and I disregard the heat in my cheeks, knowing it’s only a reaction to my own boldness. Nothing deeper.
Fitz goes completely motionless. The little clouds of his breath disappear while I reach over him.
I hold the book into the light from the street to read the cover. “Bishop’s Dictionary of Unconventional Usages. Huh.” I open the book, hearing Fitz release his breath beside me. “Unconventional usages,” I repeat. “Why didn’t they just put obnoxious words for impressing girls?”
“I thought you weren’t impressed,” Fitz replies.
I turn away to hide my grin, but poorly. “I meant trying to impress girls. Obviously.”
“Obviously. Right.”
I shake my head with pretend scorn. “No, really,” I press. “You travel with your own dictionary of unconventional usages because, what? You just like words?” I’m going for joking, but my voice won’t cooperate. It’s endearing, the way Fitz feels this passion deeply enough to physically carry it on his person. The idea of putting photographs of fascinating buildings in my purse, or downloading them to my phone, flits through my head.
“Yeah, pretty much,” Fitz’s voice cuts in. “My mom’s an English professor, and she has this policy that whenever we’re in a bookstore, whatever I want, she’ll buy. It’s . . . really generous. I mean, my family’s not . . .”
I nod, understanding. “Yeah. Mine’s not either.”
“It’s meaningful, you know? I try not to overextend my bookstore requests. But this one day, I found the Dictionary of Unconventional Usages and flipped open to petrichor—I remember the exact page—and by the time Mom found me in the reference books, I’d been there for twenty minutes. The words just fascinated me. The world feels comprehensible when you can find the right labels for it.”
While he’s explaining, I feel my phone vibrate inside my coat pocket. It must be Matt. I texted my parents good night earlier—they’re in-bed-by-ten people and it’s nearly midnight—and I haven’t texted with friends recently. My heart does this unexpected lurchy up and down. I’m enjoying tonight. But obviously I want to find Matt. But I’m enjoying tonight?
I place the dictionary beside Fitz and unzip my pocket. He watches me pull out my phone, then looks away while I reply to Matt, telling him I’ll find him later.
“Hey,” Fitz says, his voice tentative but even. “Do you think a guy who dreads forgetting the past and a girl who’s focused on the future could, you know, be friends?”
I sit up, pulling my knees to my chest, and look out on the view. Providence glitters brightly, undimmed. A guy who dreads forgetting the past and a girl who’s focused on the future. We’re an improbable coincidence, he’s not wrong there. Two perfectly unlikely people to collide in cities like the one before us, buildings and boulevards bustling with people in motion. “I don’t know,” I say. “But no matter what, I won’t forget tonight. Or you.”
Fitz props himself on his elbows behind me and lets out an audible sigh. “High praise from the girl who remembers everything.”
I blush but throw him a don’t push it glance. “Okay, well, I won’t be completely annoyed when I remember the night a boy I barely knew brought me onto a rooftop in the freezing cold. Better?”
Fitz smiles, his gaze traveling off the roof and toward the city.
“Better.”
Fitz
IT WAS HER idea. While we sat on the rooftop, Juniper took the dictionary from where she’d put it down between us and flipped the book open. I turned to her, questioning. “Lissome,” she read, then let the word sit in the empty night. “I think that’s a good one,” she commented.
Then she dropped the book on my chest. “Your turn.”
We read each other our spontaneous favorites for I don’t know how long. Halcyon. Referring to times of idyllic happiness and tranquility. Bucolic. In a pleasant, often rural place. Propinquity. The property of being close to someone. I feel her shoulder edging nearer to mine, and whether it’s conscious or unconscious, it’s hard not to hope she’ll close the distance. Shoulders brushing through three layers of clothing is practically nothing, but it’s a nothing I really, really want.