Panic(26)

Inside, he wandered around aimlessly. The mall wasn’t actually that big—only one floor—and there was no carousel, which disappointed him. One time he’d taken a carousel ride with Dayna at a mall in Columbus—or was it Chicago? They’d raced around, trying to ride every single horse before the music stopped playing, yelling like cowboys.

The memory made him happy and sad at the same time. It took him a moment to realize he’d accidentally stopped in front of a Victoria’s Secret. A mom and her daughter were giving him weird looks. They probably thought he was a perv. He turned away quickly, resolving to go to Dazzling Gems and see whether Nat was done yet. It had been nearly an hour, anyway.

Dazzling Gems was all the way on the other side of the building. He was surprised to see a long line snaking out of the boutique—girls waiting to audition, all of them tanned and wearing next to nothing and perching like antelope on towering heels, and none of them close to as pretty as Nat. They were all cheesy-looking, he thought.

Then he saw her. She was standing just outside the boutique doors, talking to an old dude with a face that reminded Dodge of a ferret. His hair was greasy and thinning on top; Dodge could see patchy bits of his scalp. He was wearing a cheap suit, and even this, somehow, managed to look greasy and threadbare.

At that second, Nat turned and spotted Dodge. She smiled big, waving, and pushed toward him. Ferret melted into the crowd.

“How was it?” Dodge asked.

“Stupid,” she said. “I didn’t even make it through the doors. I waited on line for, like, an hour and barely moved three places. And then some woman came around and checked IDs.” She said it cheerfully, though.

“So who was that?” Dodge asked carefully. He didn’t want her to think he was jealous of Ferret, even though he sort of was.

“Who?” Nat blinked.

“That guy you were just talking to,” he said. Dodge noticed Nat was holding something. A business card.

“Oh, that.” Nat rolled her eyes. “Some modeling scout. He said he liked my look.” She said it casually, like it was no big deal, but he could tell she was thrilled.

“So . . . he just, like, goes around handing out cards?” Dodge said.

He could tell right away he’d offended her. “He doesn’t just hand them out to anyone,” she said stiffly. “He handed one to me. Because he liked my face. Gisele got discovered in a mall.”

Dodge didn’t think Ferret looked anything like a modeling agent—and why would an agent be scouting at the mall in Kingston, New York, anyway?—but he didn’t know how to say so without offending her further. He didn’t want her to think he thought she wasn’t pretty enough to be a model, because he did. Except models were tall and she was short. But otherwise, definitely.

“Be careful,” he said, because he could think of nothing else to say.

To his relief, she laughed. “I know what I’m doing,” she said.

“Come on. Let’s go get something to eat. I’m starving.”

Nat didn’t like to hold hands because it made her feel “imbalanced,” but she walked so close to him, their arms were almost touching. It occurred to him that anyone looking would assume they were together, like boyfriend-girlfriend, and he had a sudden rush of insane happiness. He had no idea how this had happened—that he was walking next to Nat Velez like he belonged there, like she was his girl. He thought, vaguely, it had something to do with Panic.

They found Bishop and Heather arguing about whether to go to Sbarro or East Wok. While they hashed it out, Dodge and Nat agreed easily on Subway. He bought her lunch—a chicken sub, which she changed at the last second to a salad (“Just in case,” she said cryptically)—and a Diet Coke. They found an empty table and sat down while Heather and Bishop stood on line at Taco Bell, which they had at last agreed on.

“So what’s up with them?” Dodge said.

“With Bishop and Heather?” Nat shrugged. “Best friends, I guess.” She slurped her soda loudly. He liked the way she ate: unself-consciously, unlike some girls. “I think Bishop has a crush on her, though.”

“Seems like it,” Dodge said.

Nat tilted her head, watching him. “What about you?”

“What about me what?”

“Do you have a crush on anyone?”

He had just taken a big bite of his sandwich; the question was so unexpected he nearly choked. He couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wasn’t lame.

“I’m not . . .” He coughed and took a sip of his Coke. Jesus. His face was burning. “I mean, I don’t—”

“Dodge.” She cut him off. Her voice was suddenly stern. “I’d like you to kiss me now.”

He had just been scarfing a meatball sub. But he kissed her anyway. What else could he do? He felt the noise in his head, the noise around them, swelling into a clamor; he loved the way she kissed, like she was still hungry, like she wanted to eat him. Heat roared through his whole body, and for one second he experienced a crazy shock of anxiety: he must be dreaming.

He put one hand on the back of her head, and she pulled away just long enough to say, “Both hands, please.”

After that, the noise in his head quieted. He felt totally relaxed, and he kissed her again, more slowly this time.

On the way home, he barely said anything. He was happier than he’d ever been, and he feared saying or doing anything that would ruin it.