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“It was,” I say. “And I was jealous of how much those dogs loved you.”
That earns me a tiny smile, a slight softening of his jaw. I never want to stop being able to make him do that. Even when it’s slight. “In a strange way, all of this has changed my perception of myself. It’s made me realize I don’t have to be that reserved, cautious person I used to be. That it’s okay to take risks, because they might yield something really great. And maybe you’ll tell me that’s corny, but go on. I can take it.”
He pats his chest and lifts his eyebrows at me in this way that makes my knees wobble. A challenge.
I shake my head. “It’s not corny.” My voice is so small, the ocean could easily swallow it up. “I’ve felt the same way.”
“Yeah?” He inches forward, only a couple feet of space between us. All the hope he folds into that single word lets me know it is okay to be vulnerable with him. That he’ll be delicate with whatever I have to tell him.
“I built up college in my head as this thing that would change my life,” I say, watching as a gust of wind blows a hat off someone’s head a dozen yards away. “And even before I got stuck, everything was going so wrong that I was worried this place wouldn’t change me at all, and that I’d emerge the same person I’ve always been. The person who uses sarcasm and nonchalance as armor.”
Because if I pretend I don’t care, if I don’t let anyone in, then I don’t have to get hurt. I don’t have to show them the scars I already have.
Or admit that underneath it all, there’s a soft center that cares so much.
“Logically, I know that was only one day, and I’d been on campus less than a week,” I say. “But now we’re literally stuck, and it’s getting harder and harder to see how anyone comes out of this a brand-new person. I feel like the same exact person I’ve always been, and I am so fucking sick of her sometimes.”
There’s an odd look on Miles’s face as he takes this in. “Barrett,” he says, “you are different. You’re not that person who informed me she was switching out of physics and that was the last time our paths would ever cross. You’re… I’m not even sure I have the right words for what you are, and I…” He trails off, words disappearing into the night.
I’m not sure how to tell him how deeply reassuring this is.
“You terrified me at first,” he says, and I laugh, even though it warms my heart in this weird sort of way. “I know we met for the first time on two different days, technically, but that first time I met you in class, I was an absolute saint. You have to believe me. It took time to develop that dickishness you saw.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever told me what I was like that first day.”
He rakes a hand through his mess of hair before returning it to his pocket, mouth curling upward. “You stormed into class like a tornado,” he says. “Like you’d just climbed a mountain to get there.”
“That’s certainly one way of saying I was sweaty AF.”
He laughs, pushing against my shoulder, sending enough electricity down my arm to power a small village. If I wondered whether he still has feelings for me, something in that push confirms it. His arm stays connected with mine for a beat too long, and even with all these layers between us, I feel it in my toes. “I meant it metaphorically. Mostly. You surveyed the room like you didn’t want to make the wrong choice about where to sit, even though there were easily a hundred empty seats. You had these cute glasses and this wild hair that I couldn’t stop looking at. You were wearing a Britney Spears T-shirt, but in what seemed to be an unironic way, which I respected. And I thought maybe I could tell you I liked Britney Spears unironically too, and that would be the beginning of a friendship. But I was too shy.”
All of this is an even deadlier electric shock.
“Then you asked for the Wi-Fi password,” he continues. Now the look on his face is pure joy, and it might be the sweetest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. “And I swear, I really did give it to you that first time. I was glad you said something to me first, because I had no idea how to talk to you. But god, the moment you sat down, I wanted to.” A blush tinges his cheeks. “It was ridiculous, how proud I felt, telling you the password. Even though it was up on the board. You just seemed like—if I had a league, you would be so far out of it.”
“I don’t buy that.” It’s easier than believing him, even as my heart speeds up and I bite back a grin. Day 1 Barrett would absolutely perish. Day 27 Barrett might be well on her way.
“I’m serious,” he says. His words in Stanley Park come back to me with stunning clarity. You were the most interesting person on campus. More than anything, I wish I could remember those first times we met. “My whole life, I’ve never let anyone get close. And it turns out, I still don’t know how to navigate a—a relationship.” His blush deepens, and he turns his face to the water. “Not that this is a relationship, at least, in that sense. Just… a connection. Between two people. Jesus Christ, see?” He groans, dragging a hand through his hair again. “I’m a complete disaster.”
“From one disaster to another, I’d say you’re doing pretty all right.”
It’s started to rain again, a light drizzle that sends most of the other beachgoers running back to the boardwalk. Sand climbs up my ankles, dotting the hem of my jeans, but there’s nothing I care about less right now.
“For me, the worst part has been knowing something’s supposed to happen later this week and not getting to see it,” I say. “My mom’s girlfriend is going to propose tomorrow. And because it’s never tomorrow…”
“Barrett. I’m so sorry,” Miles says, laying a hand on my sleeve, and I know he means it.
I give him a long-suffering shrug. “Such is life in an infinite loop.”
“What if you could talk her into proposing today?” he says. “Well, not today today, but tomorrow today. I could—I could help you, if you want.”
“Of course I want.” Such a simple sentence, and yet there might be more to it than the literal. Of course I want. “You know… that might be worth a try, and I’m almost mad I didn’t come up with it myself. Thank you.”
We walk in comfortable silence a bit more, pausing every so often to admire the white-pink shells embedded in the sand. The rain picks up and Miles even offers me his coat, but I shake my head. The cold is refreshing, my mind the clearest it’s been in ages. And that lets me admit something scary to myself: exactly how much I like Miles Kasher-Okamoto, whether we’re arguing or joking or quietly searching for shells on the not-longest beach in the world.
This loop has become an exercise in being afraid and doing it anyway, that quote my mom has on some of her greeting cards. Having the courage to hope when it all feels hopeless. And Miles—Miles doesn’t make me feel hopeless. In fact, he makes me feel like my whole self in a way no one ever has. Whatever this is between us, I want to leap into it, clutching the fear tightly to my chest so I don’t forget how it started while allowing something bigger to open up my heart.
With Miles, I think we can be scared together, and there’s something really lovely about that.
