At her insistence, my mouth twitches. Partially from amusement, and partially because I’m embarrassed.
I have lots of interests. Just not many I share with people.
The skirt of Rosie’s chic black dress sways when she bumps into me. The surprise of it rocks me onto my left foot. My lips fully morph into a smile.
I wouldn’t call us friends yet. Acquaintances, by proxy of our living situation. Regardless, talking to her has become easier. Being around her has become less anxiety-inducing. Maybe because of exposure, but either way, having her bump shoulders with me and asks questions isn’t as nerve-wracking as a week ago.
Worrying about how to talk to her is becoming less and less.
The sound of people speaking over background music lights my anxiety now. The conference room filled with networking grad students grows more imposing with every step.
From my right, Rosie smiles again, and says that whatever else I enjoy, she won’t judge.
Clearing my throat, and squaring my shoulders, I push down my skepticism. “I like spending time with my siblings. And watching anime.”
“Oh.” Her voice raises in surprise. But just as quickly as she says it, her smile grows, hands clapping together. “I’m really intomovies and TV shows, but I haven’t gotten into anime yet. Which one is your favorite?”
The conference room door is getting closer. With it, I realize how much I cherish these moments where it’s just me—just Locke—sharing what makes me happy and nothing else. I wish I had more moments like this.
“It’s calledSpy x Family,” I answer, and attempt to ignore the mixer for as long as possible.
“Let me guess. Action anime with a whole bunch of fighting and gore?”
I chuckle softly. “No. The opposite.”
Her amused expression fades, replaced with lifted eyebrows and a turned nose. “Really? The title has ‘spy’ in it.”
“Yes.” A few grad students tumble out of the room. Through the door, I can see it’s jam-packed. My blood pressure spikes. “I like some action anime.Spy x Familyis more about the family part, though.”
“Ooh, that sounds interesting, actually. Action isn’t my favorite genre, but I really like the found family trope, so if you’re saying that…”
Rosalie is still talking. I hear her voice in my ears, and I want to process her words, but I can’t. Not when the conference room is a stone toss away, and one of the students sees us, lifts his eyebrows, and immediately turns to his friends. Then starts pointing not-so-subtly.
The light of optimism in my chest dies out. I’m eighty percent sure he recognized me.
The other twenty percent knows there’s a chance it’s Rosie who caught his attention.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the reason he’s smirking to his friends is because they’re talking abouther.
By the time we make it to the entrance, they’ve walked off into another corridor. I hope Rosie hasn’t noticed how much more tense my body has become.
When I hold the door open for us, my grip tightens around the wood. Once one person notices someone with serious connections is in the room, they’ll flock. It happened in almost every undergrad class I took. It’s ten times more chaotic when that “someone” is the son of one of Boston’s most established businessmen.
I already want to leave. Rosie promised to stick next to me for the event and we didn’t discuss how long we wanted to be here. She took the time to ready herself with make-up and curl the ends of her naturally straight dark brown hair, so I don’t want to rush her.
Maybe she’ll make the event more tolerable. Or will make the awkward conversations with people who so blatantly want to use me go by easier.
There’s an immediate burn of eyes on us when we walk in. I’ve always thought I shouldn’t gather this much attention. My father hasn’t done anything significant enough in life for this.
I walk next to Rosie, heading left and tracing the wall of the semi-lit room. She seems to know exactly where she’s going, and I’m happy to follow her. If she feels the stares on us, she chooses not to say anything.
“Okay. I have a confession to make.”
With the situation we’re in, and our peers beginning to whisper behind their hands, I think the worst. Her words burn. The hands stuffed back into my pants pockets start gathering sweat again and my stomach drops.
Please, for the love of everything I hold dear in my life, do not say you know who my father is.
I nod at her to continue. I can’t speak even a single word right now.
