“You haverising actionenergy.”
“What the heck,” I ask, “is that?”
Liam pulls the book out of my hand and sets it against his. He places them both on a shelf and leans his shoulder on it. “You know when you’re reading a novel or watching a movie, and the whole first half is leading up to some crazy reveal or shocking self-discovery that youknowis coming even though you don’t have all the information to figure it out yet?”
I consider this. “Yeah.”
“That’s your energy, Paige Lancaster.”
“Rising action energy,” I repeat, tasting the words. Liking it. “So, what you’re saying is, you need more information to figure me out.”
“I’m sayingyouneed more information to figure you out.”
“That’s wise.”
“Well, Iamin college.”
I hit him on the arm, and Liam laughs. “You don’t have baby-of-the-family energy either.”
“Right,” he says. “I havefalling actionenergy. Student athlete at the beginning of the end of his physical prime who is probably too injured to go pro languishes in a small-town bookstore, readingthe names of athletes who will go down in history, of which he is not one.”
He says it with a self-deprecating laugh, but it’s the second vulnerable, personal admission he’s offered me, and maybe that’s because vulnerable, personal admissions are written into the source code of our friendship.
Which means at some point I’ll have to meet him there.
“I think Wes Anderson wrote a movie about that,” I say. “But anyway, Knoxville isn’t a small town. I’d know.”
He holds up placating hands. “Didn’t mean to offend.”
“Where are you from, anyway?”
“Savannah.”
I nod at his Braves T-shirt. “Should’ve guessed. The Savannah Braves.”
“TheAtlantaBraves.”
“Are you sure?”
A grin is creeping back in. “Pretty sure.”
“Maybe we should start reading these books we’ve already read.”
“I have a better idea.” Liam shifts his weight onto his toes and rests his hands on my shoulders. “Close your eyes.”
When I do as instructed, I instantly notice the absence of our eye contact.
“Now what?”
The ghost of his minty breath steals over my face. “Spin.”
I turn to the left, spinning in a few slow circles.
“Stop,” Liam whispers. He’s behind me now. One of his hands moves to my wrist. He lifts my hand, tucking away all my fingers except one, and then backs away from me. “Now, take two steps forward.”
One, two.
My pointer finger catches on a spine.
