He leaned in. “I think you’re extremely interesting.”
The way he kissed me was ginger, like I was made out of tissue paper that could be torn with the slightest sudden movement. For a moment, my rational mind piped up that we should be careful, that Crista or Dylan could come out for a drink or something at any moment, and making out on duty was a little unprofessional, even if it was family duty. But then his fingers were weaving their way through the hair at the back of my head, and his other hand was squeezing my thigh, and—responsibility? What responsibility? Who cared? Crista and Dylan had to learn about birds and bees sooner or later, so win-win, right?
Even though the first time I’d kissed him had been, like, seven months ago, none of the novelty had worn off. Every time his lips met mine, it was the first kiss all over again. And again, and again, and again …
Before I knew it, I heard the movie credits playing in the back of my mind. I broke away from Will, shaking my head at the TV. “It’s over already?”
“Looks like it.”
“I didn’t even watch any of it, though.”
Will tipped his head to one side and ran a hand up my thigh. “I’m sorry to distract you like that.”
“You should be,” I said, leaning back on the couch as he came back up and over me, crashing his lips against mine.
Then a key turned in the lock, and we sprung away from each other with a fluidity that’d make an Olympic gymnastics team green with jealousy.
Aunt Linda and Uncle Roy were laughing when they came inside. They looked lighter than I’d seen them in weeks. Aunt Linda beamed when she saw Will. “Will, hey, how are you doing? I haven’t seen you in forever.”
Will had gone pale, and he stared at Aunt Linda for way too long before replying. At first I thought maybe he was freaking out that we’d almost been caught making out, but then I realized, it wasn’t that. He was just shocked to see Aunt Linda. The skinny, gray-skinned, slowed-down version of her.
“Hi,” he said in a weak voice. “I’m good. How are … how are you?”
“I,” she said, “am fantastic. We just had the best steak ever, at this new place that’s just opened over on Main Street.”
I had my doubts as to how much steak Aunt Linda had eaten, given her appetite lately, but I wasn’t about to point that out.
“Bernetti Café?” Will asked. “We’ve been meaning to go there.”
“Oh, you should. It’s very romantic.”
There was no way Aunt Linda thought the “we” in that sentence referred to me and him—she knew if Will and I had gone public she’d practically know about it before I did—so I had to assume she was doing it to tease Will. Or maybe to even normalize the idea for him.
Will blinked at me. I wondered if he was picturing us on a date, and if the idea was kind of nice or just terrifying. “Good to know,” he said finally, which didn’t give me anything to go on. I would’ve asked him, but I was suddenly scared of what he might say.
Will and I packed up and left at the same time. It was only then that we noticed we hadn’t even started to eat any of the junk food.
“She looks different these days, huh?” I asked once we were out of earshot.
“Yeah. I know you said she’s been worse, but it was something else seeing it.”
“And this was one of her good nights.”
“God, Ollie, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Don’t. She’s here, and we’re here, and we’re just going to keep getting through.”
We stopped when we got to the door of my car. “It was nice to see you tonight,” Will said. “How about we go for a drive tomorrow? We can go back to that place in the woods.”
Well, it wasn’t a candlelit dinner, but for now that was fine. I could take it. Especially given how much I’d enjoyed the last time we went to the woods, a few days before. “Yeah. All right. Lock it in.”
He studied me, and all at once I got what he meant about wishing he could peek inside someone’s mind.
“Can’t wait.”
“What was this, exactly?”
Mr. Theo stood over Will’s desk, holding up the pile of essays he’d marked over the break. He didn’t look angry as much as exasperated. I watched from across the class. The biweekly installment of Will vs. Mr. Theo was like tuning in to a soap opera you’d been following for months. It was trashy, but the dialogue was quick, and the drama was high, and you couldn’t quite look away even if you had more important things to be doing.
Will cocked his head to one side. “Looks like my essay to me. You asked us to hand them in before Winter break, don’t you remember?”
Matt snickered at the back of the classroom.
“I asked for an essay on symbolism and literary techniques. You gave me an essay on how Lord of the Flies is an allegory for Trump’s America.”
“An allegory is a technique! You said so yourself, sir, just last lesson.”
“One technique, in an essay that was supposed to discuss four at a minimum. And it quite clearly isn’t one of the techniques the author employed to tell his story, as Lord of the Flies was written approximately a century ago.”
Will glanced over his shoulder at Matt and smirked. “Well, I don’t know, Mr. Theo, maybe this Golding guy was telepathic.”
“You mean clairvoyant. Will, if you want to use a homework task as an outlet for a political rant, there are many appropriate subjects. As it stands, English lit is not one of them. Rewrite it. Get it back to me Monday.”
“Someone’s a republican,” Will muttered over the lunch bell, not quietly enough so that he couldn’t be heard. Mr. Theo chose to ignore it.
Will shot me the briefest look as he went off with Matt. Maybe to see if I was laughing, or shaking my head. Honestly, I was kind of doing both.
I headed to the cafeteria more slowly, drifting along while I thought about the drive Will and I were going to take after school. Having something like that to look forward to made the days seem so much faster.
“Niamh’s been keeping a secret,” Juliette said in a singsong voice when I finally sat down at the lunch table.
Niamh looked up, alarmed. “Not now.”
“Why not?”
“Darnell’s gonna be here in, like, thirty seconds.”
“So spit it out.”
Niamh half-stood in her chair to eye the basketball guys, who were still filling their trays, then she sat abruptly and splayed her hands out on the table. “Okay. So we stop talking about this as soon as the guys get here, but I got signed by Enchantée Models. I found out in first period.”
“What?” I asked.
“Ho-lee shit, Niamh,” Lara said. “For real?”
“Yes, for real. An agency for real wanted me.” There was an edge to her voice, but Lara didn’t rise to the challenge. She just lifted her root beer in a one-sided toast.
“And they have strong ties in New York,” Niamh went on, “so they said I might get a casting up there sometime.”
“Niamh, that’s amazing,” I said.
Niamh was mostly looking at Lara, though. I’d thought that bad blood was behind them, but apparently not quite yet. If Niamh was looking for an apology, though, I wasn’t sure if she’d get one. “Also,” she said, “I’ve decided I’m not going to diet for it.”