it. It started this week and is happening all next week too.”
“It’s probably not as cool as I remember it. Probably one of those things that kids love but adults actually hate. Everything seems better when you’re young.”
Gus turned toward me and gave me a long look. “Okay, I know you said you hate this time of year, but you don’t have to be pessimistic about everything. It might be great.”
“Or it might not be.”
“We could go and see.”
I looked at him in surprise. “What?”
“We could go check it out.” Gus took the plate that I’d forgotten I was holding out of my hands.
“You mean, like, now?”
“Well, not now now. We have to feed Frog all those latkes first, and then spend two days running away from his retribution. But if you mean ‘now’ as in sometime soon, then yeah.”
“I don’t know.”
“What don’t you know?”
“It’s just…” Why was it so hard to find words for things? Other people’s words, I could handle flawlessly, but when I had to come up with my own, it was like I’d forgotten how to speak.
I looked at the last, lonely glass sitting in the sink’s soapy, lemon-scented water. Part of me longed to see the festival again. To see everything lit up, glittering and golden. To feel my grandfather’s gloved hand clasping my own.
But I doubted it was possible to recapture that magic. It might be better to preserve those memories as they were, rather than risk tarnishing them. They were some of the few good ones I had left.
“We could go late,” Gus said. “Stick to the edges. Hell, you can wear a ski mask if you want. No one will know who you are.”
“What happened to you being scared to leave the house?”
“Maybe you make me brave.” He shrugged. “Maybe you make me want to live a little.”
That was wrong. It was the other way around. Gus was the one who made me feel more alive than I had in ages. How could he possibly think I was giving him anything, when it was me who was in his debt?
Going to the festival seemed like a risk. And there was no way it would be the same as before. But maybe—maybe it could be a good kind of different.
And maybe Gus made me brave too.
“Okay.” I picked up the glass and attacked it with a sponge. “Let’s do it.”
“You mean it?” Gus smiled with delight.
“I mean it. If you want to, I want to.”
“Oh, really?” His smile took on a slightly malicious air.
“Um, wait. Should I regret saying that? What did I just agree to?”
“Nothing more than going to the festival.” His voice was way too innocent.
“Then why are you smiling like that?”
“I’m not smiling any particular way. You really need to let go of your paranoia. You’ve got a very suspicious mind.”
“And you’ve got about as many morals as Frog,” I said, rinsing the glass clean. “Which is not very many, in case that wasn’t clear. So explain that smile of yours.”
“I was just curious, is all. You said you’d go to the festival if I wanted to. I was simply wondering if that same logic applies to other things I might want to do.”
My stomach turned a somersault.
“Gus, you know we can’t.” I gripped the glass like it might somehow give me the strength to say no to whatever he was about to propose.
“I know nothing of the sort,” Gus said. “What I know is that you enjoyed yourself, and so did I. What I know is that I’d like to enjoy myself again. And I’m pretty sure I know that you would too.”
“I don’t—that is, we can’t—”
I broke off, my throat suddenly bone dry. I tried to swallow and couldn’t. Honestly, I would have rather had to eat another inedible latke than try to find a way to refuse him.
He took the glass from my hand, set it and the dish towel down on the counter, then turned my body until I was facing him. I should have refused to move, but all I could do was let him touch me, let him put me where he wanted, and wait, breathless, to see what happened next.
“We can,” Gus said, putting one hand on my shoulder and his other on my chest.
Could he feel how hard my heart was beating? His eyes had me trapped, and I wished he’d look anywhere other than my face—except, of course, if he looked down, he’d probably notice the boner I was sporting, which