We reach the corner, where Fitz stops.
I turn and find him nodding, an idea in his eyes. “I think I know what we could do,” he says.
He pulls out his phone, glancing up from the screen to orient himself with the map, and I wait. I wait while I could be dismissing the invitation. While I could be returning to my empty hotel room. While I could be telling myself I definitely, unquestionably hated holding his hand.
“It means ‘breathtakingly beautiful,’” he says out of nowhere.
“What?”
“Pulchritudinous.” He looks up, his eyes finding mine. “It means ‘beautiful.’”
Fitz
JUNIPER WAS RIGHT. We do only have a couple of days. It’s why I had to invite her to dinner when she was considering heading back to her hotel.
We walk side by side through Koreatown, passing cars rushing up to every curb, kids shouting to each other from neighboring stoops. It’s nothing like New Hampshire, where everything closes by nine and nighttime entertainment is the local theater’s two-for-one movie screenings.
In ten minutes we’ve reached the restaurant, which can in no way be confused for date territory, I note with satisfaction in one half of my brain and deep disappointment in the other. The place is corporate clean, with white fiberglass tables and booths. Behind them, people wait for to-go orders in front of the brightly illuminated counter. It would be cold and minimalist if not for the smell, which is the exact opposite. Rich and vibrantly flavorful, it’s practically a tangible presence. It’s so spicy, the temperature in the room prickles with heat.
I turn to Juniper, who looks grudgingly curious. “Korean fried chicken,” I answer her unasked question.
She nods, and I can see intrigue winning out over skepticism on her stony features. I walk into the restaurant and fist-pump internally when she follows me.
Near the front of the restaurant, we find Lewis reading the menu at a table. He’s in his interview suit, his tie loosened around his neck. I sit down opposite him. “Okay,” he says, head down, studying the menu, “they say spicy means insanely spicy, but I’m feeling daring—” He glances up, stopping midsentence when he sees Juniper. She’s standing next to me, her mouth folded into a confused frown.
“Dinner with your brother?” She sounds doubtful, if a little amused. “That’s your idea?”
I grin winningly. “Perfect, right?” It is perfect, I note, congratulating myself in my head. Excellent job killing the mood with the girl you like. I can imagine nothing more platonic than Lewis jumping in every time conversation with Juniper veers in the direction of . . . not-platonic. I’m guessing Juniper will understand the plan’s inexorable logic. “This is Juniper,” I tell Lewis.
My brother stands, recovering his composure immediately, and extends his hand. The gesture’s precision makes me remember how frequently he’s probably repeated it today in his five hours of interviews. “Lewis Holton,” he says with confidence, and for a moment I’m pricked with familiar jealousy for his instantaneous, easy warmth with people. Except this time, there’s something else alongside the jealousy, something possibly born of this week together. Something like pride.
Juniper doesn’t introduce herself. She blinks. “Holton?”
It takes me a minute to understand the question. She’s never heard my last name. The realization shakes me. I can’t quite wrap my head around the idea that this girl I feel remarkably close to doesn’t even know enough of my name to find me online. She knows exactly as much of my name as Starbucks baristas do. It seems dumb, idealistic, the way I’ve presumed with very little foundation that I have this incredible, genuine connection with her. I don’t even know her.
Juniper’s eyes jump to mine. “My last name is Ramírez,” she says, like she’s reading my mind.
It’s weirdly reassuring to know. Learning her name doesn’t change who she is to me, doesn’t change why I like her, or how much I enjoy her ever-present wit, or how utterly unpredictable I find her. It just gives whatever our relationship is a longevity it previously lacked. We’re more than baristas to each other.
Juniper takes the seat next to me. I turn to Lewis, who’s openly gaping at the two of us. It’s like I can hear the questions formulating in his mind, and I quickly head them off. “Juniper’s going to be leading our college trip now,” I inform him. “She’s an expert,” I say like it’s a real justification.
“Um—what?” Lewis asks, evidently trying to process this development.
“Only if it’s okay with you,” Juniper interjects, addressing Lewis. “I don’t want to derail any of your plans.”
Lewis ignores the comment. “I remember you,” he says, studying her. “You were in the basement at Brown. The Alpha Delt party.” He faces me, and I recognize his expression instantly. “I knew it.” My stomach knots with dread. “You tried to deny why you were in a hurry to drive to Brown,” he continues. “You were texting all day yesterday, and you pretended you were talking to a friend. But I knew.” He’s irritatingly impressed with himself. “I knew there was a girl.”
Juniper rounds on me, because the world is cold and unfeeling.
I deflect desperately. “What, um”—I pick up Lewis’s menu—“what were you saying was spicy?”
“Are you two a thing?” Lewis asks, predictably unwilling to let it go.
“No,” Juniper and I say simultaneously, and with too much conviction.
Lewis watches us, obviously interested. “I see.”
I notice Juniper blush, which is unusual. She’s not the kind of girl who’s often embarrassed or self-conscious. Not when crashing into students in the Boston University quad or when striking up conversation with people she’s never met in the middle of Mike’s Pastry. The fact that her cheeks have colored now gives me hope that Lewis thinking we’re together thrills her in some way. It’s hope I’m hesitant to hold on to, but that’s the only kind of hope I know.
“I’m game for the spiciest thing on the menu,” Juniper says, reading the folded laminate over my shoulder. I glance down, surveying the color-saturated photos of crispy, sauce-drenched chicken and remembering how hungry I am.
“I like her,” Lewis declares, looking impressed with Juniper’s choice. He pulls his tie off in one quick motion. “I don’t know if ultra-spicy is the choice I would’ve gone with in your position,” he continues with a meaningful look at the two of us, “but, respect. Let me know if you want me to leave, by the way. To give you some privacy for your date.”