David was gently applying pressure to the end of her middle finger. A bead of clear liquid pooled out.
“What is that?” Laurel asked.
“I’m more concerned with what it’s not,” David replied. “It’s not red.”
Laurel just stared.
“Um, can I…?” David gestured at the box of slides.
“Of course,” Laurel said numbly.
David took a thin glass slide and dabbed Laurel’s finger against it. “Can I get a couple?”
Laurel just nodded.
Three slides later, David wrapped Laurel’s finger in a tissue and Laurel tucked her hands into her lap.
David sat beside her, his thigh touching hers. “Laurel, is this what always comes out when you cut yourself?”
“I haven’t cut myself in ages.”
“You have at least had a scraped knee at some point, haven’t you?”
“I’m sure I have, but…” Her voice trailed off as she realized she couldn’t pinpoint a single instance. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I can’t remember.”
David ran his fingers through his hair. “Laurel, have you ever bled…from anywhere in your whole life?”
She hated everything he was implying, but she couldn’t deny the truth. “I don’t know. I honestly can’t remember ever bleeding.”
David slid his chair back over to the microscope and put the new slide under the lighted scope, then studied it through the lens for a long time. He switched the slides and looked again. Then he pulled out a few red-stained slides from another box and worked them into the rotation.
Laurel didn’t move the whole time.
He turned to her. “Laurel,” he said, “what if you don’t have blood? What if this clear fluid is all that flows through your veins?”
Laurel shook her head. “That’s not possible. Everybody has blood, David.”
“Everybody’s epithelia are animal cells as well, Laurel—but not yours,” he responded. “You said your parents don’t believe in doctors. Have you ever been to see one?”
“When I was really little. My dad told me about it the other night.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, my gosh.” She related the story to David. “He knew, he must have.”
“Why wouldn’t he tell your parents?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head.
David was quiet, his brow knitted. When he spoke, it was hesitantly. “Do you mind if I try something?”
“As long as it doesn’t include cutting me open to look at my guts.”
He laughed.
Laurel didn’t.
“Can I take your pulse?”
Laurel was caught off-guard by the wave of relief and humor that washed over her. She started to laugh and couldn’t stop. David looked at her silently while she laughed out her hysteria, until she finally got herself back under control. “Sorry,” she said, breathing heavily as she warded off yet another wave of giggles. “It’s just…this is so much better than cutting me open.”
David smiled halfway and rolled his eyes. “Let me have your hand,” he said.
She held out her arm and he laid two fingers on her wrist. “Your skin is really cool,” he said. “I’m kinda surprised I haven’t noticed that before.” Then he was quiet, concentrating. After a while, he shifted from the chair to the bed beside her. “Let me try it up here on your neck.”
He held the back of her neck with one hand and placed his fingers firmly against the right side. She could feel his breath on her cheek, and even though he was looking studiously away from her face, she couldn’t look anywhere else. She saw things she’d never noticed before. A light smattering of freckles along his hairline, a scar almost hidden by his eyebrow, and the graceful curve of his eyelashes. She vaguely felt his fingers push a little harder. When her breath caught, he drew back. “Did that hurt?”
She shook her head and tried not to notice how close he was.
A few seconds later, his hands drew away. She didn’t like the look in his eyes—the worried crease between his eyebrows. “What?” she asked.
But he just shook his head. “I have to be sure. I’m not going to scare you for nothing. Can I…can I listen to your chest?”
“Like with a stethoscope?”
“I don’t have a stethoscope. But if I…” He hesitated. “If I put my ear right over your heart, I should be able to hear it loud and clear.”
Laurel sat up a little straighter. “Okay,” she said quietly.
David put one hand on each side of her ribs and slowly lowered his head. Laurel tried to breathe evenly, but she was sure her heart must be racing. His cheek was warm against her skin, pressing against the neckline of her shirt.
After a long moment he lifted his face away.
“So—”
“Sshh,” he said, turning his head and putting his other cheek against the opposite side of her chest. He didn’t stay there very long before he raised his head again. “There’s nothing,” he said, his voice very soft. “Not on your wrist or at your neck. And I can’t hear anything in your chest. It sounds…empty.”
“What does that mean, David?”
“You don’t have a heartbeat, Laurel. You probably don’t even have a heart.”
ELEVEN
LAUREL’S WHOLE BODY WAS SHAKING NOW. SHE FELT David’s arms, warm and heavy around her, and it seemed like she couldn’t feel anything else. He was a lifeline, and she wasn’t sure she could survive the next few seconds if he let go. “What am I supposed to do, David?”
“You don’t need to do anything.”
“You’re right,” she said in a despondent tone. “I just need to wait for the rest of my body to realize it’s dead.”
David pulled her close and stroked her hair. She clung to his shirt as tears overwhelmed her, and she struggled to draw breath.
“No,” David murmured close to her ear. “You’re not going to die.” His cheek rubbed against hers, rough with a sparse growth of stubble. The tip of his nose traveled the length of her face, and her tears halted as she focused on the feeling of his face touching hers. He was so warm against her skin, which was always cool. His lips brushed her forehead, and a tiny shiver went up her spine. His brow rested on hers, and her eyelids opened of their own accord, her thoughts lost in the ocean of blue in his eyes. He brushed his lips ever so softly against hers, and a wave of heat unlike anything she’d ever felt spread from her lips across her face.
When she didn’t move, he kissed her again, a little more confidently this time. In an instant, he became part of the storm that raged within her and her arms twined up around his neck, pulling him in closer, tighter, trying to draw that incredible warmth inside her. It could have been seconds, minutes, hours—time was meaningless as his warm body pressed against hers and that slow heat enveloped her.
When David pulled back almost violently and gasped for breath, reality invaded Laurel’s mind. What have I done?
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Ssshh.” Laurel pressed her fingers against his lips. “It’s okay.” She didn’t let go of him, and when she didn’t seem to protest, David hesitantly leaned in again.
At the last second, Laurel stopped him with a hand on his chest and shook her head. She took a deep breath then said, “I don’t know if what I feel is real or just me panicking or…” She paused. “I can’t do this, David. Not with everything else going on.”
He pulled away slowly and was quiet for a long time. “Then I’ll wait,” he said, barely audible.
Laurel picked up her backpack. “I should go,” she said uselessly.
David’s eyes followed her as she crossed the room.
She paused to look back once more before stepping through the doorway and pulling the door shut behind her.
In biology, Laurel selected her usual spot but didn’t get her books out. She sat with her back totally straight and strained her ears for the sound of David’s familiar step. Even so, she was startled when he plunk
ed his backpack down on the table beside her. She made herself look up at him, but instead of the tense, wary face she was expecting, she found a broad smile and cheeks flushed with excitement. “I did some reading last night,” he said without greeting, “and I have some theories.”
Theories? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. In fact, something about the expression on his face made her fairly certain she didn’t want to know.
He flipped a book open and slid it in front of her.
“A Venus flytrap? You sure know how to sweet-talk a girl.” She tried to shove the book back over to him, but he put both hands on it and held it there.
“Just listen for a second. I’m not saying you’re a Venus flytrap. But read a little about its eating habits.”
“It’s carnivorous, David.”
“Technically yes, but read why.” His fingers flew over the paragraphs he had highlighted in bright green. “Flytraps grow best in poor soil—generally soil that has very little nitrogen. They eat flies because flies’ bodies carry a lot of nitrogen but no fat or cholesterol. It’s not about the meat; it’s about the kind of nutrients they need.” He turned to the next page. “Look here, it talks about what to feed a household Venus flytrap. It says a lot of people feed it little pieces of hamburger and steak because, like you said, they just think, ‘Hey, it’s carnivorous.’ But actually you can kill a flytrap by feeding it hamburger, because hamburger has a lot of fat and cholesterol and the plant can’t digest that.”
Laurel just stared in horror at the picture of the monstrous-looking plant and wondered how in the world David could think she was like it. “I’m not following,” she said flatly.
“The nutrients, Laurel. You don’t drink milk, do you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“It makes me sick.”
“I bet it makes you sick because there’s fat and cholesterol in it. What do you drink?”
“Water, soda.” She paused, thinking. “The syrup in my mom’s canned peaches. That’s pretty much it.”
“Water and sugar. You ever put sugar in a vase of flowers to keep them alive? The flowers love it; they suck it right up.”
David’s explanation made way too much sense. Laurel’s head began to ache. “So why don’t I eat flies?” Laurel asked sarcastically as she rubbed her temples.
“Too small to do you any good, I imagine. But think about the things you do eat. Plain fruits and vegetables. Plants that have grown in the ground and sucked up all those nutrients through their roots. You eat them and get the same nutrients as if you had roots and could get them yourself.”
Laurel was quiet for several seconds as Mr. James began calling the class to order. “So you still think I’m a plant?” Laurel asked in a whisper.
“An incredibly evolved, highly advanced plant,” David replied. “But yes, a plant.”
“That sucks.”
“I don’t know,” David said with a grin. “I think it’s kind of cool.”
“You would; you’re the science geek. I’m the girl who just wants to get through gym class without being stared at.”
“Fine,” David persisted. “I’ll think it’s cool for the both of us.”
Laurel snorted and caught Mr. James’s attention.
“Laurel, David? Would you like to share the joke with the rest of the class?” he asked, one hand on his skinny hip.
“No, sir,” David said. “But thank you for asking.” The students around them laughed, but Mr. James didn’t look pleased. Laurel leaned back and grinned. David, one. Teacher who wishes he was as smart as David? Zero.
On Saturday, Laurel and David met at David’s house to “study.” David showed her an article he had found online about how plants absorb carbon dioxide through their leaves. “What about you?” he asked. She was sitting on his bed with her petals unwrapped and turned toward his western window where they could absorb the sunlight. It was just one of the many advantages of “studying” in David’s empty house after school nearly every day. David even made a valiant effort not to stare—though Laurel wasn’t sure whether he was stealing glances at her petals or her bare midriff.
Either way, she didn’t mind.
“Well, I don’t have leaves—except the little tiny ones under the petals. Yet,” she added cryptically.
“Not technically, but I think your skin probably counts.”
“Why? Is it looking a little green these days?” she asked, then clamped her mouth shut. The thought of turning green made her think of Tamani and his green hair. She didn’t want to think about him. It was too confusing. And it seemed unfair to think about him while she was with David. Disloyal, in a strange way. She saved those thoughts for nighttime, just as she was about to fall asleep.
“Not all leaves are green,” David rattled on, without noticing. “In most plants, the leaves are the largest outer surface, and on you that would be your skin. So maybe you absorb carbon dioxide through your skin.” He blushed. “You do like wearing tank tops even when it’s cold.”
Laurel stirred her Sprite with her straw. “Then why do I breathe? I do breathe, you know,” she said pointedly.
“But do you have to?”
“What do you mean do I have to? Of course I have to.”
“I don’t think you do. Not the way I have to, anyway. Or at least not as frequently. How long can you hold your breath?”
She shrugged. “Long enough.”
“Come on, you’ve been swimming—you must have some idea. A rough estimate,” he pressed, when she shook her head.
“I just come up when I’m done being underwater. I don’t go under a lot, anyway. Just to get my hair wet, so I don’t know.”
David grinned and pointed to his watch. “Shall we find out?”
Laurel eyed him for a few seconds, then pushed her soda away and leaned forward, poking David in the chest with a grin. “I’m tired of being experimented on. Let’s see how long you can hold your breath.”
“Fair enough, but you go next.”
“Deal.”
David took several deep breaths and when Laurel said go, he sucked in a lungful of air and leaned back in his chair. He lasted fifty-two red-faced seconds before the air whooshed out of him and it was Laurel’s turn.
“No laughing,” she warned. “You’re probably going to blow me away.”
“I highly doubt it.” He smirked with the same confidence he always had when he was sure he was right.
Laurel took a deep breath and leaned back on David’s pillows. He started the timer with a soft beep.
It unnerved her to look at his self-assured smile as the seconds ticked by, so she turned to the window instead. She watched a bird fly against the pale blue sky till it soared out of sight over a hill.
With nothing else interesting to look at, she began paying attention to her chest. It was starting to get uncomfortable. She waited a little while longer, decided she didn’t like the sensation, and let her air out. “There. What’s the verdict?”
David looked at his watch. “Did you hold your breath as long as you could?”
“As long as I wanted to.”
“That’s not the same thing. Could you have gone longer?”
“Probably, but it was getting uncomfortable.”
“How much longer?”
“I don’t know,” she said, flustered now. “How long did I last?”
“Three minutes and twenty-eight seconds.”
It took a moment for the numbers to sink in. She sat up. “Did you let me win?”
“Nope. You just proved my theory.”
Laurel looked at her arm. “A leaf? Really?”
David took her arm and put his up beside it. “Check it out—if you look closely, our arms don’t look quite the same. See?” he said, pointing to veins that spidered along his arms. “Granted, veins usually stick out more on guys anyway, but with your light skin, you should at least be able to see pale streaks of blue. You don’t have any.”
Laurel studi
ed her arm, then asked, “When did you notice that?”
He shrugged guiltily. “When I checked for your pulse, but you were so freaked out that I decided it could wait a while. Besides, I wanted to do some research first.”
“Thanks…I think.” She was quiet for a long time as thoughts rushed through her head. But she came back to the same conclusion again and again. “I really am a plant, aren’t I?”
David looked up at her, then nodded solemnly. “I think so.”
Laurel wasn’t sure why the tears came. It wasn’t exactly a surprise. But she’d never truly accepted it before. Now that she had, she felt an overwhelming combination of fear, relief, amazement, and a strange sadness.
David climbed up on the bed beside her. Without a word, he leaned back on his headboard and pulled her against his chest. She joined him easily, enjoying the safety she felt in his arms. His hands occasionally moved up and down her arms and back, carefully avoiding her petals.
She could hear his heart beating a regular rhythm that reminded her some things were still normal. Dependable.
The warmth from his body spread into her, warming her in a way that was strikingly similar to how the sun did. She smiled and snuggled a little closer.
“What are you doing next Saturday?” David asked, and his voice reverberated in his chest where her ear was pressed.
“I don’t know. What’re you doing?”
“That depends on you. I was thinking about what Tamani told you.”
She raised her head from his chest. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Why not? He was right about you being a plant. Maybe he was right about…about you being a faerie.”
“How can you even say that where your microscope can hear you, David?” Laurel asked with a laugh, trying to keep the subject light. “It might stop working if it realizes its owner is so unscientific.”
“It’s pretty unscientific to have a friend who’s a plant,” David said, refusing to adopt her humorous tone.
Laurel sighed but let her head sink back down onto his chest. “Every little girl wishes she was actually a princess or a faerie or a mermaid or something. Especially girls who don’t know who their real mothers are. But you lose that dream when you’re, like, six. No one still thinks that when they’re fifteen.” She set her jaw stubbornly. “There’s no such thing as faeries.”