Look Again

15

JOEY

You are not interested.

I keep telling myself this.

You’re not. Not at all interested. Not in pursuing anything friendlier than friendship. Not in that perfectly molded hair. Not in the bow ties that you thought were charming clip-on situations, and not even when you found out they were actual ties that he actually ties. Remember the rules.

Right. This is totally working.

Dexter sits at the table in the staff room cradling a leather notebook and showing me his plans for the Harvest Ball.

“Moreau okayed the Hall, so venue is handled. Gianni Maldonado’s got a brother who does professional DJ work. He’s at Dartmouth, but he’ll make the drive and keep us in the budget.”

“You found an Ivy League DJ for this high school dance?” I say it straight—working to keep any semblance of flirting out of my voice. But I can’t pretend I’m not amused.

“Don’t sound so surprised. And this isn’t just a high school dance. Nothing that happens at Chamberlain is just anything. Besides, the Maldonado parents are huge donors.” Dexter smiles at me in a way that causes me to remind myself (again) that I am, in fact, not interested.

Rules.

Not interested.

Right.

I blink at the screen, readjusting my eyes to it. To business. My vision has come back almost completely in the last few days, but color is still washed out. Red things are pink. I can live with this. New medications are happening. All is well. I pretend to key some notes into my phone while I compose my face. No grinning. No hair tossing. For the love, no eyelash fluttering.

“Great. What else?” I hold the phone between us as if it will stop me looking at his face.

He looks back at his notes. “Food. Cookies and punch.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Cookies?”

“I know. It sounds kind of fourth grade. But they’re Val’s cookies.”

I shrug. “So?”

He points toward the Caf. “Val’s cookies.”

“You said that. I don’t know why I’m supposed to be impressed.”

“You still haven’t tried them?”

I shake my head.

“You ought to learn to take my advice,” he says.

I’ve kept to my own kitchen, my own bland and simple cooking since I started working here. It’s easier to stick to the careful food plan my doctors recommend (lots of fish, lots of leafy green food) if I make myself most meals. Dinner twice a week at Lola’s is the exception, and it’s a truly beautiful exception. But I haven’t eaten in the Caf. Mostly because I don’t know how the place works and I don’t want to be mistaken for a lost freshman. I eat a lot of bagged kale salads and canned tuna. It’s not delicious. But it’s easy, and I feel safe.

“You really haven’t had Val’s cookies?” The look of shock on Dexter’s face is adorable. Probably an act. He is a very good actor, at least that’s what the kids keep saying. And what Google said about his last show on Broadway.

He pushes his chair out from the table and picks up his pretty leather notebook. Tucking it under his arm, he holds his other hand out to me.

Why do I take his hand so quickly? Why do tingles climb right up my arm? Rules.

I hurry to remove my hand from his, but I can’t do much about how closely he walks. Making our way from the faculty room to the Caf, he opens every door. I try (but not very hard) to avoid his eye contact. I try (without any noticeable success) not to notice how his eagerness increases the closer we get to the back of the Caf building.

Eagerness on Dexter is adorable. Sincere, I think. Charming.