Always Never Yours(28)

“Oh, right. I keep forgetting.”

He scrutinizes me for a second. “Is there . . . applesauce in your hair?”

“What?” I quickly try to hide my head from Owen and grab my hair, mortified when I feel something sticky. “It was—a crazy pregame,” I mutter, furiously trying to brush it out.

Owen turns back to the band. It feels like he’s giving me a moment to collect myself, and I’m grateful. “They sound okay tonight,” he says.

“They sound amazing. They’re probably the best band I’ve ever heard.”

“You mean seen,” he says with the hint of a smile.

“Seen, heard . . . What’s the difference?”

Owen laughs. “Remind me to take you to a real concert sometime.”

It’s a tossed-off comment, but for a moment my mind lingers on the idea of Owen Okita taking me to concerts, to other places on nights out . . . But I lose my train of thought when I hear Will sing, “Come on, baby, touch me and feel me burning for you!”

I can’t stop listening. Hot lead singer notwithstanding, they are good. “You’re a fire in the night, crimson in the trees,” Will sings. “If you do nothing else for me, baby, burn me down, please.”

“Wow . . . Will, these lyrics, it’s working for me,” I say in a low voice.

Owen rubs the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable.

“Wait.” I grab his arm. “Owen. Did you write these?”

The blood rushes from his face. “Yes, I did.”

“No wonder you’re with your fair Cosima if she inspires lyrics like these. A few weeks of theater camp and you two really got down to business.”

He shakes his head sharply. “The lyrics weren’t inspired by anything. I was just trying to channel Neruda’s love poetry in a modern context. It was a poetical exercise.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“I swear,” he insists. “They’re completely innocent.”

“Sure, Owen.”

I feel my phone buzz. Pulling it out of my purse, I find a text from Anthony. YOU NEED TO COME DOWN HERE, it reads. Anthony texts entirely in capitals. When I asked him why, years ago, he told me “the world won’t wait for men who write in lowercase.”

y, I send back.

I WANT TO DANCE WITH ERIC. TOO SCARED. NEED BACKUP.

I look down into the crowd and spot Anthony awkwardly hovering near Eric and the girl. I notice the Saint Margaret’s lacrosse boys have moved away from the dance floor to the keg by the doors. Smiling, I stow my phone and grab Owen’s arm again. “Come on,” I command. “We’ve got to go dance.”

He looks startled. I swear, one of these days that expression’s going to stick. “Us? Now?”

“It’s a group thing. For Anthony.” I walk backward while tugging him toward the door. “It’s nothing to make Cosima jealous.”

Owen breaks into a grin. “So you admit she’s real?”

“You’re impossible.” I roll my eyes, leading him down the stairs. “Come on, lover boy.”

I keep hold of his arm as we make our way through our drunken classmates. The crowd hasn’t thinned out, and I’m nearly elbowed in the face by a couple baseball guys I recognize from Tyler’s games. I let go of Owen when we reach Anthony, who’s worked up the courage to move closer to Eric. Luckily, Eric and the blonde have separated long enough for us to join them and form a lopsided dance circle.

I reach for Anthony’s hand and playfully grind up on him, and he places his hands on my hips. Anthony’s a good dancer once he’s been loosened up.

As soon as the blonde walks off to join the group of girls beckoning her over, I nudge Anthony in Eric’s direction and face Owen, who’s making a good effort at dancing. I watch him bob his head for a couple beats before I take his hands and dance lazily with my fingers entwined in his. I feel him hesitate for a second, but then I exaggeratedly flip my hair, and he relaxes, grinning.

When the band starts a faster number, Owen cranes his neck to look over my shoulder. Following his eyes, I turn and catch sight of Anthony and Eric swaying near each other, holding hands below their waists.

I whip to face Owen. “Oh my god,” I mouth. He nods slowly, eyebrows arched. I laugh and pull him closer, our bodies just barely touching. He stiffens, but still he doesn’t pull away. By the time the song ends, he’s gripping my hands tightly and we move faster in rhythm through the next couple songs.

“That’s our set. Thanks, Stillmont,” I hear Will’s voice coming over the mic. “You’ve been a beautiful audience.”

I step back from Owen and wipe the sweat from my forehead, catching my breath. He gives me a shy smile, a smile in which I see a different Owen than the one hunched over his notebook in Verona. An Owen willing to follow me onto a dance floor and match my every move with one of his own. Just when I think I have him figured out, he keeps finding ways to surprise me.

The thought hangs in my head for only a moment because, out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse the blonde girl from earlier heading our way, followed by two Saint Margaret boys. Eric drops Anthony’s hand—and while Anthony watches in stunned silence, Eric grabs the girl and presses his lips to hers, folding her into a shameless kiss.