Her expression hardens. She rubs her nose with a punctuating sniffle. “Oh, well, great,” she says shortly. “I’m happy for you, Fitz. Cara’s here now. I guess you can make up for lost time.”
I open my mouth to reply, and instead I laugh. It’s wildly, outlandishly ridiculous.
My laughter only incenses Juniper further, which I probably could have anticipated. She rounds on me, glaring, her dazzling eyes full of indignant combativeness. “What?” she challenges.
“You’re not serious, right?”
“Oh, I’m not?” I hear her chiseling her voice into the logical confidence I’ve heard in every conversation with her. I guess it’s her natural instinct. “You can apply to Swarthmore, go to college together, and be happy.”
I can’t help it. I keep laughing, and now the noise is fuller, ringing out in the empty woods.
Juniper’s stained cheeks have colored furiously pink. “What is so funny?” she demands, her voice pitchy.
“Juniper,” I get out, “I liked Cara in eighth grade. Not now.”
She’s quiet for a beat, guarded and uncertain. “Not now?” she finally repeats.
“No,” I say. “Now the only thing I want is to finish this college tour. With you.” It’s the truth. For the past few days, I’ve welcomed uncertainty I never would have before, exploring colleges with real eyes and forsaking my conviction I was bound for SNHU. Instead of deciding my future was written in stone, I’ve embraced not knowing what it holds. The only thing I do know for certain is how much I want Juniper in my life every minute of our remaining days together.
Her expression evens with what I sense is relief. Her eyes remain distant, though, fixed on some hurt I can’t see.
“Cara wasn’t the reason you were crying,” I say gently. It’s not a question.
I don’t fully expect her to reply. But she hugs one knee to her chest, perching her foot on the step, before she explains. “I guess partly,” she says. “But no, I just . . .” She inhales deeply. When she speaks, her words come in a clear, unqualified rush. “I’m not used to feeling alone,” she says. “I never have the chance. Three sisters, two brothers, an overbearing aunt. Tonight, I felt lonely for the first time, maybe ever, and I just kept thinking this is what college will be like. Except worse because I’ll have moved away from my family, and I’ll be feeling alone in the place I’ve chosen as my home.”
The thought that Juniper Ramírez could share my own insecurities momentarily stuns me. She’s beautiful and outgoing and smart and fearless. It makes sense for someone like me to anticipate loneliness in college, but her? It’s comforting, in a way. “I know what you mean,” I say.
Her eyes lift to mine, searching and hopeful. “You do?”
“Of course,” I answer. “I’m beginning to suspect everyone feels lonely some of the time. But, Juniper”—I take her hand—“you have to know you’re the last person who needs to worry about this. You’re charming and outgoing and fearless. You didn’t even know me a week ago. Now look at us.” The corner of her mouth curls, and I squeeze her fingers. “You’re not alone. Not now. Not by any definition. And I know you’ll find amazing friends wherever you end up.”
She leans in to me, pressing herself to my side. I wrap my arm around her and try very hard not to let the closeness of her body affect me.
Her head rests on my shoulder, the incline of my neck. I turn my head, lowering my cheek and nose to her hair, the curls pulled tight into her ponytail. I remember the way she smells from the rooftop overlooking Brown. There’s the floral ether probably from shampoo, and then something infinitely more complex, entirely her. Her body is tucked warmly to mine, her figure nestled into me exactly.
It’s perfect. Except for one thing.
“Juniper?” I say.
“Yeah?” I feel her speak on my shoulder.
“It’s freezing.”
She laughs dryly, pulling herself upright. I kick myself for precipitating this unfortunate turn of events, but I did notice my fingertips starting to purple.
Juniper releases my hand and stands up, shivering once. “Walk with me to the hotel?”
Obviously, I nod. I try not to betray how freaking ecstatic I am we were just holding hands, again, and I had my arm around her.
We walk together from the amphitheater back toward campus. My ears have recalibrated from the din of the Primal Scream, and I pick up the noises of the outdoors while we walk. The rustling of animals that’ve found homes in the bushes, the hum of the occasional car, the hooting of a faraway owl. We walk in silence. It’s not uncomfortable this time, not like the disastrous echoing emptiness of the drive down here. I’m mentally replaying the conversation we had in the amphitheater, finding myself unable to stop reexamining every detail.
“So you were jealous of Cara.” I don’t say it to pry into or delight in her frustration, but because there’s something I have to make clear.
“No, I wasn’t!” she protests, righteously indignant. It’s one of her top three moods.
“I’m getting pretty good at reading you, Juniper Ramírez,” I reply, knowing it’s a bit of a bold thing to say. I’m becoming increasingly comfortable being bold with her, and I’m definitely enjoying it. She huffs, and I continue before she hits me with some perfect retort. “But let me tell you, you have no reason for jealousy.” I pause. Admitting how I feel is unquestionably scary. It’s a huge risk—possibly the biggest risk—but after tonight, I’m ready. It could go horribly. Or it could turn into something wonderful. I’m ready to find out. “I like you.” I say it quickly but not without confidence.
Juniper’s lips twitch with either a pleased smile or contained laughter at the ridiculousness of my affections. “Tell me,” she says abruptly, “what’s your favorite word for sorrow?”
I’m thrown by the question, still trying to decipher her reaction. “Dolor,” I answer after a moment, hoping my confession hasn’t flung her into hopeless dolor and that’s why she’s asking.
“Thank you for curing my dolor, Fitz.” She takes my hand.
It’s not horrible. Far from it. It feels like the start of something incredible. In the time since the High Line, we’ve joked and fought and fallen out, and even though it’s been only days, I’m boundlessly grateful we’re reconnecting.
I walk with her through the campus, now hardly feeling the cold.
Fitz
EARLY THE NEXT morning, I’d only just finished pulling on my sweater when I heard knocking on the hotel room door. I swung the door open and found Juniper. We smiled stupidly and said our hellos with a breathlessness I didn’t know hellos could have. I think we both felt like last night never really ended, only continued into today.