Maybe I’m a sick person.
Maybe I’m a masochist.
But she’s leaving, walking away from me. I have to figure something out. Fast.
“I took the class before,” I yell to her back.
It’s my last-ditch effort at stopping her, and it works. My stomach squeezes in anticipation of those frosted eyes landing on mine. I hold my breath until they come, and when they do, it’s like being set on fire for the world to see. Her silvery stare pins me in place. Her eyes narrow, and it’s like she can see straight through me and the walls I’ve spent months stacking around myself.
For a second, I almost forget how to breathe, because there’s nothing casual about the way she looks at me. It’s sharp, questioning, and it makes me feel exposed and alive in a way I’m not ready for. I’m desperately pulled to it.
She slowly begins to swallow the space between us. “Why?” she asks.
I focus on catching my breath.
“I missed the final.” I hold her gaze, especially when she lands in front of me. The flicker within me grows warmer, brighter. “I have to retake the class in order to graduate.”
She shakes her head. “No. I don’t mean why are you retaking the class. Why do you want to be my partner?” She folds her arms across her chest, her expression guarded. The soft rim of yellow around her irises disperses into the icy blue of her eyes. It glistens in the sunlight like stardust, creating a sting in my chest.
I want to tell her it’s because I feel pulled toward her in a way I can’t explain. Like there’s some invisible thread wound tightaround me since the moment I saw her. I want to tell her it’s because her eyes—those frostbitten, storm-colored eyes—have popped up in my head more times than I can count in just two days. Like a song I never asked to hear but can’t seem to turn off. I want to tell her it’s because I’ve been hollowed out, dead inside for five brutal months, and the moment she looked at me, it was like a resurrection was slowly beginning.
But I don’t tell her any of that. Because you don’t say those things to a stranger.
Instead, I say, “Because. I want to help you.”
Her smile widens, and she purses her lips to stop it. I like how she does that, her beautiful lips pressed together like that.
She’s quiet for a moment, assessing my offer, or maybe assessing me.
“Nah,” she says with a shake of her head. “I don’t need help from the brooding rude guy whohappenedto eavesdrop on my conversation.” She scrunches her nose. “Thanks anyway, Coop.”
She turns to leave, placing the second earbud into her other ear with her first step. Casual and dismissive, like our whole exchange meant nothing. Something in me panics.
I feel myself grasping—for her. For anything that’ll keep her from walking away and taking that glowing light with her. My chest tightens with the sharp, irrational fear that if I let her go now, I’ll lose whatever it is she’s unknowingly offering me.
“I’m sorry, okay?” I yell, my heart jumping behind my ribs. She stops midstep. “I’m sorry I was an asshole.” She turns to me then, and it’s all I need to keep going. “It’s been a shitty few months. Not that it’s an excuse. I’m just…in a weird place. And… I’m sorry. I’m not normally like this.”
She walks back in front of me, one hand holding the strap of her backpack. “And how are you normally?”
I chew on my cheek. “Would you believe me if I told you I don’t really know anymore?”
Her eyes don’t waver on mine. “I think I would.”
A slow smile forms on my lips, created by that tiny flame.
Her gaze softens just barely, the steel in her eyes bending as she seemingly tosses my offer around in her mind. And in the moment, I realize I’ll selfishly wait forever for her to decide, because whatever this is that I’m feeling, it’s the first thing inmonthsthat makes me feel alive.
“This isn’t just a pity invite, is it?” she asks.
“No,” I answer honestly.
“It’s to make up for your unreasonably cold demeanor the other day.”
“Entirely,” I lie.
The deep curve of her cupid's bow expands with her smile, and her eyes twinkle in the light. “Okay, fine. You can be my partner.” My grin deepens from the tinge in my chest. “But you better not mess me up.”
“I won’t,” I answer too quickly.
