Begin Again(50)

I feel an unexpected, but no less familiar, twinge at that. The same one I felt sophomore year of high school, the year Connor’s grades started to dip and I focused so much of my energy trying to help him that mine dipped, too. Dipped enough that I never really recovered. That even with all my other grades and extracurriculars and decent test scores I didn’t get into Blue Ridge State on the first try.

My eyes skim the ribbons laid out on the bed, Valeria’s warning about my study habits pushing back into my brain. I push right back. I’m here now. And soon Connor will be, too. We’ll make it where we need to be the same way we always do, taking turns pulling each other up along the way.

“I helped, is all,” I deflect. “You’re plenty smart.”

“And you’re plenty kind to put up with me.” Connor kisses the top of my head. “I love you.”

The words hover in my chest before they reach my throat. “I love you, too.”





Chapter Sixteen


The next morning Milo beats me and Shay to the studio. I barely make it through the doorway before he strides right up to me and hands me his familiar beaten-up thermos with the Blue Ridge State logo on it. I take it from him, glancing up into eyes that look every bit as tired as I feel.

“This is tea,” Milo tells me. Then, after a beat: “Allegedly.”

For a moment neither of us speaks, his eyes careful and searching mine. He may have apologized yesterday, but I feel the full weight of it now. It’s in the caution behind his gaze, the faint shame in the curve of those tall shoulders. I’d already forgiven him. But I feel a warmth seeping into my chest just the same.

Shay strolls in behind me, eyeing the thermos curiously. “Why don’t I get a random tea?”

Milo turns back around abruptly, heading for his stool. “Because I wasn’t an asshole to you yesterday.”

My ears burn warmer than the thermos in my hand. Shay raises her eyebrows at me with a clear “we’re going to discuss this when we don’t have a show to run” in her eyes before attending to the computer.

“Then can you be an asshole to me today?” Shay asks. “I love free beverages.”

“I’ll try to pencil you in,” Milo quips.

I press the thermos to my chest, feeling its steady heat through my jacket. “Thanks, Milo. But you didn’t need to do this.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I’ve never brewed tea in my life.”

I take a sip. It’s got enough sugar in it for an entire batch of one of Gammy Nell’s famous snickerdoodles and the half-and-half is so thick I can barely detect anything even adjacent to tea. But as terrible as it is on the tongue, it’s infinitely warm on the heart.

“Wait.” I look down at the thermos, then at his empty hands. “What about your coffee?”

Milo waves me off. “I can survive an hour without my first cup.”

I almost feel ridiculous for the way my chest seems to swell at this small but strangely personal gesture. But then Shay blinks, looking at each of us in turn, every bit as stunned as I am.

“Well, I guess even in the Upside Down the show has to go on,” she says, peeling the notes off the printer and sticking them in front of Milo. “You’re up in five.”

After he finishes the show, Milo lingers by the recording mic, his eyes skirting to mine. Shay pats me on the shoulder and ducks out for class. I take the few steps over to Milo, the room suddenly feeling smaller than it did when Shay was still here, and offer him back the thermos.

He opens his mouth and I shake my head, already knowing what’s about to come out of it.

“Seriously, Milo. You don’t need to apologize,” I insist. “I shouldn’t have said anything in the first place.”

He lets loose a sheepish breath, taking a step back and sinking onto the stool. Even with him perched on it, I have to look up at him to meet his eye. He takes back the thermos, careful to hold it from the bottom, not to let our fingers graze. His next words come out in a mumble.

“I didn’t give you much of a choice.”

“Still. It probably wasn’t my place.” I lean in closer, willing him to meet my eyes so he can see the teasing glint in them. “Just my, uh—fix-it thing, as you and Shay call it.”

But when Milo looks at me, his expression is surprisingly serious. “I shouldn’t have said that, either. I don’t think you have a fix-it thing.”

I feel a sliver of my composure slip out from under me. “You don’t?”

“No. I think you love to help people.” His voice is steady, with no trace of the quake from yesterday. Like he’s been thinking about having this conversation ever since, or maybe even longer than that. “But I also think you put a lot of pressure on yourself about it.”

I feel an unfamiliar kind of itch under my skin. The too-close feeling of someone seeing things that you don’t want them to see.

“Well, it is what I want to do for a living,” I say, my voice high in my own ears. “I want to do my best.”

“No, I don’t mean like that. I mean . . .” Milo reaches a hand for the back of his neck, his jaw working like he’s considering his next words carefully. When he decides on them, he looks down at me and says, “You know you don’t owe anyone your help, right? Like, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone.”