“Isn’t that why you started calling me Ilagan?”
“Yeah, cuz I was fed up with Kevin’s stupid joke!” he cries out. “You know, I think the people at Trumpets believe you’re our lucky charm now. I always mention your name during our preshow circles and no actor has forgotten any of their lines since.”
Seph’s cheeks are flushed and he looks so flustered, but I keep thinking how this might rank in the top five sweetest things anyone has ever done for me. It would’ve even made it to top three if not for the revelation about my sister thinking I’m a star.
Then he goes on a huge rant about how I could ever accuse him of starting a joke like that. His hair looks like he’s been electrocuted since he’s been combing his hair with his hands so much from the stress. “Why would you ever think I’d say you were bad luck?”
“I—I thought you were upset that I didn’t make it to our show.” My chest tenses when I go back to opening night.
That’s the moment Seph looks me in the eye. “Ilagan, you were going through a lot that summer.”
The mention of Pa almost escapes my mouth, but this whole conversation already feels way too personal.
Silence hovers around us until Seph starts typing on my laptop again. I’ve been so focused on our conversation that I haven’t noticed how close our hands have drifted to each other. I get distracted from noticing the color of Seph’s eyelashes when he pivots my computer screen to my line of sight.
Does performing remind you of my cute face, though?
Ugh. I knew he’d never let me live that down.
Don’t remind me ofmorebad memories.
The familiar nose scrunch pops up when he reads the screen. He takes longer to type out his response and I start noticingmore little things about Seph. How he always smiles with his whole face, how his cologne smells like a blend of vanilla and fresh laundry, how I don’t hate the feeling of having his hand so close to mine.
He finally spins the computer back and my breath hitches when I feel his pinkie graze the side of my finger.
Then I read:
FYI. You don’t remind me of bad memories, Ilagan. Everything’s good when I think of you.
…
What the fuck does that mean?!
My whole face feels like it’s burning while the screen’s cursor keeps blinking, begging for me to reply. This isn’t how Seph and I talk. When I tell a joke, he’s supposed to tease me and joke back! What does it mean when he says hethinksof me?
… What does it mean when I’ve been thinking of him too?
Our eyes don’t meet, yet I feel our fingers intertwine, making the whole world somersault inside my chest. We’re not stuck in some stupid soiree game; there’s no melting ice cube housed between our palms. Seph and I are holding hands. It’s a fact that’s getting harder and harder to dispute the longer we stay like this.
“Nika!”
My hand immediately pulls back and Seph catches my laptop from falling off the piano when Kayla’s footsteps thunder through the backstage. “I think I figured out how to sing on key!”
I stand up so quickly that my knees click. “Did you hear that, Seph? Kayla sang on key!”
“G-great!” Seph agrees, echoing my enthusiasm. Electrocuted hair making a comeback. “On-key singing! My favorite kind.”
We both scutter out of that area, and I stow away my computer, cleaning up all evidence of what just happened.
23
Even though non–Saint Francis students can attend events like Battle of the Bands, the place is still like a modern-day parting of the Red Sea. Groups of girls hang on one side while all the guys stay on the other—the perfect endorsement for same-sex education.
When Kayla and I entered the auditorium, we recognized a few Saint Agnes girls among the crowd. The patron couple of Saint Agnes and Saint Francis, Julia and Sean, were already mingling before the program started (while dressed in matching couple T-shirts).
“Who are you here for?” Julia asked when she saw me.
“For the music!” I answer, and then she and Sean give me this knowing look. As if the only reason I’d be at the Saint Francis Battle of the Bands event is for some boy!
