“What’re you-”

“Shhhhhh,” she whispers, motioning across the roof. As she waves me next to her, I realize who she’s trying to avoid. On the other side of the roof is a man wearing a dark baseball cap and dark blue fatigues. In the moonlight, I see the outline of the long-distance rifle that’s hanging from his shoulder. A countersniper-the executive branch version of Rambo.

“Are you sure this is safe?”

“Don’t worry,” Nora says. “They’re harmless.”

“Harmless? That guy can kill me with a roll of Scotch tape and a highlighter. I mean, what if he thinks we’re spies?”

“Then he’ll stick us down and color us bright yellow.”

“Nora… ”

“Relax… ” she moans, mimicking my whine. “He knows who we are. As soon as I got up here, he took off to the other corner. As long as we keep it quiet, they won’t even report it.”

Struggling to act relieved, I scooch next to her and lean against the marble air vent.

“Still worried?” she asks as her shoulder rubs against mine.

“No,” I say, enjoying her touch. “But I’m warning you-if I get shot, you better avenge me.”

“I think you should be okay. All the times I’ve been up here, no one’s ever shot at me.”

“Of course not-you’re the crown jewel. I’m the one who’s target practice.”

“That’s not true. They won’t shoot at you without a good reason.”

“And what kind of reason is that?”

“You know,” she says, turning my way. “Assaulting the complex, threatening my parents, attacking one of the First Kids… ”

“Wait, wait, wait-define attack.”

“Oh, that’s a hard one,” she says as her hand flits across my chest. “I think it’s one of those know-it-when-you-see-it things.”

“Like pornography.”

“Actually, that’s not such a bad analogy,” she tells me.

I reach over and put my hand on her hip. “Does this qualify?”

“As what? Pornography or an attack?”

I take an immensely long look into her eyes. “Either.”

She seems to like that one.

“So does it qualify?” I repeat.

She doesn’t glance down. “Hard to say.”

I slide my hand a little higher, slowly making my way to her untucked shirt. As I sneak beneath it, my fingers dip inside the waistband of her jeans and brush against the edge of her underwear. Her skin is so tight it makes me miss college. As smoothly as possible, I make my way up her stomach.

“Not there,” she says, grabbing my hand.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… ”

“No worries,” she says as she offers me a smile. Pointing to her lips, she adds, “Just start a little higher.”

I’m about to lean in when I see her pull something from her mouth.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

“Just getting rid of my gum.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a tiny sheet of paper. As she turns her back to me, she wraps her gum in it and throws in a new piece.

“Want to take out your retainer as well?” I mutter.

Facing me, Nora’s sucking on her pointer finger. Pulling it from her mouth, she lets outs a sharp kissing sound. “Come again?”

I don’t have a single response that’ll do her justice. Instead, I just sit there for a second, enjoying.

For Nora, it’s a second too long. In one quick movement, she rolls over, straddles my legs, and, with a slight tug, pulls me toward her and glides her tongue between my lips. Right there, it all comes rushing back. Over the past two weeks, I’ve had dreams about her smell. Its bittersweetness-almost narcotic. As soon as we kiss, she slides her gum into my mouth. My girlfriend in fifth grade used to do that. I go to chew it, but it feels like it’s still wrapped in paper. Caught off guard, I pull away in mid-cough. It’s too solid. Unable to pry the gum loose with my tongue, I shove two fingers to the back of my throat, but before I can pull it out, it’s gone, accidentally swallowed.

“You okay?” she asks.

“I think so-it’s just… I wasn’t ready for it.”

“Don’t worry,” she says with a sweet laugh. “I don’t mind starting over.” Once again, she leans forward and slips me her tongue. My fingers run through her hair; her kisses grow more forceful. Eventually, we find each other’s flow. From there, it takes me a few minutes of kissing to nerve myself back into exploratory mode, but I eventually smooth my hands along the back of her shirt and feel around for her bra. She’s not wearing one. Lost in her kiss, I feel time disappear. It could be fifteen minutes or fifty-but we’re starting to burn.

Still on top of me, she pushes me back and slides her hands under my shirt. Unlike her, I don’t fight it-I just lie back on my elbows and close my eyes. Her close-cropped nails bite their way up the sides of my chest and behind my shoulders. Where she straddles my legs, I feel her heat up against me. It’s a slow rhythm at first, a nearly invisible grind. Slowly, she picks up the pace. In an instant, however, it’s all torn away.

Feeling light-headed, I’m hit with a sudden onset of nausea. I try to stop myself from coughing and dry heaving, but the whole world is suddenly blinking on and off. As I look up, everything starts sliding to the right. Across the yellow sky, I see one plane become four. The Washington Monument becomes the neck of a swan. “What’s happening?” I ask, though I hear no sound. It’s all static.

Struggling to stay conscious, I stand up and stagger to the edge of the roof. It’s not that high anymore. Just a small step down. I go to take it, but something pulls me back. Back against the chimney. It hurts, but it doesn’t. Sinking down in my seat, I’m having a hard time keeping my head up. My neck keeps sagging, like it’s stuffed with grape jelly. In the back of my throat, I still feel the tickle of the swallowed gum. How long ago was that? Twenty minutes? Thirty? The static’s getting louder. Unable to hold my head up, I let it crash back against the chimney. I look over at Nora, but all she’s doing is laughing. Her mouth’s wide open and she’s laughing. Laughing. A mouthful of teeth. And fangs.

“Son of a bitch,” I mumble as the world goes black. She drugged me.

CHAPTER 19

Michael, are you okay?” Nora asks as I pry open my eyes. “Can you hear me?” When I don’t answer, she repeats the original question. “You okay? You feeling okay?” Each time she says it, it sounds less like a question and more like an order.

Blinking my way back to consciousness, I’m trying to figure out how I got tucked into this bed. I pull the cold washcloth from my forehead and take a quick look around. The antique armoire and the built-in bookshelves tell me I’m not in a hospital. The Princeton diploma on the far wall tells me the rest. Nora’s room.

“How’re you doing?” she asks, her voice racing with concern.

“Shitty,” I reply as I sit up in bed. “What the hell happened?” Before she can answer, a wave of vertigo sweeps up from the base of my skull. Reeling from the sudden onslaught, I close my eyes and grit my teeth. My vision goes gray, then comes back again.

“Michael, are you-”

“I’m fine,” I insist as I feel it pass. Slowly, my fists tighten. “What the hell did you put in my mouth?”

“I’m so sorry… ”

“Just tell me, Nora.”

“I shouldn’t have done that to you-”

“Stop fuckin’ apologizing. I felt the paper in the gum!”

Surprised by the outburst, she slinks backwards, moving farther toward the foot of the bed. “I swear, it wasn’t supposed to make you pass out,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I never meant for that to happen.”

“Just tell me what it was.”

Staring down at the stark white blanket, she doesn’t answer. She can barely face me.

“Dammit, Nora, tell me what it-”

“Acid,” she finally whispers. “Just a single tab of acid.”

“Just a… Are you completely out of your head? Do you even realize what you just did?”

“Please don’t be mad, Michael-I didn’t mean to-”