Ignite Me (Shatter Me, #3)

by Tahereh Mafi

“Damn,” Kenji says after a moment. “Damn damn damn. This shit is bananas.”

Kenji has a hand pressed to his mouth, desperately trying to suppress a smile. He’s shaking his head, holding up a hand in apology. And then he breaks, laughing out loud, snorting as he tries to muffle the sound. “I’m sorry,” he says, pressing his lips together, shaking his head again. “This is not a funny moment. It’s not. I’m not laughing.” Adam looks like he might punch Kenji in the face.

“JULIETTE—Juliette—” I spin around. Warner is standing there, face flushed, chest rising and falling, staring at me like I might be a ghost. He strides across the room before I have a chance to say a word and

cups my face in his hands, his eyes searching me. “Are you okay?” he’s saying. “God—are you okay? What happened? Are you all right?” He’s here. He’s here and all I want to do is fall apart but I don’t. I won’t. “Thank you,” I manage to say to him. “Thank you for coming—” He wraps me up in his arms, not caring about the eight sets of eyes watching us. He just holds me, one arm tight around my waist, the other held to the back of my head. My face is buried in his chest and the warmth of him is so familiar to me now. Oddly comforting. He runs his hand up and down my back, tilts his head toward mine. “What’s wrong, love?” he

“because I didn’t agree that you were crazy. And he was accusing me”—I hesitate—“of being in love with you.” Warner exhales sharply. Touches a hand to the doorframe. My heart is pounding so hard. Warner’s eyes are glued to the wall. “And you told him he was an idiot.” Breathe. “No.” Warner turns, just halfway. I see his profile, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest. He’s staring directly at the door now, and it’s clear it’s costing him a great deal of effort to speak. “Then you told him he was crazy. You told him he had to be out of his mind to say something like that.”

“No.” “No,” he echoes. I try not to move. Warner takes a hard, shaky breath. “Then what did you say to him?” Seven seconds die between us. “Nothing,” I whisper.

“Medicine?” I ask, surprised. I turn the little jar around in my hands, reading the label. I look up at him. Finally understanding. “This is for scars.” He runs a hand through his hair. Looks toward the wall. “Yes,” he says. “Now please give it back to me.” “Do you need help?” I ask. He stills. “What?” “This is for your back, isn’t it?” He runs a hand across his mouth, down his chin. “You won’t allow me to walk away from this with even an ounce of self-respect, will you?” “I didn’t know you cared about your scars,” I say to him. I take a step forward. He takes a step back. “I don’t.” “Then why this?” I hold up the jar. “Where did you even get this from?” “It’s nothing—it’s just—” He shakes his head. “Delalieu found it for me. It’s ridiculous,” he says. “I feel ridiculous.” “Because you can’t reach your own back?” He stares at me then. Sighs.

And if you do not shower on a regular basis, do not come within ten feet of me.” Kenji snorts.

“So how’s the new boyfriend?” My smiles fall away. “He’s not my boyfriend.” “Are you sure about that? Because I’m pretty sure Romeo wouldn’t have let us come live with him if he weren’t a little bit madly in love with you.” I look into my hands. “Maybe one day Warner and I will learn to be friends.” “Seriously?” Kenji looks shocked. “I thought you were super into him?” I shrug. “I’m . . . attracted to him.” “But?” “But Warner still has a long way to go, you know?” “Well, yeah,” Kenji says. Exhales. Leans back. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“So the two of you”—Ian tries to find his voice—“I mean, together—you two could basically—” “Take over the world?” Warner is looking at the wall now. “I was going to say you could kick some serious ass, but yeah, that, too, I guess.” Ian shakes his head.

touch his arm. Warner goes rigid. He stands, unmoving, his eyes trained on the hand I’ve placed on his forearm.

I never thought I’d see Warner in sweatpants. Or sneakers. And right now, he’s wearing both. Plus a T-shirt.

Today is Tuesday. Which means right now, I’m watching him bench-press three hundred and fifteen pounds. Three forty-five-pound plates on each side of what Kenji told me is called an Olympic bar, which weighs an additional forty-five pounds. I can’t stop staring. I don’t think I’ve ever been more attracted to him in all the time I’ve known him. Kenji pulls up next to me. Nods at Warner. “So this gets you going, huh?” I’m mortified. Kenji barks out a laugh. “I’ve never seen him in sweatpants before.” I try to sound normal. “I’ve never even seen him in shorts.” Kenji raises an eyebrow at me. “I bet you’ve seen him in less.” I want to die.

“Was it ever hard for you?” I look up, hopeful. “Figuring out how to control the energy?” “Oh,” he says, surprised. “No. Though I’ve always been very good at everything I do.” I drop my head again. Sigh. Warner laughs and I peek up. He’s smiling. “What?” “Nothing,” he whispers. I hear a sharp whistle. Spin around. “Hey—jazz hands!” Kenji barks. “Get your ass back over here.” He makes it a point to look as irritated as possible. “Back to work. And this time, focus. You’re not an ape. Don’t just throw your shit everywhere.” Warner actually laughs. Out loud. I look back at him, and he’s looking toward the wall, trying to suppress a wide smile as he runs a hand through his hair, down the back of his neck. “At least someone appreciates my sense of humor,” Kenji says before tugging at my arm. “Come on, princess. Let’s try that again. And please, try not to kill everyone in this room.”

“You think I’m dramatic?” I ask him, eyes wide. “Do you even know yourself at all?” “I am not dramatic, okay? My presence just commands a certain kind of attention—”

“You don’t love him at all?” Warner asks me. My voice is being stupid. “Romantically?” He nods. “No.” “You’re not attracted to him?” “I’m attracted to you.” “I’m serious,” he says. “So am I.” Warner’s still staring at me. He blinks, once. “Don’t you believe me?” I ask. He looks away. “Can’t you tell?” I ask him. “Can’t you feel it?” And I am either losing my mind or Warner just blushed.

Kenji clears his throat. “J, I think you should switch spots with me.” “Why?” “I think your boyfriend is touching my leg.” “You flatter yourself,” Warner says. “Switch spots with me, J. He’s making me feel all goosebumpy and shit, like maybe he’s about to knife me.”

I fall face-first into Warner’s lap.

Maybe he’s in a secret jazz club where he sings a cappella and wears sparkly vests and thinks it’s cool to do the cancan.”

“Lift your hips for me, love,”