see the campus for ourselves. We ate at so many cool places—breakfast burritos at a corner bodega, lunch at her mom’s favorite secret ramen spot, and dinner at this amazing Indian restaurant with food so spicy it made me sweat. That’s what I want more of. Green Mountain Grocery doesn’t even sell hot sauce.
Next to Chinese Food Restaurant is an old video store Andrew and I used to love when we were kids. I’m actually kinda surprised to see it’s still in business. A while back, it started stocking textbooks to sell to students and then opened a cafe in the front of the store. I guess coffee and cookie sales have kept it afloat, but the new Dunkin’ Donuts will probably put an end to that.
“I’m leaning toward prostitution,” I say.
“Look! The video place is hiring.” Hannah grins. I think at first that she’s kidding, but sure enough, when I squint my eyes I can just make out the red hiring sign tacked to the front of the store.
“No.”
“Let’s at least go check it out.” She pulls open her door. “This could be the start of your glorious film career.”
“I’m not getting out of the car.”
And then we see him—the guy from yesterday, with the eyes like melted chocolate and the windblown brown hair. James Dean. He emerges from inside the video store holding a big square chalkboard and then props it up on the sidewalk. Crouching down in front of it, he pulls a piece of chalk out of his pocket and begins to write. I squint but can’t make out what it says.
“Okay, maybe I’ll get out of the car.”
Hannah turns to me with sparkling eyes. “Do you think he works there?”
“Unless he’s vandalizing the storefront.”
James Dean turns in our direction, and we both instinctively back away from the window. He rubs his hands together and blows into his fingerless gloves, little puffs of steam rising in the air. I can just barely see his shirt from here, black, SCORSESE written across the front in block letters. It’s amazing.
I pull down the passenger-side visor and study myself in the little mirror. My hair is falling out of its braid, and it looks a bit like I’ve just gone for a run. But maybe James Dean will think I’m athletic. Probably not.
“Do I look okay?”
“You are a beautiful unicorn princess,” Hannah says. “Now let’s go.” And before I have a chance to object, she jumps out of the car, yellow boots crunching into the snow. By the time I climb out after her, she’s already halfway across the parking lot, easily maneuvering over the slick patches of ice.
“Hannah, wait!” I call out, trying to catch up. The ground is slippery beneath my feet, and I’m trying to go as fast as I can while remaining upright. She’s almost at the sidewalk now, and turns once she’s hopped up onto the curb. James Dean turns too, and from this distance, I can see that his cheeks and the tip of his nose are flushed pink from the cold. It’s adorable.
And then my boot catches on a thin patch of ice and I slip, falling backward into a wet pile of slush. My elbow is throbbing when it hits, and I can already sense the bruise forming on my tailbone. I can feel the cold seeping through my pants—snow finding its way into places snow has no business being—but the heat spreading across my face is worse. This is not the kind of grand entrance I wanted to make. I lie back for a second, letting the embarrassment wash over me, avoiding the moment I’ll have to face James Dean. Maybe he didn’t see me fall. Maybe he turned back to the chalkboard at just the right moment, and I can still get up and scramble away and come back tomorrow shiny and new.
“Keely!” Hannah’s voice calls, high and sharp. I sit up, dizzy, turning in her direction, and then I see it—a bright red car is sliding right at me over the ice. The driver blasts on the horn and I scramble to my feet. As the car turns sharply, slush sprays in all directions, and I careen