“Cecilia,” I call.
She slows but doesn’t turn. Doors to locker rooms and storage closets and offices line the corridor, and the sound of our steps bounces loudly off the walls.
“Cecilia.”
This time, she stops.
I close the distance between us before she can decide to keep walking. She faces me slowly, expression unreadable in the dim fluorescent hallway light.
“You don’t have to—” she starts.
“I do,” I say.
The honesty surprises both of us.
Her brow tightens slightly. “Do what?”
“Finish talking.”
There’s another one of those half-laughs while she studies me, as if deciding whether to believe that or not.
“We said what needed to be said.”
“I don’t think we did.” She’s fidgeting a little, her fingers tapping on her thigh. It’s the most nervous I’ve seen her yet, and I can’t tell if it’s me or the unresolved conversation weighing between us.
“You followed me in here to tell me that?”
“Yes.”
“And you think that helps.”
“I think leaving it hanging makes it worse.”
“Isabella…” Her jaw shifts. She looks past me towards the rink doors at the end of the hall, where pink and green light pulses through the glass. “What do you want from me?”
“I don’t want you walking away thinking I dismissed what you said.”
The silence stretches.
We’re standing too close now. I hadn’t noticed myself stepping closer until now, but I’m aware of it suddenly—the narrowness of the corridor, the cold locker room door behind Cecilia, the echo of our breathing, and the way her attention is locked entirely on me.
“I really don’t remember saying that,” I whisper. “It doesn’t make it better, I know. But it does matter.”
“How,” Cecilia says, quieter now. “Explain that to me.”
Her eyes are fixed on mine, and her breathing is faster. I can feel her warm breath on my chin. Her eyes flick down to my lips, then back up.
I open my mouth and don’t immediately have an answer that feels neat. Cecilia’s breath stutters once, small and barely there.
Behind us, music suddenly bleeds through the rink doors. Loud, bass-heavy. Laughter follows it, distant but unmistakable.
“What is that?” she mutters, almost to herself.
“Knowing Nina,” I say, “something absolutely excessive.”
She huffs once, distracted despite herself.
I take another step closer before I can stop myself, and I’ve effectively caged Cecilia in against the door.
