“I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to say.”
She pushed away her mug. “We’re gonna find a new house this spring.”
“And … you’ll stay here in Asheville? Helping your mom?”
Marigold had almost forgotten why she’d approached North in the first place. Almost. She’d decided that even if he couldn’t do it—or, more likely, even if she never asked him to do it—having another person to talk to was enough. Tonight was enough.
“It’s hard, you know?” she said. “I love this town. I love its art deco architecture and its never-ending music festivals. Its overly friendly locals. But … there’s no future for me here. No career. When my mom’s settled, I’m moving to Atlanta.”
North frowned. “To work with your grandparents?”
“No.” But her smile returned, because he’d remembered. “Animation.”
She scooted forward with a new eagerness and told him about the studios that were only three-and-a-half hours away. How the market in Atlanta had been growing for years—how the major television networks were all creating shows down there. She told him about her YouTube channel, her success, her aspirations. Marigold told him everything. Everything except the crucial role that she’d wanted him to play in this.
North leaned in. “Do you want to go to college for that? For animation?”
“I want to work. I’m ready to work.” Marigold paused. “Do you want to go to college?”
“Yeah. I do…” But he trailed off, embarrassed.
Marigold leaned in. Mirroring him.
His words came out in a rush as he gestured at his T-shirt. “I know it’s a dying art and all that, but I want to study broadcasting. I want to work in radio.”
An alarm sounded, full blast, inside Marigold’s head.
“Someone once told me I had a good voice for radio,” he continued. “I’ve never been able to get it out of my head. And I love radio. And podcasts. I listen to This American Life and WTF and Radiolab all day long, obsessively, while I work.”
“You do have a good voice. You have an amazing voice.”
North looked taken aback by her level of enthusiasm, but it was too late to stop.
“I have a confession,” she said. And the rest of her story poured out, the one that revealed that this whole night had been about the sound of his voice.
North was frozen.
“—and I’ve clearly freaked you out, and I’m totally mortified, and now I’m going to stop talking,” she said. And now I’m going to die.
There was a long and painful silence. And then North’s features slid back into their usual state of composure. “First of all,” he said, as smoothly and sardonically as anything he’d said yet, “I’m flattered that you came looking for me and not a tree. This shows excellent taste on your behalf.”
The corners of Marigold’s mouth twitched. “I came looking for your voice.”
“Second of all, I can’t believe it took you an entire month—not to mention, me physically entering your apartment—for you to ask me that question. Which, by the way, you still haven’t formed into an actual query, so I couldn’t possibly give you my reply until you do.”
Marigold sat back and crossed her arms.
North grinned. “Obviously, I don’t have anything else to do tonight. So I can sit here as long as it takes.”
“North,” she said through gritted teeth. “Would you please consider lending me your voice for my new video?”
“That depends.” He placed his hands behind his head. “How much does it pay?”
Marigold’s heart staggered. She couldn’t believe it, but she’d never even thought about paying him. Her friends and coworkers had always done it for free. But of course she should pay him. Of course.
“Marigold,” he said, after she’d been silent for twenty seconds. “I’m kidding.”
“What?”
“I’m kidding. Of course I’ll do it. It sounds awesome.”
“I could pay you in food,” she said quickly. “From Henrietta’s.”
North stared at her. “You know what’s the strangest thing about tonight? Tonight, being an astoundingly strange night?”
“What’s that?”
“That you still don’t realize I’m willing to do anything, anything”—he gestured in a full circle around them—“to stay in your company. You don’t need to pay me.”
Marigold’s heart was in her throat. It’d been over a year since she’d been in a situation like this with a boy. A handsome boy. Suddenly, she couldn’t think straight.
North nudged one of her boots with one of his.
Her boot—her foot—tingled.
A pounding on the door startled her out of her trance. “Keep it down in there! Some of us are trying to sleep!”
“Jesus,” North said. “She doesn’t stop.”
“Never.” Marigold got up and trudged to the door.
“I mean, this is the quietest we’ve been since I arrived.”
“She does this even when my mom and I are asleep. She’ll wake us up.” Marigold opened the door and plastered on a fake smile. “Ms. Agrippa. How can I help you?”
“It’s midnight. I can’t sleep with this racket—” Ms. Agrippa cut herself off. “Oh my lord! You’ve been robbed!”
“No!” Marigold took a step forward.
Ms. Agrippa bolted back—one shaking hand on her chest, the other pointing at North. “That man! There’s a strange man in your apartment!”
“That’s my friend.” Marigold steadied her voice. “He works at the tree lot next door. You saw him up here earlier? He’s been helping me clean. Doesn’t it look nice?”
“Do you need me to phone the police?” Ms. Agrippa hissed. “Are you in danger?”
“Really and truly, everything’s fine. That’s North. He’s my friend.”
North waved.
Ms. Agrippa’s expression changed. “Does your mother know he’s here?”
“Of course she does,” Marigold said firmly. Better to lie about that one. “Good night, Ms. Agrippa.”
“Will he be leaving soon? You’ve been so loud tonight—”
“Yes, Ms. Agrippa. We’re sorry to have disturbed you.”
Marigold wanted to slam the door shut, but she waited. Stared down her neighbor. It had gotten chillier outside, brisker. It felt … almost like snow weather. At last, Ms. Agrippa relented and headed down the stairwell. Marigold exhaled.
“Hello, friend,” North said, right behind her ear.
Marigold startled.