“Nobody asked.”
“Everybody asked.” Calliope squeezed between us toward the front of the line. “We took a vote on the subway.”
Thalia raised her phone. “I was the swing vote. Just so we’re clear.”
Ellis still had my hand. After the subway, after the apartment, after the whole interrogation, he hadn’t let go. Lauren clocked it. Their face did something soft that Sierra was going to be gone for later.
The doors opened before I could tease her about it.
The crowd surged forward and pulled us in, Sierra’s hand locked around Lauren’s, mine locked around Ellis’, the six of us spilling into the pit like we’d all agreed tonight belonged in memory.
Razor Braids opened with a scream that peeled paint off the walls. Bass hit my sternum first, then everywhere else. The venue smelled like spilled PBR and somebody’s weed curling up through the strobes, and our group claimed a whole corner of the floor like we owned it.
Ellis danced with me. Laughing, nothing careful about it. At one point he spun me around and pulled me back against his chest, his heartbeat drumming through my shirt, his mouth close enough to my ear I caught the clean-laundry smell of him under the venue funk. This was what I’d feared. Two worlds colliding. It was the best thing that had ever happened to me.
White-boy name. Latin-boy moves. Mom would have eaten the words she’d been chewing on for months.
Calliope and Lauren boxed Ellis in during the third song, teaching him a routine Calliope had been forcing on the Coven at every Razor Braids show since high school. Lauren mouthed the counts over their shoulder. Calliope grabbed his hips to set him on the right beat. Ellis caught the rhythm faster than Calliope expected. She yelled, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME, ELLIS?!” at one point, which became the night’s chorus. Raven filmed the whole thing on her phone, cackling.
Sierra caught my eye across the circle. Beer raised. Eyebrows up. A question and a blessing rolled into one. I raised mine back hard enough to slosh over my knuckles, and she laughed, and Lauren folded into her from behind with both arms around her waist and a kiss to the back of Sierra’s neck. For a second I could see the whole shape of what I’d been running from for years. People who stayed. People who danced like fools in public. People who chose each other out loud.
Walking home afterward, the October air sharp enough to need jackets, Ellis’ arm heavy around my shoulders.
“They loved you.”
“You think?”
“I know. Because they didn’t threaten to hex you.”
“That tracks.” He pulled me closer. “Sierra’s incredible. I can see why she’s your person.”
“She’s my person. You’re…” I searched for the word.
“Boyfriend? Partner? Devastatingly handsome gym buddy?”
“All of the above. But also… you’re the person I don’t have to perform for. Everyone else gets Jett. The funny one, the charming one, the one who’s always on. You get the version who’s scared, messy, and terrible at keeping plants alive.”
“That’s my favorite version.”
We kissed on the sidewalk in front of a bodega. The guy behind the counter never looked up from his phone. Brooklyn, man.
“So.” Ellis pulled back first. “Sierra mentioned movie night next week.”
“Already trying to replace me in the friend group.”
“Not replace. Infiltrate.”
“You’re the worst.”
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
He grinned. We walked home through Brooklyn at midnight, his arm around my shoulders, my hand in his back pocket, two people who’d stopped being afraid of letting good things touch each other.
Chapter thirty-eight
The Friday after the concert it was movie night again. After we took the C train to Ellis’ place. His apartment was dark except for the city bleeding through the windows. My hand found the small of Ellis’ back as we stepped inside, and the absence of hesitation in the way he leaned into my palm flipped something in my stomach.
