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Chapters (67)
  1. Big Boned
  2. CONTENTS
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. One Month Later
  60. Acknowledgments
  61. About the Author
  62. Copyright
  63. About the Publisher
  64. Backad 1
  65. Backad 2
  66. Backad 3
  67. Backad 4

“You know, there was this painter called Pierneef, he painted Table Mountain once. But not from the angle that everyone else paints it from. He chose this lesser-known angle and for years there was this fierce debate about whether it was even Table Mountain? But it was. He just chose to look at it differently, not like everyone else did, as if he saw something in it that no one else saw. You should see the way he paints trees and clouds and landscapes . . .” I stopped walking and looked up at the mountain. I could feel Jake next to me, but I was so wrapped up in my thoughts now. “I would love to spend a day looking through his eyes—he sees the world in such a unique way. Imagine being able to see things like that? To be able to look at things in a way no one else can. I think Zac looks at things like that too. From an angle that no one else in the world would ever think to look at it,” I finished, and slowly turned. Jake was standing next to me, but unlike me, he wasn’t looking up at the mountain . . . his gaze felt hot and sticky on my skin.

“What?” I could barely get that word out, my mouth was so dry.

He looked away, as if he was feeling what I was. Was he? “You do look at the world like that.”

“I do?” I asked.

He looked at me again. His eyes were no longer that light, bright-cerulean blue. They had darkened into navy. “No one else I know sees a city at sunset like you do.” And then he turned and started walking away from me. I followed, and we walked in silence for a while, him with his stormy, navy eyes and me with my now growing-redder-by-the-second candy apple–red cheeks. We must have walked in silence for five minutes before he spoke again.

“What’s the one thing you miss most about Joburg? Other than friends and sunsets?” he asked.

“That’s easy, summer afternoon thunderstorms.”

“Really?”

“I used to go up onto the roof of our building to watch them.”

“Aren’t you supposed to not be on a roof in a storm?” he asked sarcastically.

I smiled at him. “But if you’re not, you miss out.”

“Miss out on what?”

“Everything.”

“Like what?”