The Love That Split the World(20)

“Nothin’,” he says. “Those are nice houses.”

“And?”

He looks out across the field, the intense yellow of the rising sun catching his hazel eyes and painting caramel highlights at the tips of his hair. “You dress real nice. I bet you come from a nice family.”

It occurs to me that maybe my calling in life is just to make Beau say nahs as many times as possible. “They’re nice,” I say. The elaborately strapped gray sports bra and moisture-wicking running shorts are also probably the nicest clothes I own. My mom thinks workout gear is sacred, and thus is constantly throwing out my old stained stuff and replenishing my supply. “What about you? You play the piano like Mozart—your family must be all right.”

Beau lets go of the chain link, walks around to the steps, and comes to stand beside me. When he leans out over the railing he eases his arm up against mine, and I’m careful not to move at all, so he won’t either. I want to stay there, touching him. “I live with my brother, Mason, and sometimes my mom,” he says. “She made me take lessons when I was little because she wanted to date the teacher, and now when I wanna play, I come over to the high school.”

“I see.”

“Which one of those guys from the other night was your boyfriend?” he asks.

“Neither.” I feel my blush worsening, and when it’s at peak severity and my whole head might actually be on fire, I add, “I don’t have a boyfriend.” I risk a glance at him. He’s looking at the field, but the corners of his mouth are turned up, and I like the way his eyelids dip when he smiles.

“So now I know why you haunt the band room,” I say, breaking the silent tension between us. “But why do you run on our track?”

“Our track?” he says. “I thought this was your track.”

“Well, I’m really good at sharing, especially things I hate using.”

His eyes rove over me. “You’re here right now.”

“Yeah,” I say, because I had a vision of you might come off a little too strong.

He pushes his hair back from his face. “Do you wanna come over?”

“What—right now?”

He shrugs. “Whenever. Now. We have cereal.”

I laugh. “What about milk? Do you have milk, Beau?”

“Mason usually just uses beer, but yeah, if you want milk, I can get you milk, Natalie. There’s a gas station right up the road.”

“You know what? I’d try it with beer,” I tell him.

“So you do?” he says. “Wanna come over?”

“I can’t right now.” I wave vaguely toward the school. Beau nods, and I hurry to add, “But some other time, later in the day, would be good.”

“Okay.”

“Do you have your phone with you? I could give you my number.”

He feels his shorts pockets. “Nah.”

I realize then that I left my phone in the school, although I did manage to bring the pepper-spray can Mom attached to my keys, which I self-consciously remember I’m wearing on a wristband. “You could find me online,” I offer helplessly.

“Okay.”

“Or you could find me here again.”

“On your track,” he agrees.

“Yeah.”

“That you never use.”

“Well, it’s a small town,” I say. “How hard could it be?” A little voice in my head points out that I’d never seen Beau until a week ago.

“I’ll find you,” he says.

“I hope so.” I turn to go, chest fluttering and abdomen incongruently cramping inward from the run.

When I get back to the parking lot, it’s still empty, but as I’m standing there, there’s a flicker of color and form across the asphalt as the cars—mine included—appear for the breadth of a blink. I stand there watching until it happens once more, this time for three whole seconds. That seems like a good sign, so I go inside. As far as I can tell, the school’s still empty, but after my conversation with Beau nothing feels as eerie as it did before my run, and I’m not as anxious either. Perhaps misguidedly, I’m totally confident the world will go back to normal soon, just like it has all week. So I go down to the locker rooms and rinse off as quickly as possible before I head back up to the library, crossing my fingers that I can get in without any trouble.

When I get there, it’s the same as I left it: void of everything except bookshelves and one lone sleeping bag and duffel. The clock on the wall reads 6:01, and, because I have no clue what else to do, I get in my sleeping bag and lie back down, watching and waiting for the world to right itself.

Next thing I know, someone is shaking me awake. My eyes pop open onto a pair of round blue ones, framed with sheets of straight blond hair. “Good news or bad news first?” Megan says.

“Bad news,” I croak.

“Okay, well, that’s the wrong order, and the good news is: I know you very well, and I didn’t even bother trying to get you up to go running with me this morning, so you’re welcome.”

“Thanks,” I say, though my mind is still sorting through the fog of knowing that I absolutely did go running this morning.

“The bad news is, you have to get up right now, because breakfast started ten minutes ago, and everything’s obviously super greasy and everyone’s obviously super hungover so it’s sort of a fly-to-bug-zapper situation.”