Free Kiss in the Dark by Lauren Henderson Page B

they’re much more to do with me than they are with Jase. I don’t bang on about them to him. But every so often I look at a girl like Susan, or Plum, if I’m honest, and I do think: God, there are so many girls out there prettier than me. And Jase is so gorgeous. What if he wakes up one day and realizes that he could have any girl he wants?
    The curtains at the downstairs windows are all drawn. I can’t see anything.
    “For the last time, you’re not going anywhere, boy!” Mr. Barnes’s unmistakable bellow rattles the windowpanes.
    “Dad, I just want to get some fresh air—”
    “You’re a liar!”
    This is bad. I can’t bear the frustration of not being able to see inside. Desperately, I look around for an elevated area, because the curtains are those old-fashioned ones, like they have in the coffee shop, that only cover the lower part of the window; the upper panes are clear, light pouring through them.
    There’s a cherry tree behind me. Not ideal, because it has whippy, thin branches, which bend and buckle under me and aren’t wide enough to sit on in any comfort. But I swarm up it in record time, and wedge myself into a really awkward, narrow V by the trunk, my bottom braced between two branches, each only a few inches wide. They cut into me, but I wrap my arms around a higher branch, pulling myself up to take a little strain off the ones I’m sitting on, and twist so I get a good view down into the cottage.
    The Barnes cottage is as old-fashioned as its gingham curtains. It still has the original layout, with a central staircase and a kitchen on one side, probably with the bathroom beyond it to keep all the plumbing together, and a living room on the other. I can see the living room, the foot of the stairs, and a good chunk of the kitchen. And I can see Jase, standing by the door, his motorbike jacket on, yelling:
    “I can go out for a walk if I want to! I’ll be up for college in the morning!”
    “Don’t give me that!” shouts his father. I spot Mr. Barnes, his bulky body propped up in a recliner, his face red and swollen, his fist raised. “You’re going out to moon round after that Wakefield girl! I know you, Jase Barnes!”
    “So what!” Jase sounds really angry. “Even if I am, what’s it got to do with you?”
    He swings around, reaching for the door. This provokes Mr. Barnes, who levers himself up to his feet, his face distended with rage, and yells:
    “Don’t you turn your back on me when I’m talking to you!”
    Jase cranes back, and I see anger in his face, his eyes blazing gold with fury. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him like this, and it shocks me, even scares me a little, because I can tell he’s itching for a fight.
    “Or what, Dad?” Jase says, taking a step toward his father.
    “D’you want me to take a belt to you, like I did when you were little? Do you?” his father shouts, swaying on his feet. “You’re not too old to feel the back of my hand!”
    “Oh yes I am! Want me to prove it to you?” Jase yells back.
    My breath catches as I see that Jase’s hands are clenched into fists.
    And at that moment, someone pushes past Jase and interposes her small body between him and his father.
    It’s Jase’s grandmother. I’ve rarely been so grateful to see anyone in my life.
    “That’s enough!” she pipes in a high, eldritch voice. “I won’t have this shouting, you hear me? I’m sick of it! Kevin, the boy’s grown now. He’s too old for this kind of nonsense, can’t you see that?”
    “Nonsense?” Jase says bitterly.
    “And you, keep a civil tongue in your head,” his grandmother says, turning on him.
    White hair piled messily on top of her head, little wire-framed glasses shoved high up her nose, her dowager’s hump bowing her spine, she looks tiny and frail between the bulk of Jase’s father and Jase himself, with his height and his square shoulders. She’s wearing a floral winceyette dressing gown, a white nightie showing at the neck, and