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Abby sighs. “I should go.”
“Why?” I ask.
“I don’t belong here.”
I shift in my seat. “Did you get a letter inviting you to this thing?”
She nods.
“Any interviews?”
She shakes her head no. “My letter explained the university reps were bothered by my lack of extracurricular activities and job experience. Evidently no one believes a person of my age has several years’ experience in conflict management and aggressive pharmaceutical sales.”
I snort and Abby smirks.
“Take one of mine,” I suggest.
Abby glances at me out of the corner of her eye. “What?”
“I got three interviews. Take one of mine.”
“I think they’ll catch on that I’m not you. If the lack of a penis doesn’t tip them off, my breasts might or my lack of knowledge of which direction I should run if I magically hit a ball with a stick. That might come up in conversation.”
“Bat, not a stick, and you run to the right. You want to go in pretending to be me, do it. But I think it would be better if you went in and sold yourself.”
“Because drug dealer is a well-sought-after commodity in an applicant.”
“You’re more than that.” I meet Abby’s eyes and she blinks like my words soaked in further than her ears. “The way I see it, you still owe me a dare and I’m calling you out.”
Abby laughs and several people turn around and give us death glares as if we’re dancing at a funeral. Abby offers them that smile that promises a detour through hell and they quickly return to being part of the herd.
“Are you telling me you’re chicken? Is a guy in a suit from a college your kryptonite?”
Abby flips her cell around a few more times in her hand. “I’m only staying because they’re offering lunch and I hear they’re ordering Geno’s Pizza. I’ll be pissed though if they don’t have the breadsticks. They have orgasmic breadsticks.”
“This means you’re taking my last interview?”
“Your funeral,” she sings.
Maybe it is. No doubt, this is going to piss plenty of people off, but Abby’s staying. If anyone is Harvard material, it’s her and if she has enough courage to waltz into a room where she isn’t expected, then I can own up to the man I claim I am.
With a deep breath, I link my fingers with Abby’s and she jolts as if she’s experiencing the same electricity zapping through my veins. Talk about a rush. My heart races, my blood pumps harder, and when Abby sinks her fingers tighter in my grasp, I’m a man that’s flying.
She skims her finger along mine and the sensation is one I’ve never experienced. A tingle in my bloodstream, a recognition of my skin and her softness and when I inhale, it’s the sweet smell of honeysuckle.
There’s satisfaction in knowing I’m not the only one
affected. Abby’s face is flushed and there’s a gentleness not often found in her eyes.
“Since you’re not here,” she says, “and I’m not here and none of this is happening, I should mention I’ve never held a guy’s hand before.”
The admission causes me to hold on to her like I’d never let go. “That’s okay. I’ve never held a girl’s hand before, either.”
Abby’s eyes flicker to mine and I rock our combined hands. She moves, just a centimeter, toward me. Her shoulder brushing mine, her knee making contact in a way that causes me to close my eyes, and then because this is the best damn day, Abby rests her head on my shoulder.
Like the two of us are normal. Like the two of us are seventeen and belong in this room and don’t have a care in the world. Like how life should be.
Abby’s pretending this isn’t real, but it is and I’m dead set on having more moments like this... a lot more.
