I press my lips together, considering it. Then my phone rings.
I don’t recognize the number, but I answer anyway. “Yes?”
“Hey.”
He sounds different over the phone, voice deeper. This isn’t Alex King in world history, it’s Alex King, Normal Human Outside of School. He might even be in hisbedroom.
I smile in spite of myself, other hand gravitating to my hip. I shake my head at nothing. “You again. I knew it.”
“And yet you answered.”
“You’re really pushing it today.” I once borrowed a pencil from him and he wouldn’t let me give it back, even though the pencil was personalized with his name. This newfound confidence is exquisite.
“I’m across the street.”
I spin, even though that’s facing the wrong direction. Spin again. I hear him laughing, both loud through the phone and faint in my physical surroundings, farther away—and ah,yes, there he is. Blue-and-gold hoodie, our school colors. As he moves closer, sharpening into focus, I read the letters across the front:NATIONAL HONOR SOCIETY.
He checks both ways before crossing the road, and my brain snaps a picture of what this looks like: Some boy I’ve hardly ever spoken to before today walking across a Moonville street at five minutes after eight, wind ruffling his springy hair, hands in his hoodie pockets. The powerlines above him seem to shine for a moment, lit up neon with a wild charge, sky a magical blend of every color that drops with the night.
I feel as if I’m visiting someone else’s life when he strolls over like we’re good friends, like we do this every day. “Did you leave candy on my desk today?” I ask him.
He nods. “Milky Ways are your favorite, right?”
Actually, no. That was a lie I told my friend Brian in algebra so that he’d give me half of his candy bar. We’re given an absurdly short lunch period—by the time I’m through the line with my tray and sitting, I’ve got six minutes to choke it all down.
Instead of correcting, I circle him slowly. He watches me, brows lowered the way they were earlier when he was writing Ottoman Empire notes. Nerves flicker in his eyes. My, my, those are some gorgeous eyes: blue, green, and yellow. He should cut his hair so people can appreciate them better. “How’d you know that?”
“Heard you say it.”
He’s in algebra with me? My mind blows with the wind.
I continue to watch him, biting a hair band between my teeth while I slick my hair back into a ponytail. “You’re quite a conundrum.”
That flicker shifts, nerves into amusement. The corner of his mouth tips up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Well.” He twists his upper body, blush from an old streetlamp touching the edges of his profile. Evening cuts his figure into fascinating angles, and I stand up straighter. “I think we should go to the homecoming dance together.” I didn’t know this kid was in math with me? That’ll be the last time I don’t notice what Alex King is doing.
A car horn honks. We both jump out of the way, startled. “I’ll walk you home,” he offers, leading the way. He can’t possibly know where I live.
Actually, he might. I forgot he came over once, to work on a group project.
I’m still delirious from his proposition. “Me and you?”
“Anybody else intending to walk you home?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
He grins, and oh, boy am I noticing that, too. He’s got nice teeth. A shallow but long dimple curving along the right side of his mouth. I’ll have to see if there’s another dimple on the left, but so far it appears he smiles more to one side.
“What color’s your dress?” he inquires. “I need to know what color tie and corsage to get.”
I marvel at him. “We don’t even talk.”
“We’re talking right now, Romina. I love your name, I’ve gotta tell you. Probably say it in my sleep, too:Romina! Romina!Love it so much, have to say it twice.”
I don’t know how to react to this except with laughter.
