"I know it's not easy. I know there will be consequences. But Savannah—" He pauses, and when he speaks again, his voice is low and more serious than I’ve ever heard him before. "You're remarkable. You're brilliant and passionate and brave. And you deserve to be with someone who sees that."
"Romeo—"
I look at him, finally, and he’s staring at me with that same intensity that makes my heart start to race. I think of the way he defended me to Thad, even though it wasn't his place, and made everything more complicated. The way he's sitting here now, not touching me, not pushing me, just suggesting to me something no one else ever has. The possibility of choice.
I want to lean in and kiss him. The thought jolts me, makes me physically sit up straighter. I’ve never had that thought about anyone. I’ve neverwantedsomeone like this before, felt drawn to them in a way that’s both physical and intellectual.
"I'm in trouble," I whisper.
Romeo’s forehead creases. "What?"
"I'm in serious trouble. I should go," I say, standing. "I need to—I need to think." I need to get away from him before I act on what I’m thinking and actually kiss him.
"Okay." He stands too, but he doesn't move toward me. "Savannah?"
"Yes?"
"Whatever you decide—I'm here. If you need to talk, if you need help, if you just need someone to sit with you in an empty classroom—I'm here."
The sincerity in his voice makes my eyes sting with fresh tears. "Thank you," I whisper.
And then I leave, before I can do anything that would get me in even worse trouble than I already am.
8
ROMEO
She's avoiding me.
The next time we have class together, she doesn’t look up when I walk in. She doesn’t look at me at all until we’re leaving, and I purposely put myself in her path. When I catch her eye, she looks away immediately and keeps walking.
The rejection is a physical thing, a knife sliding between my ribs. During the next class, I sit through the entire two-hour seminar barely hearing a word, my attention fixed on her. I can’t help but notice the way she keeps her shoulders hunched slightly forward, like she's trying to make herself smaller.
After class, I try to approach her again, but she's already gathering her things and moving toward the door with quick, purposeful steps.
"Savannah," I call out, but she doesn't stop. She pretends not to hear me, disappearing into the hallway before I can reach her.
I stand there for a moment, my hands clenched into fists, a familiar rage building in my chest. But this time it's different. This time it's mixed with something else—something that feels uncomfortably like panic.
She's pulling away. After everything—after the library sessions, after walking her home, after that moment in the empty classroom when she looked at me like I was the only person in the world who understood her—she's pulling away.
I don't accept rejection. I never have.
When I get home, I text her about our project.We should meet to work on the presentation. Library tomorrow at 2?
She doesn't respond.
I wait an hour, then send another message:Or we could meet at the coffee shop if you prefer. Whatever works for you.
Still nothing.
By evening, I'm pacing my apartment, my phone in my hand, checking it every few minutes even though I know there's no new message. The silence is driving me insane.
I call Luca, desperately needing someone to talk to about this, which I know is pathetic. I’m not a teenage girl. But I can’t stay inside my own head, or I’m going to go insane.
"She's avoiding me," I say without preamble.
"Who?" As if he doesn’t fucking know.
