I open my mouth. “What boy?”
“I’ll tell you at brunch on Sunday. Wish me luck.”
“Good luck.”
She squeezes me. “You too.”
“Me too? What for?”
“You tell me,” she says with a wink, and then she walks off toward State.
I let myself into the building. The apartment is empty. I knew it would be empty because Gianna is at the post-game dinner with her parents and Benson.
I change into comfortable clothes, then I plop on the couch and put something on the TV. At ten past ten, the front door opens, and Gianna comes in. She’s in a soft sweatshirt, her hair is in a half-up bun that has slid down to a quarter-up bun. Hermascara is mostly gone. She drops her bag inside the door and walks straight to the couch and flops next to me.
“Why are you watching this without me?”
“I waited two episodes. Now I’m catching up. How was your night?”
“It was good. I’m honestly so exhausted.”
She leans her head against the pillow, looks at the time, and says, “I have to be at the rink at six. Coach wants the gear sorted. Wolves played well tonight.” She nods to herself. “Okay, I’m going to crash.”
“Yeah. Get good sleep.”
“Are you staying up?”
“I’m going to turn this off and get into bed.”
“Okay. Goodnight.”
“Night.”
She gets up, walks to her room, and the door clicks shut.
I sit on the couch and watch the rest of the episode without absorbing any of it. Around eleven o’clock, I turn off the TV. I look at the time and wonder if what I’m about to do is reckless. I look in the mirror, fix my makeup, readjust the clothes I’m in, and then I sneak around the house to make sure nothing looks suspicious. I close my bedroom door and put on my shoes.
The street is empty. The air is colder than it was at six, and my jacket is barely enough. I walk toward the corner of Main and Hawthorne. My chest is tight. My hands are sweating slightly inside my pockets. I am doing this. I can’t believe I’m doing this.
He’s waiting at the corner for me, leaning against the lamppost in his Camden U hoodie. His hands are in his pockets. He sees me, and he doesn’t move from the post. He just watches me walk toward him. I stop a foot in front of him.
“Hi.”
He smiles. “Hi.”
“Have you been standing here for a while?” I ask, noting his red nose. I think he’s been out here for a while.
“I’m glad we’re hanging out tonight.” He pushes off the lamppost and holds out his hand. I take it.
The walk to Hawthorne House is two blocks. We walk fast because it’s cold out. His hand is warm. He leads me around the back of the house instead of up the front walk. It’s unlocked.
The party inside is much louder than it appears from the outside.
Benson pulls me through the house, and now I’m wondering what we’re doing. He leads me through the house, and we go up the stairs. We keep going past bedroom doors. A thrill of excitement pulses through me. He opens a door and pulls me through it.
His room is cleaner than I expected. There is a queen bed against the far wall, made with a navy comforter pulled tight. There is a desk under the window with a closed laptop on it and three small stacks of paper. Above the desk is a wall of schedules I don’t look at directly because it feels personal. There’s a Camden Wolves jersey draped over the back of the desk chair. There is a small stack of books on the nightstand. The room smells like him.
“What’re we doing in here?” I ask, warming myself up by rubbing my arms.
