No One Knows Me But You (sample) ✓

1: Fresh Start

He steps back to admire his work, moving his dark brown hair back with a satisfied grin, then notices me at the end of the tunnel. He makes a surprised noise, and my eyes widen. Fuck, I'm done. I'm so done—

"Has your hair always been green?" he asks.

"What?"

"Your hair," he says, pointing.

I push my glasses up and peer at him in the dim light. "Uh . . . no. It's blond."

"Shit. Really?"

"Yeah. Uh . . . sorry to disappoint?"

He suddenly tosses his can of spray paint at me. I almost drop it. He gives me a smile and says, "You should make it green."

I look down at the can. "This is yellow."

"Is it?"

"Are you color blind?" I ask.

He bursts out laughing. He laughs so hard he falls over and catches himself on the wall of the tunnel. His hand lands right on the tip of the penis he painted. "I took some CM. It does not work how you think it does."

He took Color Magic?

Yeah, I know that's not the scientific name, but that's basically what it is.

"You're high?"

"And even more color blind than I used to be," he says, snorting, before looking back at his artwork. "What is this? Brown?"

"Purple."

"I can live with that. You should do one."

"No, thank you," I say quickly, walking over to put the can in his backpack, which is resting against the wall with a dozen cans inside. They've obviously all been used. The backpack itself has stains on it, too. My hand pauses over the open compartment as I stare inside. Is this what Haley Sinclair has been doing in his free time all this time?

"Come on, man," he says. "Don't be a pussy."

I stand up straight, looking down at him. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because you're here."

His hazel eyes are wide open, his pupils dilated, and a soft smile plays on his lips. I can't tell if he's so high he's forgotten he isn't supposed to talk to me or if he's fucking with me. "I'll get in trouble," I tell him, stepping back. "I can't."

"You won't get in trouble."

"Yeah, I'm not falling for that. Have a good day, Sinclair."

"No, wait—" As I walk away, he calls after me, "Hey! Wait! Gus, right? Gus! Falling for what, man? I literally just asked you to paint with me."

I keep walking.

"I know what happened to your mom," he says.

My heart skips a beat and drops all the way to the ground. I turn on my heels and glare at him. "What?"

He doesn't say anything. He just stands there, ten feet away from me, and stares. The smile is gone now. Instead, I find something akin to pity. Blood is rushing in my ears. After all I did to keep my secret, Haley Sinclair blurts it out as freshly as a greeting. He bends down to pull another can out of his bag and holds it out for me.

I stomp over and yank it out of his hand. "Fine. Don't tell anyone."

"I wasn't going to."

During the following ten minutes, we spray paint in silence. I'm no artist, but that's not the point. It's therapeutic. I add flames to Haley's dicks. He paints clouds that rain down on the fires. I make waves until not a single penis is visible and all the blue paint is gone. He's painting a yellow shark when my can starts to sputter. He looks over at the sound.