the only people awake anywhere on the festival grounds, so it’s all ours.

Silas somehow lugs his mattress up onto the roof and I pass up a couple of blankets to keep us warm since it’s still kind of cool. I put his hoodie on, too. I never gave it back to him after the other night, and I’m hoping he hasn’t noticed.

We sit huddled close together, and it doesn’t feel as weird as I thought it would. The sunrise unfolds before us like a live water-color spectacle just for us: oranges that melt into pinks and purples and finally a multitude of blues. It’s weird to think that these sunrises happen every single morning, and I’ve spent most of my life oblivious to them. I’m ashamed I’ve turned my back on something so beautiful just for an extra couple hours of sleep.

I doubt Silas would see it that way. I know he is up at this time every morning, but it definitely isn’t by choice. It makes me wonder if he would miss these beautiful sunrises if he ever found a way to get rid of his insomnia.

He pulls a course plastic bag from beneath his hoodie: the interior package of a cereal box, I realize.

“Dry Fruit Loops?” he asks, offering the bag to me.

I laugh. This boy, with the criminal record and two-year stint in juvenile hall… still managed to hold on to some of his most boyish qualities—the ones I always loved the most: the little quirks that had the rest of us wondering what crazy plan he would come up with next, what weird object or food item or insect he would produce from his crumb-filled pockets.

“I would love some,” I tell him, dipping my hand into the bag. I scoop up a handful. “Thanks.”

As I pull my hand out, I notice that his own hands are shaking. Badly. And I don’t remember noticing that before.

“Silas…” My eyes crease. “Are you okay?”

He gives me a quizzical look, then glances down at where I’m staring, at his still shaking hands.

He pulls the bag away.

“Yeah. Just… I need another coffee, I guess.”

He suddenly looks embarrassed and I hate that I seem to have a special knack for making him feel self-conscious, when I want to be the one who makes him feel comfortable and unequivocally accepted.

“Did you sleep last night?”

“Yeah… Some.”

Which means he didn’t. So that must be the reason for the shaky hands.

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