“
Can’t you—” I start, but he backs up only so he can put a hand over my mouth. I shake it off, and he puts an index finger up to his lips. Footsteps sound past us. Guards, he mouths to me. I freeze, waiting. I lose my footing slightly—standing on someone else’s shoe is surprisingly difficult—and Xander grabs my arm to steady me. My elbow accidentally pushes the tarp (Tarp! Tarp! I can’t help chanting in my head). As it flutters, we hold our breaths, hoping no one is on the other side, or if they are, that they’ll think it was a random breeze, maybe from the AC. I try to focus on my breathing so I’m not thinking about Xander’s hand on my arm or his exhales onto my face. Or how his breath smells like mint and how he used to always use Listerine after eating—does he still? Suddenly, the sign moves. Someone’s found us. I want to scream, but there’s no time. Xander kisses me. Except he doesn’t. His nose is pressed against my cheek, his hand covering the lower half of our faces. We’re not kissing, but I’m guessing it looks like a kiss to whoever is now standing in front of us.
”
”