Chapter 4: Silver Eyes

"You smell like him," Chris said.

His voice was rough and quiet, and it scared me more than a shout.

"Everyone smells like somebody," I said.

"You smell like smoke. You smell like his hands."

"Chris."

"I could hear you from the lawn."

My face went hot.

"That was private."

"I know." His claws were out, all ten, and he was gripping his own arms so hard the skin was white.

"I know it was, and I didn't want to hear it, and I stood there anyway."

"Then go to bed."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

He looked at me with those silver eyes, and for the first time in sixteen years he did not look away.

"Because every time I try to be good about this, I lose."

I took his wrist and led him up the stairs to Lantern House.

He came.

His room, 2A, was the mirror of mine, with a bare mattress and one duffel bag.

I shut the door and turned around.

"Say it," I said.

"Say what?"

"What you want to say. You've been holding it since the arch. Say it to my face."

"You were my best friend," he said.

"I am your best friend."

"And I watched a man put his hands on you in front of four hundred people and you let him."

"I did."

"You went up that tower in a dress."

"I did."

"You let him..." He broke off and turned his face away.

"I'm not angry at you," he said.

"I'm angry that I'm not him."

I stepped up to him until my chest touched his.

He is not tall, but he fills a doorway.

I had to tip my head all the way back.

"Listen to me," I said.

"I'm not a prize. You don't get to be mad at the person who won me, because I haven't been won. I decide."

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