cry.
His expression melted dramatically. All at once, his eyes were seeking. His brows tilted, reflecting my pain. Soothing, he stroked my cheek, knuckles grazing my jaw. “Hey. Hey, shhhh. There’s nothing wrong here. We can figure this out.”
“Can we?”
Framing my face with his hands, he kissed me. Then he pressed his brow against mine. Opening his eyes, he gazed into me, and I gazed back. Wrapping my fingers around his wrists, I felt for his pulse. I wanted it to keep the same beat as mine. When I breathed, I wanted him to breathe, too.
With a whisper, he said, “See me when you can see me. You don’t have to stop hanging out with Dave. I’m still good with Trish. For now. Until you can figure things out. We’ll keep talking. It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”
I believed him. When he said it like that, it made perfect sense. I didn’t have to scrabble to hold on to my dream or to Will. I had time to figure it out. As reasonable as that sounded, it plucked at my nerves. Everything between us felt like it was in the future tense; I didn’t want to be the one holding back. But I didn’t dare to be the one who jumped first. There was just so much at stake.
Desperate to hold on to something, I rushed to close the space between us with a kiss.
Will was already there.
~
The next morning, I pulled up outside Jane’s house and hit the horn once. Her quiet neighborhood was funkier than mine. Older bungalows and crazy yard people who couldn’t stop at one garden gnome when five hundred would fit beneath their old oak trees. Jane’s house had a cute old-fashioned porch on it, and a paint job that I liked to call Early Modern Bordello.
Compared with the boringly boxy houses on my street, Jane’s neighborhood was practically garish. And since there was no lack of backyard chickens and roosters, I didn’t feel bad hitting my horn, once. Jane was the one
desperate
for coffee before homeroom, but I always ended up waiting for her to emerge.
When she finally did, she was still scrambling to put herself together. Her purse twisted awkwardly from one wrist while she tried to shove a textbook into her bag. As soon as she got it together, she jogged up to the passenger side of my car.
Knocking on the glass, she leaned over to look at me. She mouthed, “I’m on to you,” before flinging the door open and jumping inside. Her stacked bracelets jingled, and her faux-leather jacket squeaked against my definitely straight-up plastic seats.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said. But tension laced me tight. Did my second meetup with Will show on my face? Was he talking about it?
With a laugh, Jane broke the tension. “I’m just messing with you, jeez.”
I waited for her to buckle up, then took off. I headed in the opposite direction of the school. We needed coffee, and Jane insisted on the fair trade shop out by the highway. Our town, East River, wasn’t big enough for a true rush hour. Easing into traffic, I waited until I was in the express-ish lane to tell her what was happening.
“Okay, so maybe something
is
up,” I said uneasily. “But I don’t want you to be mad at me.”
With an arched brow, Jane told me that I should explain. Hooking a finger at me in the air, she wriggled it until I started talking. It was her way of demanding without being demanding.
Usually, that move made me laugh. She had so many great, weird quirks. I was just feeling guilty, so I reached over and closed her chattery finger in my fist.
“I don’t want you telling anybody this . . .”
“Since when do I spill on you?” Jane asked. “Speak, mouth.”
I really did want to tell her about me and Will. It’s just that when I went to say it out loud, I realized I didn’t know how to explain it. There were so many lingering questions I hadn’t yet answered. There were so many details that needed to be unpacked carefully.
In our last conversation, Jane and I had come to what seemed like a conclusion:
His expression melted dramatically. All at once, his eyes were seeking. His brows tilted, reflecting my pain. Soothing, he stroked my cheek, knuckles grazing my jaw. “Hey. Hey, shhhh. There’s nothing wrong here. We can figure this out.”
“Can we?”
Framing my face with his hands, he kissed me. Then he pressed his brow against mine. Opening his eyes, he gazed into me, and I gazed back. Wrapping my fingers around his wrists, I felt for his pulse. I wanted it to keep the same beat as mine. When I breathed, I wanted him to breathe, too.
With a whisper, he said, “See me when you can see me. You don’t have to stop hanging out with Dave. I’m still good with Trish. For now. Until you can figure things out. We’ll keep talking. It’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”
I believed him. When he said it like that, it made perfect sense. I didn’t have to scrabble to hold on to my dream or to Will. I had time to figure it out. As reasonable as that sounded, it plucked at my nerves. Everything between us felt like it was in the future tense; I didn’t want to be the one holding back. But I didn’t dare to be the one who jumped first. There was just so much at stake.
Desperate to hold on to something, I rushed to close the space between us with a kiss.
Will was already there.
~
The next morning, I pulled up outside Jane’s house and hit the horn once. Her quiet neighborhood was funkier than mine. Older bungalows and crazy yard people who couldn’t stop at one garden gnome when five hundred would fit beneath their old oak trees. Jane’s house had a cute old-fashioned porch on it, and a paint job that I liked to call Early Modern Bordello.
Compared with the boringly boxy houses on my street, Jane’s neighborhood was practically garish. And since there was no lack of backyard chickens and roosters, I didn’t feel bad hitting my horn, once. Jane was the one
desperate
for coffee before homeroom, but I always ended up waiting for her to emerge.
When she finally did, she was still scrambling to put herself together. Her purse twisted awkwardly from one wrist while she tried to shove a textbook into her bag. As soon as she got it together, she jogged up to the passenger side of my car.
Knocking on the glass, she leaned over to look at me. She mouthed, “I’m on to you,” before flinging the door open and jumping inside. Her stacked bracelets jingled, and her faux-leather jacket squeaked against my definitely straight-up plastic seats.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said. But tension laced me tight. Did my second meetup with Will show on my face? Was he talking about it?
With a laugh, Jane broke the tension. “I’m just messing with you, jeez.”
I waited for her to buckle up, then took off. I headed in the opposite direction of the school. We needed coffee, and Jane insisted on the fair trade shop out by the highway. Our town, East River, wasn’t big enough for a true rush hour. Easing into traffic, I waited until I was in the express-ish lane to tell her what was happening.
“Okay, so maybe something
is
up,” I said uneasily. “But I don’t want you to be mad at me.”
With an arched brow, Jane told me that I should explain. Hooking a finger at me in the air, she wriggled it until I started talking. It was her way of demanding without being demanding.
Usually, that move made me laugh. She had so many great, weird quirks. I was just feeling guilty, so I reached over and closed her chattery finger in my fist.
“I don’t want you telling anybody this . . .”
“Since when do I spill on you?” Jane asked. “Speak, mouth.”
I really did want to tell her about me and Will. It’s just that when I went to say it out loud, I realized I didn’t know how to explain it. There were so many lingering questions I hadn’t yet answered. There were so many details that needed to be unpacked carefully.
In our last conversation, Jane and I had come to what seemed like a conclusion:
Similar Books
