Her cheeks redden. “Maybe,” she says, sticking her chin out at me like she did yesterday. But I can tell she doesn’t mean it.
“Look, I just wanted to see you again,” I explain.
“So you just show up at my apartment, and now my school library? What is wrong with you? Are you stalking me?”
I shrug. “It’s not exactly hard to find you when I know you’re always in one of three places—work, the library, or home. You live with my sister and the library is a public place. Does that really count as stalking?”
“Yeah, most people at least call first!” she says incredulously.
“Great idea!” I say, my eyes lighting up. “Next time, I’ll call. Go ahead, give me your number.”
“No, Maddox!” she says, exasperated. “I already told you, we can’t do this! I can’t do this! I’m too busy and it will only lead to trouble.”
“Says who?” I ask. “How can you know when you won’t even give it a try? All I’m asking is to spend some time with you. Is that so bad?”
“Time is exactly what I don’t have,” says Madison, standing up from the table and grabbing her pile of papers and backpack. “In fact, I have to go now. You should get out of here before you get caught in the student library. Which, by the way, is only for students of this university.”
“Thanks for clearing that up for me,” I grin. “So, where are you headed? Need a ride?”
“No, Maddox,” she says irritably as I follow her out.
“Why not? Where are you going?”
“Where do you think I’m going? You just said it yourself, I’m always at one of three places.”
“Well, you wouldn’t be in a hurry to go home, and you were just at the library, so…that leaves work, I guess. Where’s work?”
“None of your business.”
“Come on, let me give you a ride.”
Madison checks her phone for the time and I can see she’s considering it.
“Fine,” she huffs. “But only because I’m going to be late if I walk.”
“Great!” I say happily, grabbing her backpack. “Here, that looks heavy, let me take that. You just wait here,” I gesture to a bench outside the library building, “And I’ll grab my car and pick you up.”
I take off with her bag before she can protest. Honestly, I’m only trying to help her (and, of course, give myself more of a chance to talk to her). I turn my head as I walk quickly toward my car and see her plop onto the bench, folding her arms across her chest, looking confused.
I pull the car around to the front of the library, put my hazard lights on, and hop out to open the passenger door for her.
“Thanks,” she says begrudgingly.
Once we’re both in, I make sure she has her seatbelt on before taking off.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she says quietly, staring out the window.
“Of course I don’t,” I scoff. “I want to.”
“Left up here,” she nods, directing me to her place of work. Her left thigh is mere inches from my right, and the proximity is dizzying. I have to make a concentrated effort to focus on my driving.
“So, when do you get off?” I ask cheerfully. “Wanna go to dinner? I can pick you up from work.”
“Absolutely not,” she says quickly. “What’s your deal, anyway, Maddox?” Uh-oh, now she sounds angry.
“What do you mean?”
“You practically pretend I don’t exist for years, like, the entire time I’ve known you, unless you’re teasing or tormenting me. Then you run away from me at the club after kissing me, and ignore me at your family’s Thanksgiving.”
“I told you, I’m really sorry about that, I didn’t know what to do!”
“Then,” she continues, ignoring me, “you just show up, uninvited, unannounced, at my place, which, by the way, is a crime—”
“You would know,” I interject, teasing. “Ms. Smarty-pants Lawyer Lady.”
“And then you stalk me at school, which, seriously, if I didn’t know you better would be super creepy, and it still kind of is—”
“So creepy that you got in my car with me right after,” I point out.
“And now you just can’t take no for an answer,” she says. “So, which is it, Maddox? Am I some little kid, a joke, a nothing to you? Or do you just wanna fuck me because I’m the only girl you can’t have? Turn right!”
“No, it’s not like that!” I protest, almost missing the turn.
“Then what is it, Maddox, because I don’t have time for any distractions, much less for you trying to fuck with my head!”
I’m quiet for a moment. I didn’t realize that she saw our interactions that way. I didn’t mean to upset her, ever. I just don’t know how to talk to her.
Before I can come up with a response, we have pulled up in front of where she works. It’s a small, nondescript building with a sign that says “Pro Bono Legal Aid.” Of course, Madison doesn’t work at some fancy, corporate, criminal defense–type of law office. She works for a small pro bono operation, which truly proves that she’s not pursuing the legal field for the money or prestige, but to help people. Looking at the dingy sign, my respect for her grows even more.
“Thanks for the ride,” she mumbles, getting out of the car and slamming the door before I can think of what to say.
I roll down the passenger-side window.
“Madison, wait!” I call out.
“I can’t,” she says over her shoulder as she runs toward the building.
How did I mess this up? Again?
At least I know now that I have some sort of effect on her. She must care about me at least a little for her to be so angry, although that’s the opposite of what I want.
And now I know where she works.
So, I try again the next day. First, I grab takeout from this nice Italian place. She can’t be too mad at me for showing up if I bring her dinner, right?
Then I go to the pro bono office, thinking, if nothing else, I can leave the food and go.
When I walk through the door, I notice that the office seems even smaller and drearier on the inside. How can Madison spend so much time here? The harsh yellow lighting and paint peeling off the walls really add to the charm. I know nonprofits aren’t exactly rolling in extra cash to redecorate, but this is gloomy as hell.
I’m surprised to see Madison alone on the shabby carpet, surrounded by a circle of papers. There’s nobody else here at all.
“Madison?” I say, and she jumps in surprise.
“Jesus, Maddox!” she says, placing one hand on her chest. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
“Are you here alone at night like this a lot?” I ask, genuinely concerned. “Anyone could just walk in here, you know. It’s not safe.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Madison says, rolling her eyes. “My boss usually locks the door behind her when she leaves for the day, but she must have forgotten. And besides, if someone wanted to rob a building, I really doubt they’d pick this one.” She gestures to her dreary surroundings.
“Okay, but if anyone saw you leaving here late on a regular basis, they might wait until you’re alone to do something even worse than a robbery,” I point out.