Music drifted from somewhere near the center of the quad—tinny and overly cheerful, the kind of holiday playlist that tried too hard to manufacture joy. It blended with the sounds of laughter, the clatter of game prizes being reset, the occasional triumphant bell ringing out when someone won. The air smelled like sugar and cinnamon and hot oil, like kettle corn and churros and something fried I couldn’t immediately identify but desperately wanted anyway.
I walked in with Poppy and Saylor but they both peeled off to find their boyfriends almost immediately. I didn’t mind since I was going to find my boyfriend now, too.
Boyfriend. Fake boyfriend. Same difference.
He was sitting on a bench when I walked up to the meeting place but he jumped to his feet the moment he saw me, his face lighting up like a Christmas tree.
“You wore a real coat,” he said as a greeting.
I rolled my eyes. “Ha ha ha.”
He dug into his pocket and pulled out a pair of black mitts, holding them out to me. When I looked at him in confusion, he said, “I couldn’t carry a whole coat in case you didn’t bring yours, but I figured mitts would help at least.”
I pulled my hands, bare since I’d forgotten my mitts in my room exactly as he knew, out of my pockets and let him pull the mitts over my hands, smiling softly down at them.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
Tino walked beside me, close enough that our coats brushed every few steps. It wasn’t deliberate—at least, it didn’t feel like it—but neither of us made any effort to put more space between us. His hands were shoved into his jacket pockets, shoulders relaxed, posture easy in a way I hadn’t seen much lately. The beanie he wore was pulled low over his ears, his breath fogging in front of him every time he laughed.
He looked comfortable.
Not careful. Not guarded. Just… here.
“So,” he said, glancing around at the chaos. “What’s first?”
I adjusted my scarf, pretending to think even though the truth was I didn’t really care what we did. Thewhatmattered less than thewith whom, and that realization settled strangely in my chest.
“Surprise me,” I said.
He slowed half a step, turning his head to look at me like he was waiting for the joke. “You’re trusting me?”
I shrugged. “For tonight.”
A smile lit up his face, so bright that I wished he would never stop smiling. He slipped his hand into mine so easily that you would have thought it always belonged there and started pulling me through the crowd. For a while, it felt like we were wandering aimlessly through the booths, passing what felt like the rest of Hartwell’s student population. We walked past a group of seniors arguing loudly about whether funnel cakes or deep-fried Oreos were better, then we strolled past Poppy and Bear being all coupley by the cider stand (as always, I felt a little triumphant seeing them so happy given that I was practically the reason they were together). A line had formed at the Ferris wheel already, the old metal structure looming over everything like it was watching us.
We passed booth after booth, from balloon dart games to the mallet swing, all of them accompanied by loud cheering. Tino finally stopped at one on the opposite side of the carnival, smiling triumphantly at me.
“Pick what prize you want and I’ll win it for you,” he said.
“Really?” I asked. Nobody had ever offered to win me a prize before. Then again, nobody had ever liked me the way Tino did. Why had it taken me so long to accept that he would be good for me?
“Whatever you want.”
Behind the counter, prizes hung from hooks. It was stuffed animals in every size and color imaginable. Bears, dragons, neon dinosaurs. Right in the center sat a medium-sized penguin wearing a red-and-white striped scarf, its stitched eyes slightly judgmental. I bit my lip. It was the perfect prize and I totally wanted to ask him to get it, but I also didn’t want him to feel bad if he couldn’t win.
“You know these are designed to make you lose, right?” I asked instead.
He squeezed my hand. “So long as I’m with you, I’ll never lose.”
I couldn’t help it—I snorted. The line was so ridiculously cheesy that I couldn’t help it, even if the idea of him winning me a prize made butterflies erupt in my stomach. I pointed at the penguin.
“Fine hotshot. I want that one.”
Tino squinted. “The penguin?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
