A view from up high
A tourist doing something a local would be ashamed of doing
An umbrella (we all know real Seattleites don’t use them)
The best pizza in the city (your choice, but you will be judged)
A tribute to the mysterious Mr. Cooper
11:26 p.m.
WE’VE HAD A lot of awkward car rides today, but this one is silent. Neil is staring out the window, chin propped on one hand. I want to play my melancholy music. I want him to tell me the etymology of the word “heartbreak.”
The ache in my chest has only intensified since we left the bench. He learned to hide so much of himself after what happened to his dad, and based on the way he’s turned stoic, he’s still excelling at it. And fuck, it’s crushing. I don’t like it at all, not the tightness in my chest or the pressure building behind my eyes.
I swear he was leaning toward me too. Unless, now that we have distance from the open-mic adrenaline, he’s realized what a colossal mistake we nearly made. Maybe he’s glad we were interrupted. Regrets what almost happened. Six hours ago, I would have been horrified by it too—or would I have been? When did this really start for me? Because I’m pretty sure it wasn’t today. When I dreamed about him? Has it been dormant since that short-lived freshman-year crush? No, it couldn’t have been. This is something new, the way I feel about him, but it’s old and familiar too. I tease him about his suits, but I love them, don’t I? And the freckles. God, the freckles. I am trash for his freckles.
He keeps glancing between his watch and the clock on my dashboard.
“It’s three minutes fast,” I say.
“We’re going to be cutting it close.”
What he doesn’t say: if we hadn’t gone to the open mic, if we hadn’t lingered on that bench, if we hadn’t almost kissed, then we wouldn’t be threatening our Howl status.
“There was a spot back there,” he says as I make a loop around.
“It was too small.”
My driving is safe but frantic, especially after the fender bender this morning, but I swear, we get hit with every red light, which blesses us with more time to sit in silence. Neil sighs, then coughs, then sighs again, seeming to prepare himself to say something he never finds the words for.
“Late,” he says under his breath when I put my car in park near the downtown mini-golf course.
Don’t cry. “We can’t be.”
“You can’t exactly argue with time. If we’re late, we’re late. It’s just a fact.”
This snippiness catches me off guard. This isn’t even how we spoke to each other the past four years. There was always a respect there. I don’t know what this is, but it makes a hard pit settle in my stomach. He regrets what almost happened. I’m sure of it.
Logan Perez is at the door, armed with her clipboard. “You two are late,” she says, shaking her head.
“Only two minutes,” I say feebly, but I’m a rule-follower to my core. Late is late, whether it’s two minutes or two hours.
“Logan.” Neil stands up straighter. “It’s my fault. I made us take this weird route, even though Rowan didn’t want to. Eliminate me, if you have to. But let her stay.”
My face immediately heats up, and that pit in my stomach softens. I’m not exactly sure what he’s trying to pull here. He didn’t outright say he’d take the money if we win, but if I were the only one left, we’d be reducing our chances pretty significantly.
Logan’s gaze flicks between the two of us. “I shouldn’t do this,” she says, “but as the incoming president, I imagine I have some kind of executive power. In general, I consider myself pretty hard-hearted. But what you’re doing, Neil, is really sweet. It makes me feel something right in this general vicinity.” She holds a hand over her heart and grins. “You can both stay in the game, but you speak nothing of this to anyone else.” We nod, and she steps aside to let us through. “Enjoy your safety.”
Once inside, he’s suddenly fascinated with the straps of his backpack.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, still not entirely sure how to interpret it.
He shrugs. “You were right. We shouldn’t have taken so many detours.”
That makes me feel about two feet tall. “I guess I’ll see you in half an hour?”