Staring at her while she answers these questions is beyond any courage I’ve ever had.
There’s clapping to my right before Billie says in a sing-song voice, “Anything else?”
“Uh, no. That’s about it.”
I let out a slow breath. The tight coil in my chest made that feel like the longest two minutes of my life.
Right as I’m rolling my neck and preparing myself to sit straight again, Liliana resets the timer and conversation.
“You’re forgetting one.”
The most I can do is stare at Rosie through my peripherals. I catch her hand coming up to her neck and rubbing the skin of her collarbone anxiously.
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are”
“Don’t be shy.” My sister jumps in. “Share with the class.”
Rosalie is the life of the party. That’s how I see her, anyways. She’s energetic, bubbly, and happy to interact. If it weren’t for how unapologetically extroverted she is, I’m not sure I would feel so at home in our dorm.
For the first time since running to Jeremiah at the mixer, Rosie doesn’t have anything to say. She continues to rub the skin exposed by her v-cut blouse, and it’s Liliana who speaks for her.
“Glasses. Rosie really likes guys with glasses.”
I manage to pull my eyes away from the wood. Looking over Liliana’s face, I search for a joke somewhere. An embarrassing story she uses to explain this away, or something that will change the implications I’m suddenly grasping onto.
Liliana’s eyes are set on me, lips thin, and I know there’s nothing additional to say.
I fall into what’s familiar. Spine straight. Shoulders back. Chin up.
Except, it’s different this time. I’m not falling in line as a son. I’m officially someone who has the tiniest chance at winning Rosalie Mendoza’s heart. That’s ten times more important to me, and infinitely more deserving.
The subject dies. Derek shifts the discussion to our next game. While he’s distributing cards to everyone, Billie knocks my knee under the table about a thousand times and even goes as far as to text me in all caps, “YOU HAVE A MONTH TO LOCK IT DOWN COWARD!!!!”.
I pretend I don’t see it. The rest of the night is dedicated to our friend group as a whole, and not the six minutes and forty-seven seconds I spent holding my breath.
We play a card game. Then a deduction board game. Then a game with play money, and my sister has too much fun pitching unfair trades between property deeds and rent payments.
I’m not sure how many hours we spend in that board game café, but I end the night knowing three things.
First, I have friends. Beyond my little sister who has been my rock through the heavy weight of being a McCarthy, and Grant, who is connected to me by blood. People who I can sit around a table with, and laugh with, for an entire night. That’s friendship, even if minimal. I’m grateful to be gifted something so precious.
Second, nothing between Rosie and I is partial. Whatever we share isn’t half. I carry that with me when I remember I might have a chance with her. It’s not a quarter chance, or a half chance—it’s whole.
After we drive home, without any mention of the popcorn or Billie’s question ambush, Rosalie tells me she had an amazing night. Despite being together for more hours than two roommates probably ever are, we get stuck at the kitchen counter. Talking for more hours. About our friends, about life, about the bird she saw on her walk home yesterday. Everything and nothing.
At the very end of it, when our drooping eyes can’t keep the conversation anymore, Rosie side-hugs me at my bedroom door. Smiling up at me, she unknowingly stabs me in the chest and says, “Goodnight, Locke. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Then she walks to her own room and shuts the door. Right as I’m gathering courage to say something to her that would turn her and I intous.
The last thing I end the night knowing is I never want to be left looking at wood again.
seventeen
ROSIE
Bakingcookies is my favorite part of fall.
