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The rental desk, the computer lab, the sound booths—et cetera, et cetera—close at twelve thirty on Sundays, so Victor has two minutes to get his ass out before I confront him.
About half an hour ago, Professor Michaels and Dr. Lee headed to the annex where the communications staff’s new offices are located, but other than that, I haven’t seen anyone since Victor. It’s almost always just Victor.
One minute to go...
And someone walks in. I spin in my chair to berate whoever had the balls to come rent something with one minute to spare, but stop in my tracks.
Holden leans against the desk, his hair messy and his T-shirt a little rumpled under his jacket like he just woke up even though it’s midday. “Hey.”
I momentarily glitch because Holden plus PSH film department does not compute.
“Hi.” I blink. “What are you doing here? Are you here for me?”
He points toward the other end of the hallway. “My dad and I have lunch plans.”
My cheeks heat, but he does me a favor by not pointing out how conceited I’d have to be to think he’d be here for me instead of his dad. I wish I could stuff the stupid question back into my mouth. The embarrassment transports me back to the early days of my crush on Holden, when I was eleven and worked up the guts to ask him “Do you like anyone in our class?” and he responded with a laugh and “Don’t be stupid.” To this day, I still don’t know how to take that, but the memory makes me sick.
I eye his appearance with more scrutiny, ready to take the focus off me. “He must be so honored that you deemed him worthy enough of rolling out of bed before one.”
He smiles. “I had a late night.”
“Sure.”
“I did.”
“And what were you doing, party animal? Playing checkers with Mara?” I prop my chin in my palm. “Organizing your closet? Memorizing the dictionary?”
“You got me. Did you know antidisestablishmentarianismisn’tthe longest word in the dictionary?”
I frown. “Bless you.”
“What?”
“That was a sneeze? Mid-sentence? Was it not?”
He rolls his eyes, drumming his fingers against the counter. “So, when’s your shift over? Can you do photos later?”
I push out of my chair. “No, I have volunteer hours for cheerleading.”
“Saine,” he sighs with such familiarity, suchexhaustion. “I’m putting in all this work for you and I haven’t even gotten five minutes for photos.”
“We’ll figure out a time and place soon,” I say offhandedly. I round the desk. “Hey, Victor! Time’s up!”
Victor meets me at the lab door with his bag over his shoulder and his jacket over his arm. “I’m going. I’m going.” He pauses down the hall when he sees Holden leaning against the desk.
Holden waves at him, uncertain. “Hi?”
“Hi.” Victor glances over his shoulder at me. “Friend of yours or someone you’re holding hostage with your terrible sense of humor?”
“Uh.” I look to Holden. “Not sure. Holden?”
“Both?”
“This is my documentary subject.” I gesture to Holden, then to Victor. “Holden, this is Victor. He was just leaving to be a nuisance elsewhere.”
Victor offers his hand and Holden accepts it. “Nice to meet you. So,” he says with a deep exhale, “video games, huh?”
“Goodbye, Victor.” I physically separate their hands, standing between them. Defending my documentary more than I’m defending Holden. If this were a battle of muscle and not a battle of wits, I’d have to let Holden handle it himself. He towers over my five-three frame at like five foot one hundred (read: five ten).
