Free Earthbound by Aprilynne Pike

at me intently, twirling her pen. Am I in love with them both? Or am I just exhibiting symptoms of that “socially inappropriate behavior” my neurologists are always going on about?
    “Tavia,” Elizabeth says after a while, setting her legal pad and ballpoint pen on the brown coffee table in front of me, “I get the feeling there’s something you’re not telling me. From the facts you’ve shared, I feel like I should be concerned for your safety. But you don’t seem to share that concern. Is there something you’d like to tell me about this guy?”
    “He’s kind of different,” I say, stalling for time.
    “Is he good-looking?” Elizabeth asks with one eyebrow raised and a girlish lilt to her voice. I can’t help but smile, and maybe blush a little, as I think of his silky blond hair, his pale green eyes.
    That perfect physique.
    Now I’m getting warm.
    I describe him to Elizabeth in general terms: tall, blond, kinda tan. But those parts don’t add up to
him
. He’s more. Infinitely
more
. My fingers trace the edges of the table, pulling the pen and legal pad closer. “He has this look to his eyes,” I say, and I barely watch my own fingers as they shape the planes of his face—those dramatic angles that are so unique to Quinn.
    I’m halfway done with the rough sketch before I realize I’m drawing.
    I’m
drawing
.
    My hands begin to tremble so hard I can’t put the pen back on the paper without making wavy lines. I came here thinking about Benson and now I’m
drawing
Quinn. Drawing, for the first time since the accident, and—
    I slam the pen down on the table.
    “Tavia.” Elizabeth’s voice is so quiet my ears barely hear her, but my mind latches onto her words like a lifeline, holding tight to stave off the panic that’s threatening to crush me. “It’s okay. It’s just a sketch. A tool to let me know what you saw.”
    I look up at her, awareness dawning in my eyes.
She
put down her legal pad. Close enough that I could instinctively reach for it. To
make
me draw without thinking. “You did that on purpose.”
    Her lips hold a ghost of a smile. Her tone is casual—as if we were discussing the decor. “Maybe. Tavia, it’s just a tool. Would you like to finish?”
    Her quiet question calms me. I look back at the rough sketch and do as she asks, though my lines aren’t as true as before. I don’t draw much more, but enough that Elizabeth could probably pick him out of a crowd—or a lineup.
    Enough that I know I can do it.
    “This is amazing, really,” Elizabeth says when I put the pen down. “You have a real gift.”
    I shrug.
    “He must be someone very special to break through your artist’s block like that,” she adds in a soft voice. “What’s his name?”
    “Quinn. Quinn Avery.” It’s the first time I’ve said his full name aloud and it echoes in my head, setting off a mass of tingles in my brain, like static electricity trying to escape.
    Elizabeth nods. “So you’ve spoken to him. That’s reassuring.”
    “There’s … there’s actually something else,” I say, suddenly desperate to not talk about Quinn anymore. Part of me wants to change the subject to Benson—to get Elizabeth’s advice about him. But how would
that
look? Not going there.
    “I think … I think I’m seeing things,” I force myself to say before the terror can seal my throat.
    Elizabeth leans forward. “What kind of things?”
    I meet her eyes. “Triangles.”
    Her head tilts ever so slightly to the side, but she doesn’t break eye contact. “Triangles?”
    “On his house,” I add, trying not to sound
completely
insane. I don’t want her to tell me that triangles are everywhere. These triangles are
different
. “There was a triangle over the door of the house where I first saw Quinn.”
    “Have you seen that triangle again?”
    “On another house. Down on Fifth Street—in the old section of town. I like to take walks there. I didn’t notice it at the time, but I found it later