We wind up meandering into an unusually warm gift shop. I watch Alex push up his long sleeves, and the sight of his lean forearms leaves me momentarily dizzy.
I swallow. “Alex?”
He turns to me, his eyebrows raised in question.
“What’s with the two shirts?”
“Oh. It’s for theater rehearsals. I have to wear all black when I’m moving props, so I wear it under my shirts so I’m not carrying around a change of clothes.”
I smile. “It’s very trademark of you.”
“My signature style. I bet you had no idea I was so fashion forward.”
I laugh, then pick up a bottle of lavender aromatherapy room spray and spritz it in the air. Alex scrambles backward.
“Sorry,” he tells me, standing a few feet away. “My asthma. I, uh, have really weird triggers.”
“Oh!” I quickly cap the spray and wave my hand in the air, trying to make it evaporate. “Sorry! I forgot! You had that attack in PE class in fifth grade.”
Alex groans, pulling his beanie over his head like an ostrich burying its head in sand. “I wish people didn’t remember that.”
The nurse, the vice principal,andthe principal rushed to the gym when Coach Mendez paged for Alex’s emergency inhaler. When his inhaler didn’t work, they had to call 911 and then his parents. Everyone was talking about it at school the next day. To make it even worse, his mom wrote a note that said Alex had to sit out running the mile in PE, but that only made him stand out even more. Lacey even tried to fake an attack to get out of running and when that didn’t work, she made fun of Alex for the rest of the week.
What did he ever see in her, anyway?
“I’ve gotten better, but I try and stay away from things that trigger it,” he says as I lead us out of the shop. “Perfumes, hairspray, scented lotions—”
“Living with two sisters must be so fun.”
He laughs. “Actually, they let me have my own bathroom for that reason. It’s pretty awesome.”
“Ugh, that must be nice.” Then I stop myself. Alex doesn’t know about the recoverees, and he knows I don’t have any siblings.
He throws me a confused glance, but doesn’t push it.
We get ice cream for lunch even though it’s in the sixties. When I shiver, he takes off his beanie and places it on my head.
“Sorry I don’t have a coat on,” he says.
His smile is enough to fuel the warmth inside me.
We keep walking. He swings his arm next to mine and talks about continuing to build the gigantic Audrey II plant model for the spring musical. He helped make the shell for the homecoming parade, but he has the mechanics all planned out. He created a giant gap in the back to control the movements of the plant’s mouth by using a series of pedals and pulleys to open and close it. As he explains his pulley system, all I can focus on are his hands and the rush I felt when he carefully stabilized me in the dark theater.
We’re almost back to his car when his phone rings. He gives me an apologetic smile before answering, “Hey.” I watch as the color drains from his face. “Okay. I know, okay? It’s fine. Okay…okay.See you.” He hangs up, then turns to me. “Ana noticed I wasn’t at school today.”
Dread seeps through my veins. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have—”
“Kira.” He steps toward me, his eyes deliberately falling on mine. “You didn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to do.”
His words launch me halfway to the moon.
“But we should get back.” He checks the clock on his phone. “Don’t you have to be at the pep rally before the game?”
I let out a string of curse words. He laughs. I’d almost forgotten about homecoming.
“Are you going to the game?”
He stares at me. “Do you want me to go?”
