“Going to tell anyone,” I interrupt quickly. I fully turn my back on our friends so they won’t see my face which, thankfully, Oliver interprets as a shut up shut up shut up.
“Right,” he says warily.
Nobody seems to have missed the weirdness, though. The dancing dies down just enough that I can see more than a few curious looks pointed in our direction, and I can sense Teddy and Chloe about to turn around and notice, too.
I grin broadly before all the socially awkward dominoes can fall. “Be right back—I’m just gonna grab some water real quick!”
In my defense, that part isn’t a lie. It turns out sweating bullets on a dance floor and downing frozen dairy products don’t mix (bodies are, first and foremost, scams). I head to the back and pour myself a glass of water, yanking my damp curls into a ponytail, but even after I catch my breath I have no idea what I’m going to say to our friends. Or if I’m going to say anything at all.
But I can’t think about that now. People are going to notice if I’m gone too long. I sweep out of the kitchen, then abruptly stop, my breath hitching with surprise—Oliver’s standing by the door to the kitchen, clearly waiting for me.
“Just so we’re all on the same page—did you not tell anyone about Madison?” he asks.
Just then “Seventeen” from Heathers the musical starts playing over the speakers.
“Oh, I love this song,” I say with forced enthusiasm, starting to walk away.
“Millie—”
I slide past both him and the question, angling myself toward the main room. “I gotta dance.”
“Fine,” he says. He doesn’t offer his hand so much as he just takes mine and pulls me in, and this time there’s nothing hesitant or ambiguous about it. He looks me right in the eye, putting his hands on my waist. I am suddenly so still that all I can feel is the heat that blooms in my chest and spreads itself out so fast that I might have imagined it.
Oliver’s the one who starts to sway, just as the song’s pumped-up intro gives way to a ballad. For once, I follow his lead, surprised at how easy it is. I’ve never actually slow danced with anyone before. Well, not with anyone I wasn’t on stage with.
But this doesn’t feel like dancing, really. It feels too natural for that. Like it’s something I’ve always had the rhythm for, and it was simply a matter of finding someone who had the same one.
That fleeting thought is dashed the moment Oliver opens his mouth. “Why haven’t you told your friends?”
I purse my lips. “My dad might not even let me go.”
I’m expecting Oliver to ask why. Almost dreading it, because then I’ll have to go through my dad’s list of reasons all over again and remind myself that there’s definitely going to be at least one more fight about this ahead.
But Oliver doesn’t seem surprised by this in the least, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Are you even sure you want to?”
I roll my eyes. “Why does everyone keep asking me that?”
“Because I know you.” The pressure of his hands around my waist tightens slightly on the know, so I don’t just hear it but feel it. “You’re competitive as hell.”
My cheeks flush. I can’t believe I’m now defending this choice to Oliver, who probably has more reasons to want me to go than anyone else I know.
“Hence why I’m going to a competitive program,” I say, leaning in closer. “I’m going to be a year ahead of everyone else, and in Broadway years, that’s like, a decade.”
Oliver’s lip quirks. “Yeah, but after that year is over you’re going to miss being a part of the action here, and you know it,” he says, before I can open my mouth to protest. “You’ve always wanted to be the best. I think after a year you’re going to set your sights on something better. Something in New York.”
In this moment my sights are so set on him that it’s blotting out everything else. I take a breath, full and deep, and feel his hands moving with it.
“You think I’m settling for Madison, then.”
Oliver doesn’t answer, his eyes still trained on mine. I want to hold on to my frustration with him, pressing myself closer to him like I’m daring him to say it.
“I think…” His eyes are so close to mine that I can see something brewing under the surface of them. For a moment, I’m not breathing at all, suspended on whatever’s at the other end of that sentence. “I know if you waited, you could get into any of the big-name schools in the city. I’m not sure why you’re in such a rush.”
I’m not used to my voice sounding small. It usually announces my presence long before I walk into a room. “I’ve waited so long already,” I say.
Then it’s not just my voice that goes quiet but both of us. Our rhythm slows even as the song picks up, until we’re not really dancing at all, but just holding each other. Even the club itself seems to still.
The world is quiet, but the thought that interrupts it is all too loud: kiss him.
There’s so much charge in the air between us that it seems like an inevitability. Like there can’t be this much electricity without it collecting, without it ending in some kind of lightning strike. I wasn’t wrong before, I realize. There’s something here. Something so fully formed and rooted so deep that maybe it’s been here longer than we knew.
“Well … it seems like you’ve made up your mind, then,” says Oliver, his voice lower than I’ve ever heard it. “And if there’s another thing I know about you, it’s that once you’ve made up your mind, there’s no stopping it.”
I want to smile, but I can’t. The song comes to an end and Oliver doesn’t let me go.
“I’m going to tell them,” I say quietly. “Just not tonight. I don’t want us all to be thinking about how much we’re going to miss each other. I want to enjoy this.”
Oliver considers the words, then says, “Okay. I won’t say anything.” I duck my head in relief. “But Millie?”
The question hovers in the air, but I don’t answer it. I’m trying to figure out when it was that I got used to Oliver calling me by my name instead of “Your Majesty.” I’m trying to figure out why, in this moment, I like the way he says my name more than anyone else.
“I’m gonna miss you, too.”
One of the regular shift workers shows up early for the club’s opening and nudges past us. Oliver steps back and so do I, and before I can say anything, we’re interrupted by “Seventeen” by MARINA blasting from the dance floor. Oliver nods, and so do I, even though I’m not sure what we’re nodding about—whether it’s an acknowledgment of the secret I asked him to keep or the secret I suspect we are both keeping.
But both of them are too big to tackle tonight. I let him go first, then I follow him back out, grabbing my milkshake from where I propped it up on the bar. We all dance for a few more numbers, and every time I look up into one of my friends’ faces, I try to stamp the memory of it in my heart—but it’s all happening so fast, the night slipping out from under me before I can grab on to anything I can hold.