She leans closer. “When was the last time you really checked?”
I cough, tightening my grip on the steering wheel. I don’t understand how she still has this much power over me.
I know if I look now, we’ll be eye to eye and I won’t want to look away. The longer we’re together, the harder it is toresist pulling her closer. It’s becoming more than a want. It’s a need I’ve buried for too long.
Our drive home is much more entertaining than our drive up. We talk about everything from our favorite foods now—mine is still gyros, but red curry is a close second, and Emma is into pasta, which doesn’t surprise me—to which of our teachers is most likely to survive on a deserted island. At one point we were even singing along to the radio at full blast with the windows rolled down.
About halfway we stop for drive-through burgers and fries. Emma also gets a milkshake.
I park the car under a big maple tree so we can eat.
“You can’t get fries without a shake,” she says.
“What are you talking about?”
She takes a fry and dips into the shake she has wedged between her legs. “It’s the perfect salty-sweet snack.”
“No one does that,” I say.
“Everyone does it.”
“I don’t.”
She takes it as a challenge. She dips a fry into her shake and holds it in front of me. “You have to try it.”
I stuff my face with my burger and shake my head, thinking nothing of it, but then she hooks her finger underneath my chin and turns my face to her.
“Please.” Her eyes are big and round.
How am I supposed to tell her no when she’s touching my face? “Okay.”
Her face lights up. “Really?”
I nod, mesmerized by her joy.
She brings it to my mouth and I take a bite, freaking outinside because she doesn’t understand what she’s doing to me. She’s close, but not close enough. I want her closer because what if today is all we have? My heart is erupting and my brain is scrambled, nothing computing.
“Is it good?”
I couldn’t care less about the food. My eyes are on her. “Yeah.”
“See, I told you,” she says, hand leaving my face.
Part of me pulls away with her, and I can’t stand it. I miss her touch already to the point it’s painful. I need it again.
I grab her hand, and I put it back on my face.
I wait for her to resist and tell me I’m not wanted, but she doesn’t.
Neither one of us speaks, but I notice her eyes on our hands.
“Careful,” she finally whispers. “This is the kind of thing people do when they like each other.”
My chest is tight. I can’t breathe. “I don't think I ever really stopped.”
I’m drowning in her bashful gaze. The way her eyes dip to my lips has me screaming on the inside, but I stay still.
I think back to the last time I wanted to kiss her. How unsure I was of telling her how I felt because I was nervous it would ruin our friendship. But right now I’m certain we can’t be friends. Not like we were. I want more.
