You Should See Me in a Crown(39)
Mack pushes past that, says something about how we’d need all the time we could get to recover after this prom thing is over. Davey says that the offer is always on the table though. And that means for me too. Not that I have plans of going on tour with a hugely successful rock band or anything, but the offer feels huge. Like maybe things don’t need to be exactly as I’ve imagined them. Like maybe in this universe I’ve suddenly found myself in, things could be different. I could be different.
Before long, the band pulls their stuff together and heads toward the stage. Todd offers to escort us to a VIP booth, but we both opt for being in the mix of things down on the floor. And it’s the best choice we could have made. The concert is amazing, the energy of the audience palpable. Kittredge fans are die-hard, know-all-the-words, can-mimic-every-guitar-riff types. Mack, obviously, is right there with them—singing at the top of her lungs and grabbing both my hands to dance along with her during the breakdowns.
Kittredge is everything every magazine profile of them has described: electric, charismatic, authentic artists. Davey is the perfect front man to have alongside Teela, his energy onstage practically tangible as he sings and jumps from the drummer’s platform down to the stage. He and Teela work so well together, so symbiotically, it’s no surprise people think they might be dating.
At one point, when Teela has taken over on lead vocals, she even dedicates a song to “two girls making big noise in Campbell, Indiana” and winks down at the two of us in the crowd. I think I might be dreaming.
“Do you feel that?” Mack shouts over the music. Her hand slips into mine gently, bringing me closer.
“Feel what?” I don’t know what she means, not exactly anyway, but I want to stand still and allow whatever is happening to completely wash over me.
She pulls back to smile at me. “Everything.”
“Why didn’t you tell me your cousin was your cousin?” I ask once we step out of Sub Zero on Mass Ave with two milkshakes—one chocolate chip cookie dough and the other white chocolate with dulce de leche.
She takes a sip and looks at me over her eyelashes. “Honestly?”
“Always.”
“I didn’t want it to seem like I was trying too hard to impress you, you know?”
We’re walking in the opposite direction of the venue and the car, and I don’t even mind the fact that it is absolutely too cold outside to be drinking these milkshakes. I’m not ready for this night to be over yet. I smile into my straw.
“Well, did you want to impress me?”
“Hell yes!” She laughs, bumping my hip with hers. “But I didn’t want you to think that I wanted to impress you. See, it was all part of my master plan.”
“Oh really?” I lick some whipped cream that’s started to slide down the outside of the cup. “Is this where you take all your dates?”
And okay, I’m mostly joking, but part of me feels weirdly jealous of some other girl who may or may not even exist.
I gotta get a hold on myself.
“Nah.” She empties her shake faster than should be possible and tosses her cup into a recycling bin. “Just you.”
I suddenly feel all weird and fuzzy again.
“I really do love the band, and what they do, and I thought you would love to see it up close. I wanted to share that with you,” she adds with a shrug. “I probably would have gotten tickets whether I was related to the colead singer or not. And then I just hoped and prayed that you would agree to come with.”
I have so many things I want to ask her, so many things I want to know. I thought I had Mack all figured out, thought that I knew how this night would go and what would happen at school on Monday and how I would find a way to walk away from this after just one quick hit of being with her. But I realize that this isn’t going to be so easily navigated. She’s not like the SATs or the AP French exam, reliant on formula and structure. Everything is so much more magnificent and complicated than I had initially budgeted for. I can’t be distracted by dating right now, but I can’t not get to know her better either.
“Well, for what it’s worth,” I start, finishing my own milkshake and dropping the cup in a bin, “I think that no matter who we were going to see, I would have had a great time with you tonight. I don’t think I would have been able to stop myself.”
She smiles down at her feet and grabs my hand again. “Is this okay?”
I nod. No one is watching us here. We talk about the show (we both agree that it was amazing) and about the city (we both think it might be a nice place to settle down one day way way wayyyyy after college) and about Sub Zero versus Ritter’s Frozen Custard (Mack says Sub Zero wins every time, and I think seriously about calling off the rest of the evening because, honestly, how can I trust a person who doesn’t love Ritter’s?).
“I liked it when you called me Amanda earlier,” she says quietly. “I don’t use it at school, because a nickname gives me some distance from everything, you know?” She smiles at me softly. “But with you, it feels like it’s supposed to feel. Right.”
And okay, wow, my stomach won’t stop flipping. Amanda. My Amanda. There’s something I like about being the only person who calls her that.
She moves toward the edge of the sidewalk. She balances there, one foot in front of the other like she’s walking on a tightrope. In more ways than one, it sort of feels like that’s what we are. On the edge of something neither of us is bold enough to put a name to.