“So what are you doing now?” he asks.
I take a deep breath. My nerves feel like they’re about to jump out of my skin. “I’m meeting someone from my Arabic class at Panera to study for a test on Wednesday.”
“Panera should give you some kind of frequent-customer discount.”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “Where are you off to?”
“Training. Then some quality time with Western civ.”
“That’s right. We have another test coming up next week.”
“Maybe we could...” Tucker shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck, then releases a long exhale. “When do you meet your friend?”
“At six-thirty.” I shift the strap of my bag on my shoulder. “I need to get going.” My clock is still in my hand, with the handle of my bag looped over my fingers. I should put the clock in the bag, but I can’t make myself do it yet. I still can’t believe he’s given me a gift, let alone such a perfect one.
“I’ll walk you out.” He reaches for the strap of my messenger bag and slides it down my arm, then hooks it over his shoulder. It’s a simple thing, but I can read so much into it. The gift. Taking my bag. What does this mean? Is that what friends do?
We head for the staircase.
“I’ve been thinking about Daniel Bailey,” he says, his demeanor shifting again. He’s quiet, thoughtful now, with a twinge of sorrow. “I…I hope I didn’t sway you to not go out with him because of what I said.”
“You didn’t really say anything, Tucker.”
“I know. Look, Bailey and I don’t get along because I’m an asshole. He’s entitled to his opinion of me. I earned it.” He stops at the exterior door, his hand on the handle, keeping his gaze on my mouth. “I think he’s probably a nice guy, Scarlett. If you want to go out with him, you probably should.” His eyes shift to mine.
My breath freezes, and I’m not sure how to process everything that’s just happened within the last few minutes. “You think I should go out with Daniel Bailey?”
A war of emotions flashes in his eyes and finally settles on acceptance. “You deserve a nice guy, Scarlett.”
But what about you? stays tacked to the tip of my tongue. Where did that come from? How can I misinterpret our being friends to Tucker wanting to go out with me? And where did this sudden desire to go out with Tucker come from? I feel like I’ve been struck by a lightning bolt of want. I want Tucker Price. My knees start to buckle from the shock. It steals my breath, and I fight not to suck in a lungful of air. Instead, I smile, my chin quivering. “I’ll think about it.”
He pushes open the door and a gust of cold air blasts my face, springing tears into my eyes.
“I can walk you to your car.” He looks down at me with sad resignation. Sorrow oozes from him, filling the air and choking me with it.
Or is it my own?
This revelation is shocking and strong, as though I’ve run headlong into a wall. I cannot confuse his thoughtfulness with romantic interest in me. This is why me trying to date is a terrible idea. I get caught in a quagmire of confusion and anxiety, unable to read simple social cues. Tucker is encouraging me to go out with Daniel. He’s not interested me in other than as a friend. He’s never hinted that we were more than friends.
Tucker waits for an answer. The wind blows his hair, making it stand on end. His cheeks are turning pink, and his hands are shoved in his pockets. He shifts his weight to one side.
How could this happen? When did this happen? This is terrible. Horrifying. The one person I want is the one person I can’t have. Tucker Price flits from girl to girl, party to party, from one destructive situation to another. We live in different worlds that barely intersect, and that’s only with algebra. Which I love and he hates.
“Scarlett?” His voice is gentle, and it sharpens my pain.
I shake my head. “No.”
Confusion furrows his brow. “I can’t walk you to your car?”
“I have to go.” I turn and head toward the parking lot.
“Scarlett! Wait.” Tucker runs in front of me and blocks my path. Worry pinches the bridge of his nose. “Did I do something?”
“No.” I shake my head, desperate to get away from him. “I’m going to be late.” I try to step around him, but he moves in front of me.
“Something’s wrong. What did I do?”
You’re too kind and thoughtful. You make me feel things I’ve never felt before. You see me, the me I keep carefully hidden behind facts and pretense. You see through the layers I’ve built up over the last twenty years. You give me hope when I have no right to feel it. That’s what you’ve done. You’ve made me feel for the first time in longer than I can remember. But I say none of these things, and instead attempt to swallow the burning lump that clogs my throat. I will not cry. I will not cry.
“I’m tired. Maybe I overdid it yesterday.” My smile is weak and is probably worse than no smile at all. “It’s been a long day, and I still have hours of study time ahead of me.” All these things are true. But only partially.
Tucker recognizes the half-truth, but doesn’t respond. He steps toward me and wraps his arms around my back and holds me close. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into my ear. Then he releases me, hands me my book bag, and he’s gone.
I stand on the sidewalk, trying to stop shaking. The street lamp overhead casts long shadows around me. The shadows of the bench and the trash can and a nearby tree are dark and thick. But mine is gray and obscure, the hint of me is there, but only a ghost compared to the world around me.