“How could you think that?” he rebuts. “I don’t pity you in the least. I’m inviting you because I happen to have two tickets that will go unused if you don’t accompany me. I bought them for my mother, but work came up, and she can’t go.”
“Why take me?” she asks. “You know everyone. I’m sure you can manage to find some rich man to schmooze.”
“True, but that’s not the company I feel like sharing tonight. I’d rather take you, a beautiful, intelligent girl from Princeton.”
Rose peruses Connor with beady eyes. “And this isn’t a pity invite?”
“I already said it wasn’t. Maybe you should get your hearing looked at. I wouldn’t want to beat you unfairly in the next Bowl tournament.”
She rolls her eyes. “Please, you wouldn’t be able to beat Princeton even with a cheat sheet.”
“Says the girl who got distracted by someone’s nasal sensitivities.”
“You’re so weird,” she says. Her arm drops off her hip and her stance finally loosens. Yes! He takes one more step, officially inches from her, the closest I’ve seen her to a man—or child—in a long, long time.
Lo whispers to me, “Are we in an alternate universe?”
I nod. “Yep, we’ve definitely left Earth 616.” And I love it.
“So here I am,” Connor continues, “about to waste front row seats—”
“Wait, you can’t see anything in the first row. The stage blocks your view. Everyone knows that.”
“Did I say first row? I don’t think I did.” He tilts his head. “You really need to get those ears checked, Miss Calloway.” Oh, that was sexy. I will be the first to admit that. He takes out his wallet and hands her the tickets, which I presume are labeled for the third or fourth row, not the first.
Rose barely glances at them since Connor has infiltrated her safe space. She breathes all heavily and her cheeks start to flush. Aw, my sister is actually affected by the guy. It’s like two asexual people bonding together—a once in a lifetime happening.
She hands one ticket back to him. “Pick me up at seven. Don’t be late.”
“I never am.”
Rose rolls her eyes and then turns to me. “I have to make a stop at Poppy’s house, but I wanted to see how you’re doing.”
“Fine,” I tell her. “I haven’t gotten my econ test back, so I’m not sure how well I’m doing in class yet.”
She sips her coffee and sets it on the table. “With my help, you’ll do better on the next one.”
“I’m still her tutor,” Connor says.
“No you’re not,” Rose tells him. “I have familial rights to this one.” She points at Lo. “You can take that rodent.”
Lo flips her off.
“Very mature,” she says flatly and glances at her pearl-colored watch. “I need to go. I’ll tell Mom and Dad you miss them, but it’d be better if you attended next Sunday’s luncheon. They’re starting to ask questions that I can’t answer.” She kisses my cheek and surprisingly meets Lo’s gaze. “You too, be there.” With that, she struts out in a dignified, Rose manner.
Gotta love her.
“You’re crazy,” Lo tells Connor. “I thought you were just a little insane for wanting to hang out with Lily and me, but now, you’re certifiable.”
The buzzer rings.
The silence afterwards sits heavy and unbearable. If Rose left, only one other person could be waiting in the lobby.
“Did she forget something here?” Connor asks.
Doubtful. I go to the door and buzz in Ryke. I also unlock the door and send him a quick message to just walk in. When I plop back beside Lo, something separates us. Unidentifiable and intangible. Lo senses my openness towards the situation, towards accepting Ryke and the article. For the first time, we stand on two different pages.
I know letting Ryke into our lives will complicate things. It’ll be harder for me to disappear without questions. It’ll be harder for Lo to drink without being chastised like a child. But it’s too late to go back now, and I wouldn’t want to.
“Who is it?” Connor asks.
“Ryke.” I explain the article with the fewest details, and when the door clicks open, I shut up about it. Ryke enters, eyes pinging to each of us. He has sealed the comics in a Ziploc bag to avoid rain splatter, but he needed protection from the thunderstorm. He drips on the carpet like a wet dog, his white shirt glued to the ridges in his chest. His jeans stick to his thighs, and he runs a hand through his soaked hair, pushing back the brown strands.