Love You More(13)

“Yeah. Even my dad thinks it’s a good idea. Like you said once, as a backup plan.” He tilted his cap, smirking. “Do I get bonus points for deciding to go to Madison without you?”

I smiled. “Yes. Definitely.”

We sat in a moment of silence before I blurted it out. “Paul and I broke up.”

“Really?” His eyes locked on mine.

I nodded.

“Why?”

“I think you know.”

His eyes undid me—intense and searching.

“You feel it, too?” he whispered.

“Yes,” I whispered back.

The air seemed to shift. Thicker and sweeter.

He leaned in. I mirrored him, heart hammering. I closed my eyes, his breath on my face.

Finally, his top lip grazed mine—a spark that set everything alight. His hand slid to the side of my face, clumsy and urgent, and my fingers tangled in his T-shirt, pulling him closer. We kissed hungrily, mouths finding and missing and finding again. The world blurred.

When we finally pulled apart, I kept my forehead pressed against his. A sprinkler clicked on somewhere in the rows, flinging diamond droplets through the darkening air.

“Wow,” Mick whispered.

I tried to speak, but all that came out was a shudder.



* * *



— For the next few weeks, Mick and I lived in bursts of adrenaline—stolen kisses in the orchard, aimless country drives with the windows down and the radio blaring. Only Erin knew what was happening. When I told her, she’d clasped my hands, eyes wide with disbelief and delight. Finally, she’d said. I swore her to secrecy, determined not to let Paul find out.

Keeping it from the rest of the world made it feel both impossible and electric, like we’d slipped into a parallel universe only three people knew about.



* * *



— One Saturday afternoon, when my friends and I were all hanging out, the subject of prom came up.

Erin and Brett had just broken up, but they were still going together as friends.

“Has Mick asked you yet?” Erin said, turning to me.

I looked at her, startled.

Realizing she’d slipped, she quickly added, “I figured he might since you’re both single now.”

“True. But I don’t think he wants to go.” I hesitated. “I’m not sure if I’m going, either.”

Erin gave me a startled look. “It’s our senior prom, Billie. It’s, like, basic. You go to senior prom.”

“Yeah. Basic,” I mumbled under my breath.

“Okay, Yalie.” She laughed, but her eyes narrowed.

The words hovered in the warm air. Heat crawled up my neck. Sam studied his shoelaces. Lucy traced a pattern on her Solo cup. Even Erin’s smile wilted at the edges, like she knew she’d gone too far.

She reached for my wrist, giving it a little squeeze. “Hey. I didn’t mean it like that.”

I tugged at a loose thread on my cuff, while my friends’ conversation rerouted itself, their voices bobbing in and out like background noise.

I was the first to leave.

Erin got up and hugged me goodbye, lingering just long enough to let me know we were okay. Still, the space between us felt newly complicated.



* * *



— Later, at the orchard, I told Mick about the prom exchange. We sat on his tailgate, the air warm and buzzing with crickets.

“Erin thinks I should go to prom,” I said. “But I don’t want to.”

“Me neither,” he said. “Can you imagine? Kristy and her friends glaring at us all night?”

“Exactly. Plus, my guess is that Paul will be there. It would just feel…cruel.”

“Yeah.” Mick nodded. “You’re right.”

“So we’re on the same page?”

“Definitely.” He reached for my hand, our fingers laced in the dark. “We don’t need that stuff.”

In that moment, I realized that we’d already stepped past the high school version of love into something else entirely.



* * *



— On the night of prom, Mick and I met up in our usual spot at the orchard. The May air was soft and unseasonably warm. We spread out a patchwork of blankets next to his truck. I’d packed us a picnic, and Mick brought a six-pack of Miller Lite. As we watched the sunset, we ate, sipped beer, and talked.

At one point, Mick looked at me and said, “So. Why don’t you ever talk about Yale?”

My body tensed, the ever-ticking clock loud in my head.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Sometimes I think I should go to Madison.”

“Why do you say that?”

I hesitated. “To save my parents money, for one.”

He nodded.

“I’m also worried that Yale will be too hard for me,” I said.

I could memorize molecules and recite hormones and pathways, but the thought of being in college with prep school kids in cardigans made me want to crawl into myself.

“Yale is not too hard for you. You’re the smartest person I know.”

“I know I’m Arrowhead smart. But that doesn’t make me Yale smart.”

He shook his head, quick and certain. “That’s just you doubting yourself. You can’t listen to that voice.”