Begin Again(31)

Even so, I’m surprised by the heat in my face when I touch it. “Oh—uh, we had a small calamity.”

“You still look like a cautionary teen tale.” Shay groans. “Here, I’ve got a mirror somewhere in my bag.”

I wave her off, thumbing my eyelids to scrape at the last of the mascara. “It’s fine. Only the computer screen can judge me.”

“Plus that wall of former Knights, ever watching,” says Shay wryly.

My eyes flit over to it, immediately locking on the picture of my mom. I could give a hundred reasons why I keep following Shay here. I enjoy their company. Answering these emails makes me feel a bit more like I have a role in this big campus where I haven’t found my place. It’s nice to have some kind of routine.

But those are just the little things that add to the big one: it’s the closest I’ve felt to my mom in a long, long time.

I still feel Milo’s eyes on me when I look away.

“Looks like a pretty slow week on campus, so we’ll mostly be on the lookout for local news,” says Shay, handing over the emails we printed earlier from the student board, campus organizations, and academic office.

“Thanks,” says Milo. He barely glances the pages over before he shifts in his stool, looking at each of us in turn. “But, uh, are we going to address your whole ‘Dear Abby’ situation ending up on the air, or . . .”

My ears burn. Shay and I both had early shifts at Bagelopolis on Friday, so we weren’t here for the broadcast. But of course I heard the full thing afterward, including a listener using “Call-in Friday” to thank the Knight for the advice he gave on time-management strategies for double majors. Milo was fast on his feet—“I’m only the Knight, not the cavalry answering the emails, but I’m glad it helped”—but it was definitely an unprecedented moment in the history of The Knights’ Watch.

I clear my throat. “So, I might have gotten carried away answering those New Year’s resolution emails.”

“Shock me,” says Milo, with a hint of amusement.

“But I can totally stop,” I add quickly, even though the idea of it makes my stomach turn.

The emails have become more than just practice for giving advice. They’re a reason for me to be here, close to my mom, when I don’t have any real business being here. And they’re also a way to distract myself from the ache that still rises up sometimes, in the quiet moments when Milo’s not at the mic and I catch myself staring at it, wondering about the girl I used to be. The one I might have been.

“Nah, it’s fine. Follow your weird, unpaid-advice-columnist bliss.” I’m getting at least 50 percent eye contact from him now, so I know he means it. “But judging from that caller, I’m guessing people are going to use ‘Call-in Friday’ for more advice. So we’re going to need some kind of plan, because the only advice I have begins and ends with ‘have you tried another cup of coffee.’”

“I’m sure you won’t get any more callers,” I say, but just then Shay taps the computer screen to get our attention.

Somehow we’ve amassed a dozen new emails overnight. Not from people sending events or information for the broadcast, but people directly asking for advice. I click on one of them and skim the words, You answered back a friend of mine, so I was wondering if I could ask you . . .

“Shit,” says Milo. I can’t tell if he’s horrified or impressed.

“Okay, um—if someone else calls I can . . . type out an answer really fast for you?” I suggest.

Milo leans down to squint at the computer screen, close enough that his shadow feels like some kind of heat lamp. I’m so aware of the edges of him that I sit as still as I possibly can until he pushes his wheeled stool away. “Or you could just go on and give advice yourself.”

My stomach drops. “Oh. No way.”

Milo frowns. “Why not?”

“Because The Knights’ Watch is—” The air has that too-thin quality it used to get when the stage fright reared its ugly head. Before I realized it was insurmountable and gave up on crowds altogether. “It’s just supposed to be the Knight. It’s always been that way.”

Milo shrugs, spinning slightly in the chair. “Doesn’t mean it always has to be.”

“It does,” I say, more forcefully than I intended. Milo stops spinning and Shay glances up from her planner. “I mean . . . they picked you for a reason.”

Milo puts his hands up in surrender. “Alright. But if you change your mind . . .”

“I won’t,” I say quickly, turning my attention back to the computer. “I’ll just get through these in the meantime while you guys plan.”

I’m left mostly to my own devices after that, but even as I blaze through the rest of the emails, I have one ear perked to their conversation. Less paying attention to what it’s about, and more to the tone of it. Milo laughs a bit more than usual. Cracks a few jokes that for once don’t sound like they were stolen from a deadpanning Disney villain. When we leave for the night, Milo heading out to get dinner with his siblings and us back to the dorm, I swear there might even be the slightest of springs in his step.

“I think it’s about time I introduce the next phase of the decaffeinating plan,” I say to Shay.