Undecided(54)

“Shut up.”

“Look—I promise you won’t wind up on the list, okay? Like you said the other night, there aren’t even any new names on it. People aren’t paying attention to what I do anymore. I’m boring. So are you.”

My face is hot and I feel stupid and embarrassed. I know it’s not fair to blame Crosbie for being himself, especially when the only thing he’s done tonight is pick me up from work and take me to dinner and a movie. I just can’t stomach the thought of sitting across from Dean Ripley as he gives me another stern sex talk.

“Who was it?” he asks.

I snap out of my reverie. “Who was what?”

“That did this to you? Made you so worried?”

“What are you talking about?”

“When we hooked up, that wasn’t your first time. So who was it? A bad experience last year? Tell me and I’ll deal with it.”

My eyes bulge. “There’s nothing for you to deal with!” I snap. And I’m definitely not telling him about my ill-fated Kellan hookup. “There wasn’t—I didn’t…” I sigh. “Look, I know you think I’m boring.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“No, you’re right. I’m trying to be. I want to be boring. Do you know what my nickname was in high school? Nora Bora. You know what I did? Graduated. Then last year I partied a lot, trying to make up for being such an invisible loser in high school, and nearly got kicked out. I lost half my scholarship and now I have to have these meetings with the Dean and…”

“And turning up on my list will make you look bad.”

“It will make it look like I’m not taking all their threats to expel me seriously. And I am.” It’s half the truth, but it’s the only half I’m willing to share.

“I get it.”

“It’s not you, Crosbie.”

“I know that, Nora.”

We stare at each other, hurt and confusion roiling between us.

“Free refill?” The server’s shrill voice pierces the tension and we both jump.

“No,” Crosbie says, eyes on me. “I’ve had enough. You?”

“I’m fine,” I tell her. “Just the bill.”

“Sure thing. You want the rest of these wrapped up?” She gestures to the half-eaten plate of nachos. Seconds earlier it was a platter of cheesy goodness, and now it’s just a soggy mess. I shake my head.

We sit in unhappy silence as we wait. After a strained minute Crosbie reaches across the table to take back the two dimes I’d forgotten.

“Watch,” he says, placing a coin on each of his upturned palms. I pay close attention as he flips his hands, the coins pinging as they connect with the table. “See that?” he asks.

I frown. “I don’t think so.”

“Like this.”

He does it again, slower. This time I see him toss one dime into his left hand, so that hand has two coins and the other has none. It’s so fast I’d miss it if I blinked. Or even if I was watching very, very closely, apparently.

“That’s the whole trick,” Crosbie says, sliding the dimes back in my direction. “You see what I want you to see. And sometimes you see what you want to see.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Look. I don’t want to get you in trouble with the Dean. I just thought you were a nerd. A hot one, but still a nerd.”

“Thanks.”

“And if you want to keep things quiet because you and Kellan have some ‘no fun’ policy in place, and you don’t want the Dean breathing down your neck and you want to keep your name off that f*cking list, then that’s fine. But I’m not doing this if you’re embarrassed to be seen with me.”

“I’m not embarrassed—”

“If your name shows up on that wall, I’ll head up there with a bottle of whiteout and get rid of it, okay?”

“Okay, Crosbie.”

His shoulders are hunched, his cheeks pink. He’s trying. The good-time party boy who has women flocking and makes it look like everything comes easy to him, works harder than anyone I’ve ever known. And anyone I’m pretending to be.

The server brings the bill and Crosbie sticks some money underneath and pins it in place with a salt shaker. “I can pay,” I offer, but he shakes his head and stands.

“Let’s just get out of here.”

We shrug into our coats and head for the door. Crosbie holds it open and from behind us I hear a few voices call his name. He returns the greeting but doesn’t stop, and I hurry out into the cold night, my breath condensing in the air. We’d walked here from the theater, and now we make the quiet trek back to his car, the parking lot mostly empty.

The car door locks aren’t automatic so I linger as he unlocks mine and pulls it open, waiting until I’m seated before closing it. His manners, his unexpected honesty—it unnerves me and my hands are shaking a little as I reach over to pull up the plastic lock on his side. He drops into the seat, sticking the key in the ignition and turning up the heat to high. Chilly air bursts out of the vents and I stick my hands between my knees for warmth. Crosbie rubs his palms together, and when the thin film of fog on the glass has cleared, he puts his hands on the wheel.