Fluffy(52)

“I didn’t understand.”

“No kidding. I felt like your eyes were burning me. You were so disgusted.”

“You thought that?”

“I felt that. Words are connected to emotional states for most of us, Will. What you said back then mattered.”

Still does.

“Ooof. I’m sorry.”

“And you considered that conversation to be the most authentic interaction you’d ever had?”

“You were the most authentic person I’d met.”

“Me?”

“Don’t you get it? You rejected Harvard. Harvard, Mallory. You said no to the top school in the country.”

I know what he's really saying. He didn't get into Harvard.

I did.

“Dartmouth wasn’t exactly a bottom-tier school, Will.”

“I’ve done fine. Dartmouth, Rhodes Scholar, the whole bit. I succeeded on the hamster wheel of academic success.”

Here it comes.

“But you made your decisions based on what you wanted. Not based on what other people told you you should do.”

Blink.

Blink.

Blink.

“That’s right,” I finally choke out. “I did.”

“You did back then, you do now. No one does that, Mallory. Especially not eighteen-year-olds who are nothing more than chess pieces for adults to play in a game of status strategy.”

My eyes drift to the door Mom and Dad just went through. “That’s not who I am.”

“I know. That’s not who you were ten years ago, either.”

“Do you make your decisions based on what other people expect?” I ask him, head tilting as though it will help me understand his answer.

Step. We’re three feet apart as he moves closer. “Not anymore.”

Bzzzz.

My phone goes crazy in my pocket. I can’t ignore it. Breaking the spell between us, I step back and look. Four texts, the reminder about the reunion in one, the other three from Mom, Perky, Fiona.

The usual suspects.

“Go with me,” he says, bringing the magic back. But it feels like there's a wall between us, one that shimmers with transparency but still separates us.

“Where?”

“To the reunion.”

“Me?” It comes out as a sonic boom of surprise.

“All my friends are married or have dates. I need to save face.” The words are joking. Tone is light. But those eyes, oh, those eyes are making offers I can’t believe are true.

Are they?

“I’m the last person you bring to a ten-year reunion if you’re trying to improve your reputation, buddy.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Look at me.”

“I am.”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“It’s obvious you don’t see yourself the way I see you. I don’t understand why you would say that. You’re gorgeous. And smart. And funny. You’re the whole package.” He breathes, the sound making all the hair on my body tingle, moving like waves of grass on a windy day, drawn to him. “I was too stupid to see it ten years ago. I’m not quite as stupid now.”

“You’re pretty close.”

“Is that a no?”

“No. But look,” I say with a tiny, huffy laugh, “this isn’t some John Hughes movie from the '80s where the popular guy plucks the shy, brainy girl from the crowd and kisses her over a birthday cake on a table and they live happily ever after.”

“What’s a John Hughes movie?”

“You–I–you’ve never seen Sixteen Candles?”

“No.”

“Pretty in Pink?”

“Is that a Barbie princess movie? Because I used to hate it when my sister watched that kind of stuff.” He frowns. “Besides, why would you watch movies from the 1980s? We weren’t even born then.”

“They’re classics. My mom watched them with me.” And, I can’t admit to him, they were emotional sanctuaries where, for once, the shy, nobody girl did get the hot, popular guy.

Fantasy, right?

“I’ll have to watch them someday.”

“What did you watch when we were in high school?”

“Saw movies. The Ring. You know.”

“Eww!”

“Don’t judge it until you’ve seen them.”

“I am totally judging Saw movies, sight unseen. Or not unseen. Karen the overly officious cop made me watch fifteen minutes of Saw 3 when I was six and it warped me for life.”

“Not very open minded of you.”

“I embrace my intolerance for gore. I own my judgment on this one. Call me Miss Judgment.”

“I misjudged you, all right.”

Something in his voice makes my breath hitch.

“Say yes.”

“What?”

“Say yes, Mallory. Be my date. Let’s show those assholes that we’re adults. We’ve matured.”

“We have? Speak for yourself. I still can’t watch horror movies without a blanket to throw over my head and I have no idea how to change the oil in my car.”

“That’s your measure of adulthood? If so, I’ve been an adult since I was eleven.”