Page 82 of Show Off

“They’d understand.”

She looks up sharply. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because they love you.” I wave in the general direction her siblings all vanished, a gesture meant to encompass them all. “They know you. It doesn’t matter if you all share the exact same bloodlines.”

“I know that.” She looks at the path, eyes cast down as she considers my words. “Secrets don’t make people love you any less,” she says softly, conscious of cameras even though none are nearby. “But they can make them see you differently.”

“I get that.” I really do. “But maybe that’s okay.”

“How do you mean?”

I’m treading innone-of-your-businessterritory. Or maybe last night changed things? “You’ve said yourself they’ve always treated you like the baby of the family. What if this could shift things?”

“For the better, you mean.”

“Maybe.”

Lana stops to grab a gum wrapper on the walkway. She does this without comment, pausing to toss it in the trash ten feet ahead.

“That,” I say without meaning to.

Blue eyes swing to mine. “What?”

“That’s one of the things I love about you.” I gesture to the trash can, drawing a look of puzzlement. “You’re always looking out for everything and everyone—your siblings, your community. Even Mouse.” My good dog wags her tail, happy to be included.

Lana looks baffled, like it never occurred to her not to be a good human. “Well, yeah,” she says slowly, wiping her hands on her shorts. “Sisters and brothers look out for each other. I’m just doing my part.”

I know I risk overstepping here. “I just hope you’re not giving too much. Sacrificing on the altar of putting everyone else first.”

She laughs like I’ve said something funny. “Is that what you’re doing?”

My turn to be puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Making me breakfast.” She grins and bumps me with her elbow. “Making me come six times before sunrise.”

“It was my pleasure.” Literally. “You deserve the world, Lana. You deserve to be treated as honorably as you treat everyone and everything else.”

“That’s sweet,” she says softly. “Does that make you my self-appointed protector?”

“I can be,” I say, not sure we’re having the same conversation. “If you want that.”

“I wantyou.” Her earnest tone tugs the strings in my heart. “And I’ll gladly take what comes with the package.”

“Deal.” Do we make this official? “Want to be my girlfriend?”

She barks out a laugh, which I’m coming to learn doesn’t mean she’s amused. Just surprised. “Absolutely. Wait.” She catches my arm with both hands. “Should you pass me one of those notes with checkboxes?”

I frown. “What notes?”

“I forget sometimes you didn’t grow up in this country.” She lets go of my arm and starts walking again. “I was just joking.”

“Explain the joke, please.” I know that’s annoying, but I love hearing how her mind works. “What are the checkboxes?”

“Kids in school used to pass notes,” she says. “Stuff like, ‘Do you like me? Check the box.’ And then there’d be squares for stuff like, ‘yes, no, maybe.’” There’s a pause and a self-deprecating laugh. “I don’t know for sure, because I never got one, but I’ve seen it in movies.”

How funny her life must’ve been. Seeing American rites of passage, not through firsthand experience, but through films produced and starred in by her family. “We didn’t quite manage the car sex.” I feel a bit bad about that. “But I can definitely pass you a note.”

“Deal.” She laughs and grabs my arm again. “Let’s talk about you.”

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