“I’m so sorry, Will,” I say, not really certain whether he or I was to blame. “Hazards of these narrow halls,” he replies. But then he’s shifting his preoccupied gaze from his hand and the still dripping mug to us, and I notice that it stops not at my face but on my middle. And his frown deepens. It’s only then that I look down and realize Ferris still has his hands around my waist.
Um awkward
