“Wait. Does this mean—”
They want me?
I got the internship?
What about Theo?
“If you think you can manage your swimming and studies along with the rigorous deadlines we have, we’d love to have you on staff this fall. It won’t be glamorous, but—”
“Yes!” She could offer me a job cleaning toilets and I would take it. I stand and shake her hand with more vigor. “Oh, my God, yes! I can manage. I’ll manage anything for this.”
I might not even swim this year.
“Great. We’ll call you this week to get things set up. Oh, and maybe you two can talk about carpooling or taking the train together?” She glances over my shoulder, and I mentally prep myself for Theo’s face. I had a feeling this was too good to be void of pitfalls.
“Carpool . . . right . . .” Theo is staring at the ground, his jacket gone but a familiar pair of gym shoes in his right hand.
He looks up with a sloppy smile lifting one cheek higher than the other. He salutes them both, which feels a little cavalier, but I guess he is a few dozen feet away. I turn back to thank them one more time then slide in Morgan’s shoes across the stage to the ramp so I don’t have to pick my feet up at all.
“Why are you here?” I whisper once I’m close enough for Theo to hear.
“Princess needs her shoes,” he says, chuckling to himself.
What the fuck is that? Princess?
“Were you in my closet? Did Morgan let you in?” I snatch my shoes from his grip, and he stumbles back as if I’ve offended him. He lifts his arm briefly and I catch a wafting scent that clears up why he’s being so nice. “Are you . . . high?”
He holds up his hand and pinches the air to signal a little.
“Awesome. You get that way before or after you punched me in the ribs?” I can feel a bruise forming where he elbowed me.
Theo isn’t high enough to avoid rolling his eyes at me.
“I was trying to be nice. You make it so fucking hard, you know?” He leans against the last row of seats in the auditorium and crosses his arms while his eyes rake over me. After a full two seconds, he spits out a short laugh.
“What?” I step out of Morgan’s shoes and stuff my feet into my Nikes.
“You make it hard. I mean, that’s not wrong. Youdomake it hard.” His arched brow is waiting along with his stare when I flip my hair back and look him in the eyes. My brain instantly tells me to look at his crotch, but I manage to ignore that reflex.
“Christ, Theo.” I look away, focusing instead on gathering up my things and tucking Morgan’s shoes in my bag. My cheeks burn from his words, and I’m sure I’m nine shades of pink and red.
“Look, all I’m saying is I’m not always an asshole. I am capable of doing nice things.” He steps forward and pushes the heavy door open for me to walk out. I eye him as I pass, acting as if I worry he’ll slam the door on me. Really, though? I’m thinking about Theo Rothschild being hard, aboutmemaking him that way. I erase the thoughts almost as quickly as they enter my mind.
We walk in sync and in silence until we reach the place where the pathway diverges toward his dorm and mine, and because I’m weak,maybe, I utter a quick thanks as we part.
“It’s grief.”
I pause my steps but keep my back to him for a breath before turning. When I finally do, his eyes seem suddenly clearer.
“I don’t know how to do . . .this.” His hands stretch out at his sides, palms up. We stare at each other, two dozen feet apart—wordless.Maybe I should try getting high?
“Did it help?” He knows what I mean.
His body shakes once with a silent laugh and he presses his tongue against the back of his teeth, his mouth smiling on one side only.
“Not really.” He shrugs and shakes his head before holding up a hand in a half-hearted farewell. “Sorry about the rib thing. I guess we’ll be working together this semester so maybe we can find a way—”
He takes a step backward and looks up at the sky with another silent laugh.