Hurriedly, Mal explained, “I just don’t want to get caught or get my phone taken.”
“It’s cool, Mal.” Emerson shrugged one shoulder casually. “You don’t have to explain.”
Mal cocked their head to the side. Theyalwayshad to explain.
“Uh. Okay,” they said, stopped short by not having to justify or apologize for their need to follow the rules. “I was just wondering, since we have so much to get sorted out—should we coordinate calendars so we can get another meeting on the books?” Mal flipped their backpack around, tugged their planner out. “To game-plan, you know.”
“Ooh, smart idea.” Emerson launched into her schedule, ticking off days on her fingers and somehow still managing to wave her hands at the same time. “So, I work Mondays, Tuesdays, and Saturday mornings,” she started. “What about Wednesday?”
“I work on Wednesdays.” Mal shook their head. “But Thursdays are good for me.”
“Oh, this Thursday I have an art-hive thing,” Emerson said. “I could do Friday?” She flapped her hands in dismay. “But that’s so long!”
“Huh,” said Mal. “We need a meeting so we can schedule a meeting.”
“Wow,” Emerson said, smiling. “That’s super type A of you, Mal.”
Mal snorted a graceless laugh. “Oh, I amnottype A. I just cosplay as one so I can keep my shit together.”
“Oh, same, though.” Emerson laughed now too. It made her cheeks go round and pretty. “But, like, my costume is a bootleg Dollar City version or something.”
“Hey, Iworkat Dollar City, you know.” Mal pretended to be offended. “We sell quality merchandise!”
Emerson held up her hands in apology. “My bad, my bad. I guess my type-A costume is just reallyblahcompared to yours, which is obviously, like, from Anthropologie or something.”
Mal didn’t know what that store was, but they liked the idea of Emerson liking them, so they smiled. “You know it. Or, like, maybe I’m just looking for an excuse to get things done and drink coffee with you.”
Mal laughed, a snorty and breathy sound, and then stopped themself short.
They had really said that. Out loud.
More than once over the weekend, they hadthoughtit: that it would be easier, andnicer, to do all this in person with Emerson and her Post-it notes and her too-loud voice and her big, exciting brain page. Butwishingthey were sitting somewhere with Emerson was different than actuallysayingit.
Out loud.
To Emerson.
“I—” they started to say, taking it back.
“Okay, yeah,” Emerson said, a little flustered. There was a pink tint to her cheeks and Mal couldn’t tell whether it was from laughing or from what they’d just said. “But if you’re going to flirt with me like that, you have to buy the first round.”
“Okay, yeah,” Mal echoed, before they could even do the quick math of how much they had in their bank account. “It’s a deal.”
“If you can get to the Haus by, like, four today, we could do a quick hang-and-coordinate before I start my shift at five?”
Mal nodded. Their cheeks were pleasantly warm. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
“Cool,” said Emerson, but Mal saw it on her lips more than they heard it; she said it just as the bell sounded through the hall. Both of them were now late.
“Cool,” Mal said back, but the sound of that was lost to the bell too.
And they both stood there until the last of the series of bells sounded, smiling and blushing at each other.
“Well, I’ll see you then, okay?” Emerson finally said.
Mal nodded quickly. “Yeah, see you then,” they said, and then they walked back toward the cafeteria, the state of their square pizza barely crossing their mind.
When Mal came through the door of the Haus, its bell twinkling, it was four p.m. exactly. In Mal’s mind, they were already late; they always tried to arrive to things fifteen minutes early. They could never judge what wasactuallylate for other people.
