Pretty sure because it wasn’t like I knew Warner really well, and it sounded cheesy to say I loved him. Maybe he was just this character in my fantasies, no more real than Dobbin or Mr. Darcy or Rochester, those guys I loved in my books. No more real than Lisette that first day, when I thought we’d be like sisters.But Warner was becoming real. At least, I thought so. A real boy with calluses and flaws, a boy who made bad decisions and clung to childhood friends who’d outgrown him, a boy with bony shoulders, who’d kissed me to the music of the pounding surf.I went into the bathroom between Lisette’s bedroom and mine. My side was unlocked, for once, and to my surprise, so was Lisette’s. I reached to close the door. I could see her lying on her bed, asleep, so I knew she hadn’t been arrested. She slept on her back, which I once read meant you were narcissistic. They got that right. The article said it was the easiest position from which to take a bow. I wondered if she’d really liked that boy she’d been with at the party, liked him the way I liked Warner.
