Free For the First Time: Twenty-One Brand New Stories of First Love by Alessandra Torre, Al.

reading this summer. “I don’t know about the gruel thing, but I can pick a pocket. That much I can do.”
    I don’t add that I can’t help it most of the time. When I’m stressed or afraid, I tend to steal without even realizing until after.
    “Stealing, huh?” he says, musing, leading us down the slope of white rocks that line the bay. It’s slippery, and I have to grip him tighter so I don’t fall. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
    That makes me laugh. “Because I’m such a good girl.”
    He stops, and I almost slam into him. Time seems to stop as he takes me in from head to toe. His gaze is sharper than I’m comfortable with, cutting right through my lip gloss and blue glitter toenail polish. “Yeah,” he says slowly, almost solemn. “Because you’re such a good girl.”
    My chest pinches, and I give him my best flirty smile to make it unclench. I curl my body against him like a cat. “I’m not good. In fact, let me show you how bad I can be.”
    I push up on the balls of my feet and lean in. Something keeps me from going the last inch, but he takes over, brushing his lips to mine. They’re at once gentle and possessive.
    My whole body seems to come alive from just the touch of his lips. I ache in places I have barely felt before, needing things I can’t quite name.
    I’ve been kissed before. I’ve been felt up. I’ve even had sex.
    I’ve never been kissed like this, like I matter. Like I mean something.
    This is the first time I’ve felt cherished.
    He breaks away, his expression almost dazed. Slowly his gaze focuses on me. Even then he doesn’t let me go. He holds me against his chest, his fingers loose in my hair. It’s as if he doesn’t want this to end.
    And neither do I. I could drown in that dark gaze—and I do, sinking deeper into the intensity. My body is flush against his, his hands holding me tightly, but it feels like we’re one person. Like nothing can split us apart, even though I know that’s an illusion.
    He smiles, slow and sure. “Damn, beautiful. I could get addicted to you.”
    And I know it’s already too late for me. I’m already addicted to him. To his taste, to his touch. To the way he treats me. I don’t ever want him to stop, but he doesn’t keep kissing me. He certainly doesn’t lay me down on the white rocks and have sex with me.
    Instead he pulls back, letting the cool air rush between us.
    “What’s wrong?” I whisper.
    A shadow crosses his eyes, and I shiver. He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Chapter Three
    F or the next three weeks we spend every afternoon together, talking and kissing.
    Kissing and no further.
    We kiss for hours, until we’re both breathless. Sometimes I rock my body over his, feeling how hard he is, riding his desire, but we never even undress.
    Part of me basks in our time together, grateful for the moments of bliss even if they will only end in devastation. Happiness is rare enough around here not to take it for granted when it shows up in a worn butter-soft leather jacket.
    The other part of me dreads how this will end. We have no control over our lives. He could be taken from me at any moment. I have survived years alone, but the thought of being without him now feels like acid on my skin, flaying me open.
    And I know Matthew is in the background, scheming, waiting for his chance.
    There is something else looming over my time with Blue like a storm cloud—the rumors about him and what Lucy had said. The way even the bullies give him a wide berth.
    If you touch her again, I’ll kill you.
    One afternoon I can’t ignore it anymore.
    I rest my chin on his chest, fingers playing in his hair. “Is it true?”
    “Is what true?”
    “What they say about you.” I don’t need to spell it out, but he’s making me. “That you killed a kid at your last school.”
    His eyes are dark. “People talk too much.”
    My heart lurches. “So it’s true.”
    He shrugs, which shifts his