“Just… be normal. Don’t change how you act because you know this about me. Don’t let up on me.” Rain soaks his hair, drips down his glasses. “I’d hope that you of all people wouldn’t treat me differently.”
“Okay. I won’t. I still find you quite insufferable.” Though I’m stuck on something else he said: Don’t let up on me. After today, when will I have a chance not to?
However fun this is, however much I’ve enjoyed our conversations, I can’t let myself forget that this—our rivalry, our partnership, even potentially our budding friendship—ends after tonight. Is there a word for what happens after your sworn nemesis lets you into their room and tells you their secrets?
“Good. I’d hate to disrupt the balance of the universe.”
I want to roll my eyes at this, but despite the frustrations of the past hour, my face decides to pull my mouth into a smile.
And—I let it.
By the time we reach the car, we’re soaked and shivering. I hurl myself inside. Neil is much more meticulous than I am, drying his glasses and the face of his watch with a few delicate swipes against the seat cushion.
When he sits down next to me, his hair is slicked with water, his T-shirt pasted to his skin. If I thought his T-shirt was revealing, his wet T-shirt is downright indecent.
I grope under the seat for my cardigan before remembering where it is. “I left my sweater at the record store.” My teeth are chattering.
He removes a dry gray hoodie from his backpack. “Here,” he says, holding it out to me. “Take this.”
“Are you sure? We’re both pretty soaked.”
“Yeah, but you’re wearing less.” His face twists, brows coming together to form a pained expression. “I hope that didn’t sound gross. I meant, you’re not wearing anything underneath the dress except, uh, you know. Like, you don’t have pants or tights or leggings under it. To be honest, I’ve never understood the difference between tights and leggings. I’m making it worse, aren’t I? You’re wearing a completely normal amount of clothing. Are you seriously going to let me keep talking?”
“Yes.” Flustered Neil is never not funny. “I knew what you meant. Thanks.” I zip the hoodie over my rain- and coffee-splattered dress. Then I blast the heat and retie the armband to his hoodie sleeve. “Leggings are footless and usually much thicker than tights.”
It’s not until I lean back in the seat, waiting for my car to warm up, that the scent of his hoodie hits me. It smells good, and I wonder if it’s detergent or just the natural scent of Neil, one I’ve never really paid attention to before. I guess I’ve never been close enough to notice. I’m stunned by how much I don’t hate it, so much so that it makes me light-headed for a split second.
It might also be the weed cookie warping my brain again.
He shoves his hands toward the vents.
“It’ll heat up soon,” I say. I’m afraid of the mythological beast I’ll see in the mirror, but I sneak a glance anyway. My eyeliner has mostly faded, and mascara has migrated down my cheeks. I swipe it away, then tug the elastic out of my hair and open the car door so I can wring out the water as best I can. With the extra bobby pins in my cup holders, I pin it back up. My bangs, though…
“You’re always messing with your hair.”
I withdraw a hand from my bangs like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t be. It’s strange when someone else notices your nervous habits. “My stupid bangs,” I say with a sigh. “I can never decide what to do with them.”
He studies me for a long moment, as though I am a sentence he’s trying to translate into another language. “I like them the way they are,” he says finally, which isn’t helpful and somehow makes me more self-conscious.
I vow to cut them before graduation. I am not taking hair advice from Neil McNair.
I plug in my phone and put on the Smiths. Back to rainy-day music.
Neil groans. “Seriously, do you not have any happy music?”
“The Smiths are happy.”
“No, this is mopey and depressing. What’s this song called?”
“I don’t want to say.”
He grabs for my phone. I try to snatch it back, but he’s quicker than I am. “ ‘Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now’?”
“It’s a good song!”
He scrolls through my phone as we wait for the car to heat up. I’m gripped with that itchy someone’s-messing-with-my-phone feeling. He selects a song by Depeche Mode and places the phone back in the cup holder. My shoulders relax.
“Gas Works?” I say, and Neil lets out a long-suffering sigh.
“It’s not the best view, but fine. And we have to figure out this Cooper clue or we’re fucked. I’m going to do some more sleuthing online, see if Sean or Adrian or Cyrus have any ideas.”
With Neil on his phone, we drive in relative quiet for a few minutes, except for Dave Gahan singing about not being able to get enough. When I make a left turn, something in the back seat thuds to the floor.
Neil twists around to look. “You always carry around that many books with you?”
“Oh shit,” I say, banging the steering wheel. “I was supposed to return those today!” It completely slipped my mind this morning with the power outage. “Do you think there’s any chance school is still open?”
“Yeah, given that it’s almost nine o’clock—no, Artoo. It’s definitely closed.”
“How much do you think the fine would be?”
“Per book? You have, what, five back there, so… a lot.” He clucks his tongue. “I hear they don’t let you walk if you have overdue books. It could be an urban legend, though. I haven’t heard of it happening to anyone. Hey, you could be the first!” He glances at the books again and then back at me. “Well, I guess there’s only one thing to do.”
I blink at him, waiting for some magic solution.
“We have to break in.”
I snort-laugh. “Right. The valedictorian and salutatorian breaking in to the school library. Not to mention, we can’t keep taking detours like this.”
“We’re pretty solidly in the lead,” he says, and he’s right. “What other option is there if you don’t want a fine? And if you want to walk on Sunday?”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek. Damn it, he’s right. I don’t want to risk not walking. I mean, I definitely don’t believe him, but just in case.
“We’ll be safe in there,” he continues. “And we’ll be fast. In and out.”
I stop at an intersection before making the turn that will take us back to school. “Then I guess we’re doing it. We’re breaking in to the library.”
Text conversation between Rowan Roth and Neil McNair
April of junior year
McNIGHTMARE
Mr. Kepler accidentally hinted at a pop quiz in 3rd period today.
I know you have him for 4th period, so I wanted to let you know.
So we’re on equal footing and all.
that was… oddly nice?
are you broken?