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“Services?”
“At temple.”
“Ah, so have you gone full Jew?”
Gently I shove his shoulder. I’m not entirely sure if non-Jews can say the word “Jew.” It’s something I’ve wondered myself. It’s a weird word, one that sounds offensive depending on tone of voice, yet is merely a description, like “redhead” or “guitarist.”
“I liked it a lot. Being there.” After services, my dad and I talked about college and the band and how I do want to go to Israel one day. “What do you think you’ll do after high school?”
“Oof. That’s a real capital-Q question.”
“Sorry. It’s been on my mind lately.”
Chase pauses in the middle of an aisle. “I’d love to go somewhere with a good music program. I might want to be a music teacher or something, but I don’t know yet.”
“I don’t think I want to go to school in Washington.” As soon as I say it out loud, I realize it’s true. Out of this state, away from my parents: That’s the only way I’ll be truly independent. “Sometimes I worry I like too many things to narrow them down to one major.”
He steeples his fingertips beneath his chin. Points them at me. “Ideal world: Where are you, and what are you doing?”
I ponder this for a moment. “I’m in another city, a quaint college town or a bustling metropolis with a university smack-dab in the middle of it. I’m studying music and literature and philosophy and history and everything. I imagine myself up late in this spectacular library that’s an architectural marvel, and I’m surrounded by books, and I have so much homework to do but I don’t even care because the library is so incredible.”
“Where am I?” he asks. He inches nearer, his hand coming up to rest on my arm.
I draw in a breath. “You’re . . . Maybe you’re there too. Maybe we’re studying together. Friday-night nerd club, college edition.”
“And what are we, in this ideal world?”
“I—I don’t know,” I admit, my voice scratchy in a way I’ve never heard it before, distracted by the warmth of his hand through my jacket. “What are we now?”
He’s so close that what happens next is both inevitable and somehow entirely unbelievable: We both lean in, lips meeting for the first time. His hand tangles in my hair, and I reach up to cup his face, pulling him toward me. He’s not close enough. I wonder if he’ll ever be close enough. His
mouth opens against mine, and then there are tongues and teeth and his hips pushing me back against the bookshelf. It’s the closest to delirium I’ve ever felt. I’d be convinced I was having an out-of-body experience if I weren’t so aware of my body, at least every place he’s pressed against it.
A first kiss in a bookstore has got to be the best kind of first kiss.
I move my hands from his face to his chest to the hem of his jacket. He sighs, and I might like the sound of it more than Rufus Wainwright’s Poses. I could put it on loop and turn it into my favorite song.
“The band really likes me, huh?” I say when we take a breath.
“Shut up,” he says, laughing, which is fine because I have no words left. All the books in the store have stolen them from me.
I’m not sure how long we stand there in the corner. The bookseller kicks us out at closing time—but she’s smiling as she does it—and we each buy a book because we feel guilty about staying in there so long. We don’t even look at the titles until we’re outside in the dark, holding them up to streetlamps. What to Expect When You’re Expecting for Chase, and Bunnicula for me. We laugh and we kiss and we laugh some more, and then we link our hands together. It’s raining, but we don’t care.
If this is life, I’ve missed out on so damn much. I’ve missed that being kissed beneath the earlobe is the most fantastic feeling in the world. I’ve missed that someone tugging you close, pressing their body against yours, turns your stomach inside out. It’s like the world is saying, Welcome to your new life, Peter. We have a surprise for you. And suddenly I love surprises.
PART III
CHAPTER 23
SOPHIE
“I’VE NEVER SEEN SO MANY leg warmers in my life,” Liz says as we enter the college’s performing arts building, and it’s true. There’s no shortage of leotards, leggings, and leg warmers here, most in shades of pink and black, with a few patterns thrown in. Everyone’s stretching, comparing schedules, chattering about our upcoming classes.
We’re split into groups: beginner, intermediate, advanced. Montana strides confidently toward the advanced group, while I eye the intermediates. Liz glances between the two groups before joining me.
Montana spins around, noticing we’re not with her. “Seriously?”
“You’re way better at technique than I am,” Liz says with a shrug.
