dancer. Which I find hot. Damn it. Spiraling. I try to summon memories of the past few years, the times he made me so furious I couldn’t see straight.
It doesn’t work.
“School got too busy,” he says. There’s some sadness there that only increases my tenderness for him. “And my dad never liked that I was interested in it.”
“Maybe you could take some classes in college.”
“Maybe,” he echoes as the song changes. One dance, he said. I’m certain he’ll let go, but he doesn’t, and I remain firmly in his arms. “I’ve missed it. This is… nice.”
It is. It’s so fucking nice, but it’s fleeting, like everything else about tonight. I can’t get too attached. All of it is about five kinds of concerning. Neil isn’t my PHSB. He’s not the guy who would make out underneath the bleachers or hold my hand during a movie. He wouldn’t take ridiculous selfies with me and post them with ironic hashtags I kind of unironically like, or declare his love with a bouquet of roses. He is not a romance-novel hero.
“It’s probably nicer if you’re actually into the person you’re dancing with.”
Immediately, I realize it was the wrong thing to say. Shit. He stiffens. It lasts only a second, but it’s enough to drop us out of time with the song.
“Yeah. I’m sure it is.”
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. I wanted to stop the current of emotions threatening to pull me under, but clearly I went too far. I should tell him I’m not imagining anyone else at all. That I’ve grown dizzy with the scent of him. That it would be impossible to think of anyone but him when we are touching like his, when his hand is spread across my back, when my lashes brush against his neck every time I blink.
“I mean,” I backtrack, stepping on his toes and muttering an apology. “Not that I don’t like dancing with you. I just—”
“I get it.” Without warning, he lets go of my hand. “You were right earlier. We should get going.”
“We—um—right.” I stumble over the words, over my feet, which struggle to move on their own. The mood changed so quickly it gave me whiplash, the temperature in the room dropping from balmy to subzero. I grab for my phone to anchor me. “There’s another Howl update.”
We’re still in the lead: 13 for Neil and me, 9 for both Brady and Mara, and 8 for Carolyn Gao.
“Good job, Brady,” Neil says with a low whistle.
I’ve also missed about a dozen notifications in my Two Birds group chat.
COLLEEN
Can anyone close for me tonight?? My kid threw up at a sleepover, and I have to go get him
Anyone?? I’ll give you all my tips from today.
All the other employees have responded that they can’t do it, that they already have Friday plans they can’t get out of. The most recent message is from Colleen again, just my name with three question marks.
“After the floppy disk, we’re down to two. The view and Mr. Cooper. For the view, we should really do Kerry Park. It’s my favorite spot in Seattle,” Neil is saying as I debate how to reply to the message. He must notice I’m distracted. “What is it?”
“It’s work,” I say. “Two Birds One Scone. My boss needs someone to close up the café tonight, and I’m the only one who’s available. Do you mind if we make a quick stop there? It’ll take ten minutes, I swear.”
“Oh. Sure, okay.” There’s a chilliness in his voice I’m pretty sure isn’t entirely related to this detour.
I shouldn’t have implied I wished he were someone else. No one would be thrilled to hear that while dancing with someone, even if that person is their sworn enemy. I’m cursed to never say the right thing around him—but I’m starting to wonder if I have any idea what that right thing is.
It’s the yearbook incident all over again. Was I so worried about the kind of friendliness a “yes” would connote that I leaped to “no”? Is my subconscious trying to protect me from getting too close, or am I really that scared of what acknowledging these feelings would mean? Because it’s clear now—they mean something. If I’ve learned anything from romance novels, it’s that the heart is an unflappable muscle. You can ignore it for only so long.
Neil picks up his backpack. All of a sudden, I can’t bear the thought of leaving this place. Not the school or the