The Hard Count(59)

“Hoorah,” she says back, raising her arm over her head in a fist. She looks around the kitchen, nodding, her mouth curving into an even bigger smile, until she laughs louder.

“What a goddamned mess!” she says. “You go on; I’ll finish this up.”

“You sure?” I ask.

She nods, then takes the towel from my hands, urging me to head back down the hallway. I do as she says, gathering fresh clothes, showering, and then piling my equipment into my backpack, ready to go by six.

By the time I leave my room, the kitchen is shining and the house is once again quiet. My mom’s door is open, so I look out the front window to the driveway, noticing that her car is gone. My brother’s door is still closed, so I leave a note on the counter that I went to the lab room at school. Nobody will see it to care, but just in case.

The streets are empty, and the sun is barely up over the horizon. I pull into the closest spot to the lab, squinting when I look to the bottom of the hill, noticing my dad’s car in its usual spot. He’ll be here alone for several hours. The rest of the staff won’t show up until nine or ten.

With my heavy bags slung over my arm, I tug on the main door for the school, relieved when it opens. Cornwall encourages students to come in on weekends. Usually, it’s the arts programs, or the music and dance studio rooms that are being used. The media lab is always empty, so I don’t think twice when I flip on all of the lights as I enter the first room on the left.

Nico jumps from a chair, his hands cupping the headphones on his ears as he spins and glares at me with wide eyes. I drop my bags and fall flat against the door, gripping my chest.

“Shit!” I say.

Nico pulls the headphones down so they hang around his neck, then presses his palm into his left eye, looking at me through his other.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I ask.

He glances behind him at the editing desk, then swings his focus back to me.

“I…this place is open, right? Like…anyone can use it. Or…do you have to check it out, or sign up? I’m sorry. I…”

“It’s open. No, it’s fine. It’s just…I’m the only one who ever comes in this room,” I say, feeling finally making its way back down my arms and legs.

I bend down and grab my things, and Nico steps over the chair he was straddling clumsily, his leg caught in the cord of his headphones. He hops on one leg until he frees himself, meeting me a few steps inside the door.

“Here, I got it,” he says, taking my bags from me and carrying them to the main work area. I walk slowly to catch up.

“You’re always carrying my shit for me,” I say.

“It’s how I court girls,” he says back, glancing to me with half a smile. I blush.

“Oh,” I say, pulling my lips in tight.

“I didn’t expect your shit to always be so heavy, though,” he winks.

“I’m filling my bags with rocks. I just want to see how far you’re willing to go,” I tease.

He stands tall and turns to face me, the chair he was just sitting in now the only barrier between us.

“The distance,” he says.

I wrinkle my forehead.

“I’m willing to go the distance,” he repeats. “No matter how far that is.”

My lips twitch, and I bend to their will, smiling while he looks at me. My pulse picks up speed, too.

Nervous, I reach for the chair between us and slide it out so I can sit. Nico takes a step back, making room for me. He leans forward to pull his headphones from the jack on the side of the computer, and loud music fills the room from the computer’s speakers.

“Sorry, I was kind of cranking it up,” he says, his arm brushing mine as he bends forward and clicks the volume down. He looks at me as he stands back up, and for a second, I think he might kiss me. He doesn’t, but I sort of think he wants to. Our eyes meet, and we both laugh lightly, Nico turning to rest on the desk next to me while I tuck my hands under my legs. I’m wearing the same sweatshirt I wore last night, along with my skinny jeans instead of my leggings, my hair still damp and twisted over my shoulder. I notice Nico’s eyes follow the length of it down my arm where the ends are dripping, so I pick them up and comb my fingers through.

“I took a shower before I came here,” I say.

He nods, and his eyes stay on mine. I wish we had something to argue about right now. Arguing with him was always so easy. This—this is hard. The quiet. It’s too honest.

“So what are you working on?” I ask, shifting in the chair and reaching to the mouse to bring the dark screen back to life.

I see Alyssa paused in a video timeline. She’s making a face, her hands pressed on her cheeks, which she has puffed out with air. It’s silly, and I laugh before I look at Nico with a smile. He stares at his niece’s image and runs his hand on the back of his neck, sighing.

“Actually,” he says, kneeling down so his eyes are on my level.

He holds the front of the desk inches away from me as he bends, and my eyes take a moment to notice the muscles of his forearms, the size of his hands and the way his nails are cut short, but not to the skin. He breathes, and I feel it against my arm—I tense, giving my focus back to the screen.

“I kind of don’t know what I’m doing,” he says, clicking the PLAY button and letting the video clip play on.