“It’s probably nicer if you’re actually into the person you’re dancing with.”
Immediately, I realize it was the wrong thing to say. Shit. He stiffens. It lasts only a second, but it’s enough to drop us out of time with the song.
“Yeah. I’m sure it is.”
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. I wanted to stop the current of emotions threatening to pull me under, but clearly I went too far. I should tell him I’m not imagining anyone else at all. That I’ve grown dizzy with the scent of him. That it would be impossible to think of anyone but him when we are touching like his, when his hand is spread across my back, when my lashes brush against his neck every time I blink.
“I mean,” I backtrack, stepping on his toes and muttering an apology. “Not that I don’t like dancing with you. I just—”
“I get it.” Without warning, he lets go of my hand. “You were right earlier. We should get going.”
“We—um—right.” I stumble over the words, over my feet, which struggle to move on their own. The mood changed so quickly it gave me whiplash, the temperature in the room dropping from balmy to subzero. I grab for my phone to anchor me. “There’s another Howl update.”
We’re still in the lead: 13 for Neil and me, 9 for both Brady and Mara, and 8 for Carolyn Gao.
“Good job, Brady,” Neil says with a low whistle.
I’ve also missed about a dozen notifications in my Two Birds group chat.
COLLEEN
Can anyone close for me tonight?? My kid threw up at a sleepover, and I have to go get him
Anyone?? I’ll give you all my tips from today.
All the other employees have responded that they can’t do it, that they already have Friday plans they can’t get out of. The most recent message is from Colleen again, just my name with three question marks.
“After the floppy disk, we’re down to two. The view and Mr. Cooper. For the view, we should really do Kerry Park. It’s my favorite spot in Seattle,” Neil is saying as I debate how to reply to the message. He must notice I’m distracted. “What is it?”
“It’s work,” I say. “Two Birds One Scone. My boss needs someone to close up the café tonight, and I’m the only one who’s available. Do you mind if we make a quick stop there? It’ll take ten minutes, I swear.”
“Oh. Sure, okay.” There’s a chilliness in his voice I’m pretty sure isn’t entirely related to this detour.
I shouldn’t have implied I wished he were someone else. No one would be thrilled to hear that while dancing with someone, even if that person is their sworn enemy. I’m cursed to never say the right thing around him—but I’m starting to wonder if I have any idea what that right thing is.
It’s the yearbook incident all over again. Was I so worried about the kind of friendliness a “yes” would connote that I leaped to “no”? Is my subconscious trying to protect me from getting too close, or am I really that scared of what acknowledging these feelings would mean? Because it’s clear now—they mean something. If I’ve learned anything from romance novels, it’s that the heart is an unflappable muscle. You can ignore it for only so long.
Neil picks up his backpack. All of a sudden, I can’t bear the thought of leaving this place. Not the school or the library itself, but this moment. With him.
But I force my feet to follow his as we creep back outside, the door locking automatically behind us. We don’t talk as we make our way to my car, and it’s only once we’re in the semi-light of the streetlamps that I open my mouth to speak.
“Thank you,” I say, reaching out to graze his bare arm with my fingertips. He’s cold too. “For all of that. Though I doubt the actual prom was quite as extravagant. They probably had the generic brand of Skittles.”
What I don’t say is that somehow I’m positive this was better than prom. I can barely remember how I imagined it. Sure, the PHSB and I would have danced, but we would have been dating for a while. Would it have been as exciting as dancing with Neil for the first time? Would I have shivered when his hand dipped to my lower back or when his breath whispered across my ear?
Thank God, he half smiles at that. “Only the best for Rowan Roth,” he says, and then I’m spiraling again.
In the light, his freckles are almost glowing, his hair a golden amber. Everything about him is softer nearly to the point of appearing blurry, like I can’t quite tell who this new version of Neil McNair is, leaving me more uncertain than ever.
AN INCOMPLETE LIST OF NEIL MCNAIR’S FAVORITE WORDS
- petrichor: the scent of the earth after it rains (English)
- tsundoku: acquiring more books than you could ever read (Japanese)
- hygge: a warm, cozy feeling associated with relaxing, eating, and drinking with loved ones (Danish)
- Fernweh: a feeling of homesickness for a place you’ve never been (German)
- Fremdschamen: the feeling of shame on someone else’s behalf; secondhand embarrassment (German)
- davka: the opposite of what is expected (Hebrew)
10:09 p.m.
“THANK YOU SO much,” Colleen says as she unties her apron. “I would have closed up early, but we had a last-minute rush.” She lists the remaining tasks: wiping tables, washing dishes, and wrapping up any remaining pastries for tomorrow’s day-old bin.
“It’s no problem. You know I love this place.”
Neil leans against the pastry case, scoping out the goods. If Colleen wonders why he’s here, she blessedly doesn’t ask.
Colleen grabs her purse. “We’ll miss you next year.”
“I’ll be back on breaks,” I insist. “You know I can’t resist those cinnamon rolls.”
“That’s what all the college kids say. But then they get busy, or they want to spend time with their friends, or they move away for good. It happens. Whether you come back to work or not, there will always be a cinnamon roll with your name on it.”
I want to tell her I won’t be one of those people, but the truth is, there’s no way to know.
Colleen leaves us alone in this small café. During the car ride, I couldn’t stop thinking about the dance. I was so wrapped up in it that I relinquished music privileges, letting him play a Free Puppies! song he claimed was their best. But I could barely hear it.
Being that close to him in the library muddied my feelings. I tried to rationalize it: I’m exhausted, and the game has turned me delirious. My mind is playing tricks on me, convincing me I feel something for him I’m positive I didn’t feel yesterday. Or my body was craving closeness to another person’s. I’m a writer—I can make up a hundred different reasons.
The things I said, though, about wishing he were someone else—they hurt his ego. They must have. But I don’t like us like this. I didn’t like it after the assembly this morning, when I refused to sign his yearbook, and I don’t like it now. Or maybe it’s that I like this too much, and that’s even scarier. Neil is softer than I realized, and I’m a barbed-wire fence. Every time he gets too close, I make myself sharper.
“What should we do first?” he asks.