If These Wings Could Fly - Kyrie McCauley Page 0,43

Liam does this when he drives me to school, but I was never aware of it in the way I am now.

Liam will drive himself home from the school once the team bus gets back, so Fiona and I grab snacks and head down to their basement on our own while we wait for him. It’s already late, but my parents said midnight, and I’m going to steal every last minute I can here before I have to go home.

Their basement has a gigantic television on one end, and big sofas and chairs. And the whole other half of the basement is turned into a little dance studio for Fiona, complete with long mirrors and a barre. She moves to her half of the room, slipping her shoes off and stepping into movements she’s done a million times. I bet she dreams dance.

“When did you start it?”

“Dance?” she asks. She makes eye contact with me in the mirror as she stretches. “When I was three.”

She sits down on the floor and pulls her hair loose from the tight bun it was in.

“I know, it looks crazy,” she says. Her hair is curly and big after she takes it out.

“It’s really pretty, Fiona.”

“Psh.” She rolls her eyes. “Tell that to Dylan Carpin.”

“Who?”

She sighs, leaning forward. “A kid in my grade.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he liked me,” she says. “He said he wanted to ask me to winter formal.”

“Do you want to say yes?”

“I did . . . until he asked what I planned to do with my hair for the dance.”

“What?”

“Yeah, he said it’s really pretty when it doesn’t look too exotic.”

“Wow, Fiona. What a jerk.”

Fiona laughs. “Yup.”

She stands up and moves to the sofa, curling up next to me.

“I thought he was nice. He seemed nice otherwise.”

“Yeah, but nice otherwise could excuse a lot of terrible stuff, couldn’t it?”

Fiona looks at me. “You’re right. It could. Whatever. My friends and I are going as a group. We don’t need dates.”

“I’ve never gone with a date to a dance, and I always have fun with my best friend.”

“Yeah? Good, decision made. Friends only. Well, for me. Maybe you can finally go with someone . . .”

I pull a pillow to my chest. “Don’t even say it, Fiona.”

“. . . like Liam?”

“You said it!”

Fiona tugs the pillow away from me. “You can’t hide from it; I know you want to go with him. You two are dumb together. It’s great to see a couple of smarty-pants be dumb together.”

“Thanks, Fiona,” I say, laughing.

“Just promise you’ll say yes if he asks,” she says.

What is it with everyone making me promise this?

Fiona gasps. “Or better yet, you should ask Liam!”

“Ask me what?” says a voice in the stairwell.

I glare at Fiona and shake my head no.

She just smiles, and looks exactly like her brother when she does.

“Congratulations,” I tell Liam when he sits down on the opposite couch. He must’ve jumped right into a shower before coming down here, because his hair is all wet and he does not smell like he just played a football game. It’s that same earthy shower wash again. The kind he used the first night we kissed. The memory makes me flush with warmth. Maybe Fiona is right. Maybe I am a little dumb with Liam. And maybe that’s okay. To get out of my head and trust my feelings.

But it’s nice to know that it’s even. That I make him a little dumb, too.

“Thanks,” Liam says. “But we aren’t here to talk about football.”

“We aren’t?”

“We are supposed to work on art.”

“Let’s not,” I say, pushing my backpack behind me.

“It can’t be that bad,” Liam says, reaching for it.

He tugs the bag from me and pulls out my art portfolio. He takes out my latest catastrophe, which I’m fondly calling Portrait of an Old Crow.

It’s a drawing of Joe, but wearing a bow tie and a monocle. I’ve told Liam about the real Joe, but I think he didn’t know how seriously to take me. Guardian bird is probably a weird concept to accept outright. It took Campbell, Juniper, and me a while, too.

But now he’s just Joe. Always outside our house. Taking the crackers Juniper leaves him, and giving her marbles in return.

Liam takes the drawing over to the light, and he smiles at it.

“He’s cute,” he says.

“He’s dignified,” I correct.

“May I?” He gestures with his pencil, and I nod. Liam changes the shape of the eyes a bit with his pencil. The change is subtle—intuitive,