She frowned, her lips pouting out in a distracting way. I worked to hold on to my focus.
“Or is it frustrating like, say, she’s done a bunch of other strange things—for example, saving your life under impossible circumstances one day, then treating you like a pariah the next—and she never explained any of that, either, even after she promised? Frustrating like that?”
Her frown twitched, then settled into a deeper scowl. “You’re really not over that yet?”
“Not quite yet.”
“Would another apology help?”
“An explanation would be better.”
She pursed her lips, then glanced past my left arm and laughed once.
“What?”
“Your girlfriend thinks I’m being mean to you—she’s debating whether or not to come break up our fight.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend, and you’re trying to change the subject.”
She ignored the second half of my statement. “You might not think of her that way, but it’s how she thinks of you.”
“There’s no way that’s true.”
“It is. I told you, most people are very easy to read.”
“Except me.”
“Yes, except for you.” Her eyes shifted to me and intensified, drilling into mine. “I wonder why that is.”
I had to look away. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing it.
“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked.
Her stare was less penetrating now, I saw with relief. “No.” I didn’t think it was necessary to mention that my stomach wasn’t steady enough for food. “You?” I looked at the empty table in front of her.
“No, I’m not hungry.” She smiled like I was missing some inside joke.
“Can you do me a favor?” I asked, the words escaping before I could make sure they were allowed.
She got serious quickly. “That depends on what you want.”
“It’s not much,” I promised.
She waited, still guarded but clearly curious.
“Could you warn me beforehand? The next time you decide to ignore me? For my own good, or whatever. Just so I’m prepared.” I looked at the lemonade again as I asked, tracing the lip of the opening with one finger.
“That sounds fair.”
She looked like she was trying not to laugh when I glanced up.
“Thanks.”
“Can I have a favor in return?” she asked.
“Sure.” It was my turn to be curious. What would she want from me?
“Tell me one of your theories.”
Whoops. “No way.”
“You promised me a favor.”
“And you’ve broken promises before,” I reminded her.
“Just one theory—I won’t laugh.”
“Yes, you will.” I had no doubt about that.
She looked down, then glanced up at me through her thick lashes, her long gold eyes scorching underneath.
“Please?” she breathed, leaning toward me. Without permission, my body leaned closer to her, like she was a magnet and I was a paper clip, till her face was less than a foot from mine. My mind went totally blank.
I shook my head, trying to clear it, and forced myself to sit back. “Um… what?”
“One little theory,” she purred. “Please?”
“Well, er, bitten by a radioactive spider?” Was she a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?
She rolled her eyes. “That’s not very creative.”
“Sorry, that’s all I’ve got.”
“You’re not even close.”
“No spiders?”
“No spiders.”
“No radioactivity?”
“None at all.”
“Huh,” I mumbled.
She chuckled. “Kryptonite doesn’t bother me, either.”
“You’re not supposed to laugh, remember?”
She pressed her lips together, but her shoulders shook from holding the laughter back.
“I’ll figure it out eventually,” I muttered.
Her humor vanished like a switch flipped off. “I wish you wouldn’t try.”
“How can I not wonder? I mean… you’re impossible.” I didn’t say it like a criticism, just a statement. You are not possible. You are more than what is possible.
She understood. “But what if I’m not a superhero? What if I’m the villain?” She smiled as she said this, playfully, but her eyes were heavy with some burden I couldn’t imagine.
“Oh,” I said, surprised. Her many hints started adding up until they finally made sense. “Oh, okay.”
She waited, suddenly rigid with stress. In that second, all of her walls seemed to disappear.
“What exactly does okay mean?” she asked so quietly it was almost a whisper.
I tried to order my thoughts, but her anxiety pushed me to answer faster. I said the words without preparing them first.
“You’re dangerous?” It came out like a question, and there was doubt in my voice. She was smaller than I was, no more than my age, and delicately built. Under normal circumstances, I would have laughed at applying the word dangerous to someone like her. But she was not normal, and there was no one like her. I remembered the first time she’d glared at me with hate in her eyes, and I’d felt genuinely afraid, though I hadn’t understood that reaction in the moment, and I’d thought it foolish just seconds later. Now I understood. Under the doubt, outside the incongruity of the word dangerous applied to her slim and perfect body, I could feel the truth of the foundation. The danger was real, though my logical mind couldn’t make sense of it. And she’d been trying to warn me all along.