Begin Again(102)
The scene is all set, just the way Valeria and I planned it, but somehow even sweeter. A re-creation of the ending scene when the heroine runs away from her own coronation, revealing that she only attended to obtain a hidden key, the final enchanted object to break the curse on both her and the sorceress’s kingdoms—the same curse causing the generations-long feud between them, and the same one that the sorceress has spent her entire life trying to break on her own.
Except once the heroine meets the sorceress in the woods, they discover that the key wasn’t the final piece they need. The two of them, with the sacrifice of all their magic combined, are the final piece. So they lay out the candles and the herbs and the crystals they need with the ancient prophecy, and just before they have to cast the potentially deadly spell, confess their love to each other in a sweeping, glittering, romantic moment in the spring sun.
We made do with fairy lights on the shed and tea lights around the picnic blankets, crystals on loan from Harriet’s dorm room, and actual food instead of herbs. But it’s clear from the way Shay and Valeria have migrated next to each other on the blanket, the food untouched and their fingers intertwined, that the romance did not need to be borrowed or bought for the occasion. It’s right there in Valeria’s quiet smile, in the glint in Shay’s eyes.
My heart feels so full it might tip over. I’ve never believed in fairy tales; I’ve only ever believed in our power over our own fates. But whatever happens next, we’ll always have this—the kind of moment that proves magic isn’t just for pages in a story, but something you can find all on your own.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I feel a pinch of guilt when I put off meeting Milo at Bagelopolis. A few hours ago I wanted him to just tell me he was leaving, so I could make myself face the facts. Now that I am walking away in the haze of Shay and Valeria’s happiness, I want to stay wrapped in it like a cocoon. I want to exist for just a little while longer in a world where we’re all still here not just until the end of the semester, but for years to come.
I try to tell myself it’ll be easier. Milo’s not interested in a relationship. With him gone, it’ll be that much easier to get over him. No constant reminders of the way he always smells like freshly brewed coffee or the way I can sometimes turn that smirk of his into a genuine smile or how my calves are always tingling after we hang out from standing on my tiptoes.
It’s like Shay said with Valeria; they’d still be friends, and it would be more than enough. But enough is a little easier to swallow when it isn’t staring you in the face every day.
With that, I force myself to put on my headphones and sit on a bench on the outskirts of campus that borders the main road. Milo’s voice floods my ears the same way it has a hundred times, and I lean back like the sound is some kind of balm, letting the familiarity of it wash over me.
“Good morning, Knights. Spent the weekend offline, what did I miss?”
If I’m not mistaken, I can hear Shay’s faint snort in the background.
“Really, though. The nice thing about having my identity revealed to you lot is that none of you have any idea who I am anyway. So no point in making it weird. I’m still the Knight, and you’re still—well, if the state of the quad after that dance party is any indication, probably hungover. So if it’s all well and good, I’ll keep giving you campus news and warning you off the dining hall’s most recent monstrosities, and you’ll keep ignoring me by eating the chili dogs anyway. Balance has been restored.”
It’s quick, wry, and perfectly executed. Milo really is a pro. He transitions into the daily news without another word about what happened, and I let myself get lulled into the familiar rhythm of events and club announcements. That is, until Milo stops halfway through signing off.
“Oh. We have a caller.” A beat. “We have several callers. Uh . . . I mean, it’s six thirty on a Wednesday morning, why not punish ourselves? Caller one, you’re live.”
I instantly recognize the caller’s voice as none other than Harriet from our floor. “I just wanted to say—I fucking love the Squire. She’s the only reason my roommate got her head out of her ass and asked out her now boyfriend. We’re all very proud.”
Milo lets out a laugh, something he very rarely does on air. “Yeah. She’s got that effect on people.”
“She does. Whoever that asshole was on the recording with her—well, I for one am Team Squire. And I know I’m not the only one.”
Milo lets out a hum of acknowledgment. “Gotta be honest, she’s not here today. But knowing her, she’ll listen to this later. So noted.” And after a second: “And well—we’re also Team Squire. So thanks.”
I tighten my grip on my phone as the words pool in my chest, warm and known.
“Eh. I’d say ‘thank you’ back, but I wouldn’t want to say it too loud and break quiet hours,” says Harriet, a clear if not loving dig at Milo’s tenure as the RA.
Milo lets out yet another short laugh before saying, “Well, looks like we’ve got more calls to get through. Hit me, caller number two.”
It’s more of the same—people calling in to say they love the Squire. People calling in with rare gems I never usually get: updates on where they are now, after they’ve asked for my advice. The caller who had the boundary issues with their boss. An emailer who was struggling to get independence from her parents even though they were a junior. Another caller who had issues with their roommate. All people who are better off now than they were before, and willing to go to bat for me because of it.