Until I Die by Amy Plum Read Free Book Online Page A

why we all came armed.” He held aside his coat to show me a sword at his waist and knives strapped to his thighs.
That shut me up.
“Why did you go wandering off by yourself?” The fear having left his voice, his expression now showed unsettled confusion.
I stared at him for a moment, and then glanced at the statues next to us—the tragic lovers lying side by side. Vincent turned to see what I was looking at, and comprehension dawned on his face. He closed his eyes as if to block out the image.
“I had to leave the funeral, Vincent. I couldn’t take it,” I began to explain. But the sorrow and the rain and cold and fright all seemed to gang up on me at once, and my words stuck in my throat.
“I understand,” he said, putting his arm around me and pulling me away from the tomb. He turned me to face him. “It’s freezing and you’re drenched. Let’s get out of here.”
I couldn’t help but peer over my shoulder as we left. There was no trace of the cloaked man—he was long gone—but now that Vincent had mentioned numa, it made me wonder why I had had such a strong reaction to the man’s appearance. Could a numa have been following me through the graveyard?
It didn’t matter now, I decided, and would only freak Vincent out if I said something about it. I put it out of my mind, and pulled my boyfriend closer.

SIX
     
    BEFORE MEETING VINCENT, MY DAYS ALL SEEMED to speed by like one of those passage-of-time visual metaphors in movies that show pages falling off a calendar. But lately, every day seemed significant: The first time Vincent met my grandparents. The first movie date ( Holy Grail , where Vincent earned major points by quoting the best bits in English right along with me). Our first New Year’s together.
Today was my last day of freedom before school resumed post-holidays, marking exactly one year and one semester to go before my high school education was officially over. Which made it another significant day. So of course I planned on spending it doing the thing I loved most.
I flitted down our building’s creaky wooden staircase with a feeling of elation buoying my footsteps. The whole day stretched out in front of me like a new country to explore. With my favorite person.
I caught sight of him as soon as I stepped out the door. Shaking my head in disbelief, I jogged to the park across the street and pushed through the metal gate.
“What are you doing? I thought we were going out for breakfast,” I laughed, pointing at the picnic blanket he was lying on, with wicker basket and thermos by his side.
“You can’t get much more ‘out’ than this,” Vincent responded, his eyes hidden by mirrored sunglasses.
His languid smile did its regular job on me: It was as if an invisible hand took my insides and squeezed. Hard. It happened every time. And it made me wish that I could freeze-frame the moment and stand there feeling that delicious, squeezy feeling for the rest of my life.
Inhale and then exhale , I reminded myself. I tore my gaze away from his face and noticed that he was cocooned in a warm coat, wool scarf, and knitted cap, with his dark hair waving out from underneath. He lay back on his elbows, propped on the blanket that was spread across the frozen grass.
“Let me get this right. We’re having a picnic in January in the freezing cold?” My breath came out in a warm puff of mist as I stood above him, hands on my hips.
He pulled off his glasses, and the amusement in his eyes warmed me more efficiently than a bonfire. “I thought we could have a day of doing things we’ve never done before. I’ve never had a picnic in January. Have you?”
I shook my head and, bemused, sank down onto the blanket next to him.
“Perfect,” he concluded. “Since it has to be something that neither of us has ever done, this totally counts.”
I glanced up at the people walking by: mainly businesspeople carrying briefcases and backpack-wearing tourists out for an early start. They all stared at us as if