Page 14 of Septembers

“Well, I let an old crone stay in my castle in exchange for a rose once.”

“That’ll do it.” She shook her head, gazing at him with awe, and a warm, tingling feeling spread through his body that had nothing to do with the sugar high. He liked her. Jordan was exactly the kind of person he’d come to school to meet.

She pushed the corn chips away with a vengeance. “Have you ever been in love?”

“Hard no.”

“Whoa.” She brandished a Tootsie Roll at him like a sword. “You got a problem with love?”

“Will you defend its honour if I do?” She frowned at the delicious chocolate taffy then threw it across the room. “Why are you abusing the treats?”

“Because if they’re within reach, I’ll eat them. My body is so mad at me right now.” She stood and grabbed his hands to pull him up. “Come on.”

“But the movie.”

“Can you honestly sit still for two hours?”

That was an excellent point. They practically bounced out of her room, past stressed-out students huddled in the common area and out into the cool evening, finding themselves on the same path Dae and Theo had walked the night after the concert. In the daylight, he could see the browns, yellows, and reds of the turning leaves.

Jordan followed the cracks on the path, stepping as if they were a high-wire. “So, Theodore.”

“So, Jordan.”

“Why communications?”

“I want to be an agent.”

She spun on him, hands clasped like a gun. “Secret agent?”

“Yes.” He mimicked her, his back to an imaginary wall, side-stepping down the path. “But also a talent agent, specifically for musicians.”

“Ahhhh, cool. Not a sleazy one, though?”

“The sleaziest.” The sweet honey smell of the flowers was stronger than when Theo had walked with Dae. It was borderline obnoxious now. “I want to help people get their music out there. Take care of the boring stuff, so they can do the fun stuff.”

“Why?”

He hesitated. Usually, when he talked about what he wanted to do, people nodded and quickly moved on, but Jordan actually seemed interested; her head cocked, her mouth puckered in adorable curiosity.

“Because someone has to.”

“Why?”

He’d never had to articulate it before. “Because I love music and want to be part of the process in some way.”

“Why?”

He clicked his tongue. “Are you a two-year-old?”

“Sometimes.” She pulled a pouty face. “Why not become one?”

“A two-year-old?”

Her laugh was husky and infectious. “A musician.”

“Ah, that. There is the pesky detail of having no talent.”

“Hmmm.” Her nose scrunched. “That is a setback.”