My conversation with Max rushes back in, and I’m embarrassed. Dances are such feminine affairs. I can’t bear to hear scorn from Cricket, too. “It’s for my winter formal,” I say. “And it’s not important.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It’s . . . just a big dress.”
“Big like a parachute? Big like a circus tent?”
As always, he makes me smile when I’m determined not to. “Big like Marie Antoinette.”
He whistles. “That is big. What are those things called? Hoop skirts?”
“Sort of. In that period, they were called panniers. They went out to the side, rather than around in a perfect circle.”
“Sounds challenging.”
“It is.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Maybe it would be if I had any idea what I was doing. Panniers are these giant, structural contraptions. Making them isn’t sewing; it’s construction. And I have illustrations, but I can’t find decent instructions.”
“Do you want to show me the illustrations?”
My brow creases. “Why?”
He shrugs. “Maybe I could figure it out.”
I’m about to say I don’t need his help, when I realize . . . he’s exactly the right person for the job. “Um. Yeah. That’d be nice, thanks.” We’ve reached my steps. I gently squeeze his arm and let go. “I’ve got this part.”
“I’ve taken you this far.” His voice becomes unsteady. “I can take you that much farther.” And he reaches for me one last time.
I brace myself for the contact.
“Cricket!” A call from between our houses, and his arm drops like an anchor. She must have been taking out the trash. Calliope hugs him from behind, and I can’t really see her, but she sounds like she’s about to cry. “Practice was a nightmare. I can’t believe you’re here, you said you couldn’t come. God, it’s good to see you. I’ll make hot cocoa and tell you all—Oh. Lola.”
Cricket is oddly petrified into silence.
“Your very kind brother walked me home from work,” I explain. “My glasses broke, and I’m completely blind.”
She pauses. “Where is it you work again?The movie theater?”
I’m surprised she knows. “Yeah.”
Calliope turns back to Cricket. “You went to the movies? What about that huuuge project due tomorrow? I thought that’s why you couldn’t come home. How strange.”
“Cal—” he says.
“I’ll be in the kitchen.” She stalks away.
I wait until she’s inside. “You have a project due tomorrow?”
He waits a long time before answering. “Yes.”
“You weren’t coming home tonight, were you?”
“No.”
“You came home for me.”