by Rosie Somers
“I never had any doubt that you would be.” His breath tickles my ear as he speaks, causing goose bumps to erupt down my neck.
A boy bumps into us from the side, and I stumble against Will before righting myself. And suddenly every detail of the club comes into sharp focus, like I’m waking from a sweet, sensual dream to a crowded, sweaty reality. I’m suddenly left feeling overly self-conscious, like everyone in the club is watching us. It’s not the private moment I was perceiving it as in my head. People are close, too close. Before coming to New York, before meeting Will, I never would have lost awareness of my surroundings like this. I know better than that. But somehow being around Will makes me forget everything else.
And that scares me.
I scramble to extricate myself from Will’s arms and locate Trin and Lacey, but the faces around me blur together into a crowd of strangers. I race back to the table instead, but it’s not my safe place anymore. A couple of spritely girls dressed in various shades of bubblegum pastels have taken it over.
I veer away from them and head for the door instead. I need to put some space between Will and me anyway. The five blocks from here to my apartment ought to be enough.
The air outside the club is fresher than I realized, and as soon as I’m beyond the entrance, I pause to suck in a lungful of the breezy night.
“Flower, what’s wrong?” Will is somewhere in the space behind me, but I can’t face him right now. The strength of my reaction to him inside Club Grade has me balanced on a razor’s edge. One wrong move, and I’ll fall into oblivion with him. For him. And if I do that, it could put him on Petrov’s radar.
“Nothing, I just gotta get home. My mom will freak if I’m late. See ya later.” I call the words over my shoulder, afraid if I turn and look at him, he’ll see everything I’m feeling in my eyes. I’m too raw to be that vulnerable right now.
“Sure. See ya,” he answers.
I propel myself forward away from him even though every cell in my body aches to stay. I busy myself with texting Trin to let her know I’ve left the club, and I don’t dare look back over my shoulder until I’m almost a block away. When I do, I’m only a little surprised to see Will trailing fifteen or so yards behind. My stomach flips at the sight of him anyway, and I’m quick to face front again, reminding myself that he’s not following me; he lives in this direction, too. Still, for a few moments, at least, I let myself pretend he’s chivalrously trying to see me home safely without invading my comfort zone.
And I fall for him a little more.
Chapter Nine
Trin pulls out a chair across the lunch table from me and sets her elbows on the tabletop with a heavy thud. Seconds later, perfectly manicured fingertips with seafoam-green nails appear over the top of my book, curl along the pages, and push heavily. Trin’s not-so-subtle cue she wants to talk. I sigh in resignation as I lower my book, but I can’t fully bite back a smile.
As soon as she has my full attention, Trin lifts her sunglasses to sit on top of her head and raises her eyebrows in expectation. “So…?”
“So…?” I return. I know what she wants. She’s trying to draw me into conversation about Will, more specifically about my dance with Will at the club last night.
“So, you looked like you were having a good time last night. Until you ran out of the club like the whole place was on fire.” She looks pointedly somewhere over my shoulder. “Or maybe just one person was, yeah?”
Heat creeps into my cheeks and down my neck. Will must be behind me, but how close is he? I’m torn between turning to look and completely ignoring everything she’s just said. But the part of me that daydreams about having a best friend, about girl talk and movie marathon sleepovers, really wants to share with her. So I subtly shift sideways in my chair and reach for my bag like I’m looking for something. When the angle is right, I sneak a quick glance in the direction Trin looked.
I spot Will immediately, like he’s specifically magnetized to draw my gaze. He’s across the cafeteria, sitting with his back to me at a table with a guy I recognize from my civics class and a couple others I don’t know. His chair is turned backward, and he’s leaning forward with his arms resting on the back of it.
As if he senses my gaze on him, he turns and scans the lunchroom. I spin quickly in my chair so he won’t catch me looking at him.
When I turn back to Trin, her grin is pure Cheshire, an I-caught-you look of satisfaction. The heat in my face turns fiery, and I cover my mouth with one hand to hide a dumb grin of my own.
“He’s cute, right?” I ask. I know he is—even if she answers in the negative, it wouldn’t change my mind, but I’m testing the waters. I’m new to this girl-talk thing and not quite sure how to go about it.
“Adorbs. You like him?”
I nod.
Trin mirrors the movement. “He likes you, too, you know?”
Something like a combination between embarrassment and satisfaction sends my stomach tumbling into a tight ball of nerves. “You think so?” And now I just sound desperate. I clamp my lips shut before any other dumb stuff can slip out.
Trin doesn’t seem to mind the question, though. “Definitely. You should go for it, girl. Put a leash on that boy before someone else does.” She closes her advice with a wink, then moves her gaze to the area behind me again. “And here’s your chance. Incoming.”
I can practically feel Will approaching, and the wait for him to arrive plucks at my tightly strung nerves. Finally, he enters my periphery, pulls out the chair next to me, turns it around, and straddles it. The move is smooth and practiced. He’s all grace and charm, and I’m a nervous wreck. I close my book without bothering to mark my page and set it on the table. Then I clasp my hands firmly in my lap to hide how shaky I’m feeling.
“Hey.” His voice is slow and deep, and I feel it in my core. Suddenly, I’m imagining us in a much more private setting and him speaking for my ears only. I shut down my overactive imagination before it gets too far ahead of things. I hope he doesn’t notice me blushing, or at least can’t guess the turn of my thoughts. He’s so close, I can see every nuance of his ice-blue eyes, every silvery fleck, the pale gray ring around each pupil. His eyes crinkle in amusement and his eyebrows lift. He’s still waiting for me to respond.
“Hey,” I finally greet him back.
Trin pushes away from the table in a flash. “I think I see Lacey. I’m going to, uh…go make sure. You kids have fun.” She winks at me before grabbing her textbooks and practically scampering away in search of the friend who doesn’t even have lunch this period. She’s leaving us alone to talk, and I’m both grateful and terrified.
“So it was nice seeing you at Grade last night.” Will wastes no time jumping right in, and his words are heavy with meaning. “Did you really have to leave so soon?”
I can’t tell him the truth, can’t tell him that the strength of my attraction to him scared me right off that dance floor and out of the club. “I, uh, didn’t want to miss my curfew.” My nonexistent curfew.
I can tell by his expression that he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t press. “I had a good time with you.” He’s watching me, watching for my reaction.
I drop my gaze to avoid his, but it’s a mistake. My attention hitches on his chest, on the way his black T-shirt is pulled tight across his muscles, conforming to every sinewy ripple and curve. “Yeah, me, too,” I answer in an almost whisper.
He leans in so that our faces are inches apart, and the rest of the world disappears. “I was thinking we should go dancing again, you and I.” A lock of dark hair falls across his forehead, and I have to resist the urge to reach out and sweep it away. Touching him would not be a good idea. I’m barely holding myself together as it is. I’ll probably just melt into a puddle of adoration if I actually touch him right now.
Determined to keep my cool, I square my shoulders and put a few extra inches between us before answering. “Yeah, I guess.”
His eyes widen in surprise, then narrow. �
�Or maybe we could go somewhere else, somewhere we can talk. Get to know each other. Tomorrow?” And just like that, he’s all charm again.
“Are you asking me on a date?” I ask the question partly in an attempt to shake his confidence again and partly because I want to make it perfectly clear I know what’s happening before I make a fool out of myself by assuming.
He blinks in surprise. “Well, yeah.”
I’ve already made up my mind, but I take my time answering, pretending I’m deliberating the merits of going on a date with him. I do my best to effect an air of calm, but inside I’m a giddy bundle of nerves. Finally, I answer, “Okay, tomorrow, then.”
Will visibly relaxes, then reaches into his back pocket for his phone. “What’s your number?”
I recite it and watch as he programs it into his phone under the name “Flower.”
He slips the phone into his pocket and stands, turning the chair back around and tucking it under the table once he’s on his feet. “Cool. I’ll call you.” Then he saunters toward his friends across the cafeteria.
I go back to my book, opening to a random page quickly in an attempt to look unaffected by his visit and our conversation, but it isn’t the page that I left off on. Not that it would have mattered. I’m too flustered to concentrate on a single word; the letters all blend together, blurred by my preoccupation with Will, but I pretend to read anyway, using the book as cover while I mentally replay every word, every look, every second of the last five minutes.
…
My first clue that something is different as we approach the school the next morning is the pink balloons tied to the fence above the retaining wall. But what really drives things home is the way students are paired off, leaning against lockers two by two, making googly eyes at each other.
Valentine’s Day.
I forgot all about it. It’s not like I’ve ever celebrated it or ever had a reason to.
And even though we’ve walked to school together every day this week and half of last, it still feels entirely too intimate today, like we’re announcing something about our relationship, a relationship that doesn’t actually exist. Not yet, anyway.
Will doesn’t seem to notice. If anything, he might be walking a little taller, standing a little straighter. And it hits me: we have a date tonight. On Valentine’s Day. Well, if that’s not rushing into things, I don’t know what is.
I stop Will somewhere near my locker by placing a hand on his forearm. “I didn’t realize today was Valentine’s Day.”
“Are you saying you wish I’d brought you chocolates and roses?” he teases.
“About our date tonight…” I trail off, not quite sure how to voice the reservations I have about our first date being on Valentine’s Day.
His grin disappears in the time it takes me to say the words, and his expression blanks, like he knows what’s coming. He sighs and sifts a hand through his hair. “I didn’t ask you out because it was Valentine’s Day, if that’s what you think.”
He pegged it right on the nose. I shrug and busy myself by spinning my locker combination. I don’t want to seem too vested in this conversation; I’d rather pretend it doesn’t matter to me in the slightest.
“Honestly, I wasn’t even thinking about the day.” He leans in close. “I’d have asked you out for last night if I’d thought you’d accept. It’s a day, just like any other day.”
I’d have been a lot more likely to accept a date for the same day than I am to keep a date for Valentine’s. It might just be a day, but the romantic implications of going on a date for Valentine’s Day will complicate my non-relationship with Will far more than I’m comfortable with.
Part of me wants to keep our date, be like any normal girl my age and actually have a date for Valentine’s. But deep down, I know I can never have that kind of life, a normal life with Will. Not without putting us both at risk. Will makes me forget what I am, who I am. What if I get too comfortable and Petrov finds me, but I miss the warning signs?
Or worse, what if I see the danger coming and have to pick up and leave suddenly because Petrov has found us? Leaving my friends behind is one thing; I’ve done it over and over all my life. But a boyfriend? I’m not sure I would handle that heartbreak well at all. Or what if I don’t pick up and leave and someone gets hurt? I’d handle the guilt of that even worse than the heartbreak of leaving. Nope, it’s best just to keep my distance. I swap my civics book and last night’s homework in my backpack for my precalc book in my locker, then zip up. All the while, I avoid making eye contact with Will. When I can’t avoid it anymore, I turn to him.
“Listen,” I begin, and Will’s shoulders droop just a fraction of an inch. “I don’t want you to get the wrong impression here. I’m not looking for anything serious. I’ve got plans for my future.” Yeah, I plan to stay alive and not get anyone else killed in the process. “And dating just seems like it would complicate things. Valentine’s Day is a big deal for some people, and I don’t want you to get the idea that us going out is more than it is. So, I’m thinking we probably should just call it off for tonight. Leave Valentine’s Day to the couples.”
“Hey, I can do not serious. Casual is my middle name.” He presses a palm to his heart to indicate his sincerity. “Well, actually, it’s James, but it should be Casual.”
“I have no doubt,” I tease.
“Come on, flower. Nothing serious, I promise. I won’t even bring you flowers or anything. Heck, I don’t even gotta pick you up. We can meet, if it makes you more comfortable. Just come out and have dinner with me. What do you say?” His tone is about as casual as I’ve ever heard from him. Maybe he really isn’t looking for a serious relationship—maybe he really didn’t realize what today was when he asked me out. It couldn’t hurt to give him the benefit of the doubt, right?
“Okay. Fine. Text me directions to where I’m supposed to meet you. One date, Will Campbell. You get one date.” I shut my locker and make eye contact with him to drive home my words.
“Try not to fall in love with me tonight, okay, flower?” He throws his arm back over my shoulders and directs me toward precalc. He’s teasing me, but if I’m honest with myself, there’s more than a distinct chance of exactly that.
Chapter Ten
February 14th,
Mom doesn’t talk about my father much. Most of what I know is what I remember of him from before he died. But I was seven when he was killed during a job Petrov roped him into, so most of my memories of him are fuzzy at best.
I can vaguely remember when he taught me to ride my bike without training wheels. jogging along behind for what seemed like miles back then before letting go and letting me fly. And I’ve melded together in my own mind all the nights he used to read me to sleep. But one memory of him and my mother together has always stood out clearly in my mind.
It’s such a simple memory; my mother was cooking dinner, and my father was tooling around in the kitchen “helping” her. She accused him of trying to get in the way, and instead of arguing with her or leaving the room, he just hugged her. It was the kind of hug people who are really in love share, the kind where they fit perfectly together in body and spirit.
It seems silly, but one day, I want that. I want that love, that intimacy.
But I can’t ever have it. It’s not like a teenage jewel thief is the kind of girl a boy would be proud to bring home to his parents.
I want to be normal.
I stare at the page, at the words that evidence my desire to leave behind everything my family is. I stare until my vision blurs. Then I close my journal and tuck my pen into the spine.
I can’t think about this right now. I have a date to get ready for, and I don’t want to show up to it loathing my life and myself.
I’ve told Will this date is just a casual thing we’re doing, but the closer I get to it, the more nervous energy collects in my muscles. By the time I get to the restaurant tonight, I’m going to be a fidgety bundle of awkwardness.
I look
wistfully at my phone and consider calling off the date for only the hundredth time since I got home. But I restrain myself. I just want to have a good time, to be a typical seventeen-year-old for the night. And Will is definitely the person to help me forget everything. I climb off my bed, leaving my journal to be forgotten among my sheets, and head for the shower.
…
I still haven’t quite got the hang of navigating the city yet, so I program the address of the restaurant into my phone and let the GPS lead me. From the looks of it, the place isn’t far.
I turn right at the first intersection and catch sight of my reflection in the darkened window of a storefront across the street. My heels are tall and sparkly, and my dress is a shimmery, lavender number not meant for New York winters. The one comfort concession I did make was to throw on a thick, button-down knitted sweater. Partly for warmth and partly for the deep pockets to stash my stuff in so I don’t need a purse. I’ve never dressed up for a guy before—I’ve never wanted to.
I hope Will likes the look.
Behind my reflection is the slightly distorted mirror image of the street behind me. It’s all but deserted. The only other person sharing this stretch of sidewalk is a man bundled tightly in winter wrapping. I’m a little envious of his heavy coat and long pants, but I grin and bear it, snuggling deeper into my sweater.
A block later, my phone tells me to go left. I stand at the corner and dutifully wait for the light to change. I keep my attention straight ahead, and when I get the walk signal, I’m the first one off the curb. Again I watch the reflections in the store window in front of me.
After that, I make a bit of a game out of inspecting reflections in the windows I pass, watching the people around me without actually looking at them. I’m still two blocks from the restaurant when I realize that the same man whose winter coat I envied near my apartment is still behind me. All the other pedestrians have come and gone, but he’s been with me the entire time.
