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He pauses. Stares at me. “Oh, look,” he says finally, his mouth curving into something too muted to qualify as a smile. “It’s my nonfan.”
AW
He nods once. Looks away. At first I’m scared I’ve upset him—maybe he’s one of those students who’s super serious about academic integrity or something, in which case I’m screwed—but then he presses one hand to his mouth, and I realize he’s trying not to laugh.
He grins then, slow and wide and teasing, and for the first time, I notice that he has dimples. A useless discovery.
he. has. dimples.
“Why did you just hit me?” “S-sorry,” I babble. I can feel my whole face burning, my fingers tingling from where he touched them, however briefly. “I—I don’t know. I was just surprised.” “That your boyfriend would hold your hand?” he asks, confused.
I guess my point is that I do believe in love. Really. I’m just not convinced that kind of love could ever happen to me.
eliza I love u.
“I feel like I’m dating my manager.” I scoff out loud at that, but my gut tightens. Well, here it is, I think grimly, willing the hot, sharp pang to dull. Proof that I’d suck in a real relationship. I can’t even be an appealing fake girlfriend.
“I’m kidding, by the way,” he says evenly. “You’re still way hotter than my manager.”
“It looked good,” I say irritably. “You always look good. You know that.”
“Caz,” I say. “I know there are people who’ll literally worship you for drinking water, but you realize you don’t actually have to be perfect all the time. I mean, I’d probably like you a lot more if you weren’t so perfect. You’d be way more—I don’t know, human. Not just some shiny product of the entertainment industry.”
“Well, you’re safe with me. I’ll only write the story you want to tell for this essay; I won’t twist your words or anything like that. Promise.”
He waves his free hand. “Anything for my fake girlfriend.”
“I don’t want to fall off,” I protest, but I loosen my hold just a little, enough to let him breathe. “You won’t fall,” he says, like the notion itself is ridiculous. “I won’t let you.”
By the time I get to the last crane, my alarm clock is flashing. Six a.m. I’m exhausted and nearly out of ideas, and maybe it’s because of this that I let the truth slip out onto the page. I hope you remember to miss me when all this is over.
And this, I think, is my ultimate fatal flaw. Missing people who don’t miss me back. Clinging on to strands of string that shouldn’t mean half as much as they do. It takes so little for me to love someone, yet so long for me to move on.
me core
“You—you’re really hot.” Instead of reacting with fear or alarm, like any ordinary person would, the corner of Caz’s mouth tugs up. “You just noticed?” I pull back with a scowl. “Don’t be conceited. I obviously meant your temperature; it’s way too hot to be normal.”
I glare at him. “Tell me.” “I don’t—” “Tell me.” “Fine. It’s just cute that you’re so concerned, that’s all,” he says with a shrug.
“Don’t worry, Eliza, I wasn’t going to ask you to feed me.”
It feels sacred. Like a secret. “I know it’s you, Eliza,” he says simply. “I just wanted to talk to you.”
“That thing about … being there for me. I want to be that for you too.”
im going to cry
He makes a soft, barely audible sound that could be a sigh or the edge of a laugh or something else, a surrender, and then he leans all the way in, presses his lips to mine like he can’t help himself, like he’s been waiting forever just to kiss me— And I kiss him back. I kiss him with an intensity that shocks me.
“You just seemed like you really wanted to kiss me. And who am I to deny you the pleasure?”
“So you don’t have any real feelings for me?” he asks, his voice dipping into a low register I’ve never heard before. “Not even a little?” He keeps his gaze steady on me, but his fingers trail down to a soft, vulnerable spot at the base of my neck, and I flinch, like an idiot.
Caz responds by leaning in, and for one wild, beautiful, terrifying second, I think he’s going to press his lips to mine, and I can’t help it—I lean in too. But instead he merely smiles, as if he’s just proven something to both of us, and lowers his curved mouth to my ear. “Liar,” he whispers.
SCREAMING
“What—what do you care about, then?” “You,” he says quietly. “I want you, Eliza.”
im dead dying dead
You already have me, I’m tempted to tell him. More than I was ever planning to give.
crying please just tell him that
“the main reason I liked him was because of how you act when you’re together.” This surprises me. “What … what am I like around him?” “Happy,” she says simply.
Shit. I’ve messed up. Miscalculated. The whole time I’ve been trying to protect myself from getting hurt … I’ve hurt him too.
“Caz, I’d love to be inconvenienced by you. I wouldn’t mind being inconvenienced by you for the rest of my life.”
The city rises up behind him, and if someone were to assign me an essay about home again, I know exactly what I’d write.
AW
“I’m so unbelievably happy right now,” I tell him. And I mean every word.
