“It’scurly!” I don’t know why, but the fact that his straight emo bangs curl when wet is the best revelation of my life. “Do you straighten it every day?”
He won’t look me in the eye. “Yes.”
“Can I convince you not to?”
He groans and covers his face like he’s been caught in a compromising position. “No.”
A girl from my dorm floor passes me a drink made up of party leftovers. I take a whiff and feel the burn in my nostrils. After a shudder-inducing sip, I offer it to West.
He shakes his head. “No, thanks.”
“You sure? It’s disgusting!”
“I don’t drink.”
“You were serious about that?”
He nods.
“There’s a story there.”
His wet curls are stuck to his forehead as he nods again. Curiosity burns me alive. “Will you tell me about it?”
“Someday,” he says easily, and I’m not sure if he’s making me a promise or dismissing my question.
We stand in the softly falling snow for a quarter of an hour, doing little besides watching our breath puff in front of us. I don’t know if it’s the weather or the boy at my side, but I’m frozen to my spot, unable to move. “I’m numb everywhere,” I say absently.
West moves to take off his hoodie, but I put my hand on his forearm to stop him. “I’m fine. You keep it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek, considering me for a long moment. Finally, cautiously, he wraps his arms around my shoulders and pulls me into his chest. His long arms cross in front of me and wrap around my torso. “This better?” he asks in a quiet, questioning voice while improbable, magical snowflakes fall around us. I can only nod as the music pulses in my ears and my blood. People pressed on all sides sway and sing and laugh and stick their tongues out to catch the falling snow. My heart feels jittery and floaty, and West’s arms are the best jacket that’s ever existed. I tip my head back against his chest and close my eyes, and in a shock of realization, it occurs to me that I’m chasing this feeling every time I sit down to write a single sentence on a blank page. This expansive, ballooning, giddy,oh my god,I could live in this moment forever, but I’ll die if I don’t know what happens nextfeeling.
I jolt out of West’s arms. “I have to go write.”
“Now?”
“Yeah. I know exactly how to finish the scene I’ve beenstuck on, and if I don’t get it out of my head, I’ll lose it.” I push myself onto my tiptoes and kiss him on the cheek.
He looks dumbstruck, his mouth trying several times to form a sentence before he figures it out. “What about your math?”
I hold up ten fingers and then drop a thumb. “Nine times five is forty-five! What else does a girl need to know?” I slip through the crowd and race back to my room. When I open my laptop, the words have never come easier. I’m powered by the sound of his laugh and the feel of his arms and the sheer biology of my lips against his cheek. I write until my eyes blur, sometime between three and four in the morning, then fall into bed with a grin.
I’m dead tired, happier than I’ve been in weeks, and blissfully unaware of the consequences of having West Emerson as a muse.
7
Present Day
It’s never agood idea to start a conversation with my mother when I’m already in a bad mood, but I’m too irritated by my last interaction with West to give it much thought when her name appears on my phone. I stab the answer button.
“Hey, Mom.” I sound every bit as sullen as I feel, sitting on the white steps in front of Old Main. “What’s up?”
On the other end of the line, I hear a door closing, and I picture her stepping outside to pace up and down the driveway while we talk. “Did you make it to Tucson?”
“No, sorry, my plane crashed.”
She doesn’t dignify my snark with a response. “How’s the festival?”
Warm and sunny and horrible. “There’s a problem with my schedule, but—”
