“That wasn’t my intention,” he said slowly. “What were you planning on doing?”
“Oh, nothing much,” I said. “Was just going to check out the art fair, then go home and take a nap.” I shrugged. “You?”
Ricky smirked. “Nothing planned,” he said. “I worked a couple weekends this month, so I took PTO today as a gift to myself.” Then he tilted his head. “The art fair sounds cool. We should go.”
I shook my head in disbelief. This boy really had no shame, did he?
“We?” I said. “By god, you are persistent.”
“Hey,” Ricky said. “It took a ton of guts for me to talk to you. I’m trying to get my money’s worth.”
I didn’t believe him, that it had been hard for him to talk to me. For a guy like Ricky, I suspected that it had been as easy as breathing.*
But it didn’t matter. I’d silenced all my internal reservations sometime after he’d put the finishing touches on my drawing, and, despite my protests, I knew damn well that I was going to be spending my next hour gallivanting through a random street festival with a guy I’d met in a garden who was definitely going to disappoint me. I suspected he knew this as well, judging by the crooked smile he gave me as he stuffed his supplies into his backpack.
“Come on,” Ricky said, slinging his bag haphazardly over one shoulder. “I want some elephant ears.”
And, like a fool, I followed him.
*
Hanging out with Ricky was . . . fun. Despite my protests, he paid my $10 festival entrance fee （“You make negative money right now,” he teased）， and ran from booth to booth with all the enthusiasm of a toddler let loose on a playground. He stopped at nearly every booth, hitting up the artists to discuss technique, pointing out small quirks in each of their styles. This one uses gouache, he would say, or Whoa, do you see how she’s built up the texture here? Genius. When he spotted a booth featuring anime characters in period clothing, he spent fifteen minutes debating between a poster of Vegeta with a monocle or Sailor Moon in French rococo before eventually purchasing both. Six months with a partner who ducked his head with embarrassment every time I showed more than lukewarm interest in anything “childish” had made me a dull girl indeed, but after only a few hours, I could feel Ricky drawing me out. All I had to do was say that I liked something, and he would be tugging my hand to drag me to investigate or disappearing for several minutes only to return with it in hand. Which was exactly what he had just done, with a plate of funnel cake, retrieved after I offhandedly mentioned that I hadn’t had it in years.
“I thought you said you wanted elephant ears,” I said, as he handed me a fork.
“So you don’t want any?” Ricky teased, drawing the plate away just before I could stab into the powdered fried dough.
“No, I just . . .” I ducked my head. I just need you to stop being so sweet so I can like you less, okay? “Let me get the next thing.”
Ricky gave me a curious look, then broke off a piece of cake and popped it into his mouth.
“You’re not used to people doing things for you, are you?” he said matter-of-factly.
My mouth dropped open in protest.
“I . . . That’s not true,” I said.
“Yeah?” he said with a smirk. “Then . . . you’ll take this?”
He reached into the front pocket of his backpack and pulled out a small folded paper bag. I watched him beadily as he reached in and produced . . . a Water Tribe pendant. It was a solid piece, with the heft of stainless steel, and a thick chain to support its weight. I didn’t know whether to balk or laugh.
“What if I wasn’t a Waterbender?” I said instead, and Ricky scoffed.
“The whole healer thing? The fact that you can be ice cold when you want to be?” he said. “All Water Tribe. You could be nothing else.”
“Well, then you just made quite the move, considering we just met,” I said, turning the pendant over in my hands. “Don’t you know what it means to give a nice Water Tribe girl a necklace?”*
The moment the words escaped my mouth, I wished I could take them back. Too far, I thought, watching as Ricky’s smile flickered with unease. Our banter may have been easy, but Ricky was still a stranger with whom I was having a momentary adventure. Jokes about our betrothal were probably crossing the line.
“Well,” Ricky said, a heartbeat too late to be natural, “are you going to wear it?”
“If I don’t, what will you do with it?” I said.