You Should See Me in a Crown(40)

“One-for-one,” I say, following her lead and hopping onto the curb at the corner of Mass Ave as well. “I know what it is about music that keeps me coming back to it. What is it for you?”

“I’m not a writer like my mom was. But musicians are the best storytellers in the world,” she says, talking quickly and waving her hands around like she’s conducting an erratic choir. “That’s the thing that’s always drawn me to it—how much life is in it, you know? Like Kittredge, for instance. It’s chaos, right? The songs all start out big, so much sound you can’t begin to process it all, but it comes together in this wild, magical way. The beauty is in the imperfection. The way they control and navigate it.

“Maybe it’s like practicing medicine too,” she adds. “Like out of something complex and dark, like illness, you’ll produce something incredible, like a cure.” She looks at me and cocks her head to the side. When she smiles at me, sort of shy and majorly adorable, I realize I’ve been staring. “Sorry, I get kind of caught up in this stuff.”

“Don’t apologize for caring,” I say, shaking my head. She’s silhouetted under a streetlight, and we both stop walking.

“What?” I ask as I catch her looking at me like she can’t believe I’m really there. Instead of wilting under the scrutiny like I used to—like I did just a few weeks ago when people would look at me too intensely—I stare back, chin up, just a little defiant. “What is it?”

I’m no longer walking beside her. We step down into the street, and I turn to take her in.

Amanda’s not quite as tall as me, but with her platforms we’re at eye level when she takes a step toward me. Her eyes search my face, and I think briefly that she might be about to do the thing that I want her to do. My heart beats quicker, and I realize it’s not just because I’m excited, it’s because I’m afraid. Afraid she might not want what I want, that this may have all been some elaborate ruse, some Rachel-esque campaign strategy to sabotage my run. That I might be bad at this. That this might ruin everything.

“I’ve never met anyone like you before,” she says.

“I’m sort of terrified of you,” I respond, swallowing down my fear. I say it now, regardless of what may or may not be happening between us, because I don’t want to hold on to it anymore. I’m tired of holding on to everything all the time.

We’re so close I can feel a gentle puff of air as she speaks. “I’m scared too.”

“I don’t,” I start quietly and close my eyes for a moment before looking back at her, “usually do stuff like this. With anyone.”

“Okay.” She nods, her smile widening slowly. “That’s okay.”

“I might not be good at it.” Her hands are gentle as they slide around to the back of my neck.

“Me neither.”

“I don’t even know what to do with my hands.”

“I’m not an expert or anything, but …” She reaches down to where my arms are hanging uselessly at my side and puts them on her waist. “Done.” She pushes one of my flyaways back behind my ear and cups my cheek with one hand. “Anything else?”

“Well, not exactly, but—”

“Liz.”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

I nod, probably acquiescing a little too quickly. “Uh-huh.”

And it’s not perfect, a little eager, our noses bumping momentarily before we settle into an angle that works for both of us. I can feel it everywhere, the way the warmth spreads through my body, the way my heart feels like it’s no longer the right size for my chest. I urge her closer to me, my hands slipping under her jacket and tightening in the fabric of her shirt.

She sort of stumbles into me—because, okay, I apparently don’t know my own strength when hormones are involved—and our teeth clash together in a horrible way that is definitely not the makings of a movie-moment kiss.

“Oh my God!” I throw a hand over my mouth. “I am so sorry! This is really not how this was supposed to go.”

But Amanda can’t hear me, because she’s doubled over in laughter. Seriously, full-blown, can’t-catch-her-breath, hands-on-her-knees laughing.

“This is truly, truly mortifying. Like, #LightyStrong levels of embarrassment.”

She stands up straight again and cocks her head to the side, confused.

“What? You grabbing me like that was kind of the hottest thing anyone has ever done.” She shakes her head. “I’m laughing because I think I may have finally found someone as clumsy as me.”

“It was only kind of the hottest thing?” I smirk. When she looks back up at me, the only expression I can find is relief, followed by excitement.

“No.” She shakes her head. “Definitely. It was one hundred percent the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me. Ten out of ten, would recommend.”

“Kiss her again, sweetie!” someone shouts behind us. When I turn, a lady from the patio of an expensive pizza place is standing with her hands cupped around her mouth to amplify the sound of her voice. “It isn’t a kiss without a little teeth!”

Amanda and I both laugh then, and she looks at me with her eyebrows raised—a question I don’t have to think about to know the answer to. This time, it’s me who kisses her. And it’s everything. The fireworks, the butterflies—all of it. I get it now. And I can’t believe I lived in a world where I didn’t get to kiss her whenever I wanted.