Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between

“What did we skip?”


The slip of paper is in her back pocket, but she doesn’t take it out. “I don’t know. We were supposed to get ice cream. Stop by the movie theater. Go to the gazebo.”

“Those weren’t firsts, though, right?”

“No, just places that meant something.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t make it, then,” he says, looking at her sideways, and the words flood Clare with a kind of icy grief. She stops walking without meaning to and stares at him, and when Aidan turns around, she can see the recognition on his face, can see the look behind his eyes as he realizes exactly what he just said.

“Oh,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Clare swallows hard. “I know.”

“But I am.”

“What?”

“Sorry we didn’t make it.”

“Me too,” she says, and then they begin to walk again, a little bit closer this time.

“So where were we supposed to be right now?”

At first, it seems to Clare that this, too, might be some larger question with a deeper meaning.

They’re supposed to be on a deserted island.

They’re supposed to be at the same college.

They’re supposed to be together.

But then she realizes he’s talking about the list.

“I don’t know. The dance, I think. But we already ruled that one out.”

Aidan stops walking and turns to face her. “Am I allowed to be romantic now?”

“Now that we’ve broken up?”

He laughs. “Yeah.”

Without waiting for an answer, he steps forward, circling his arms around her waist, pulling her close, and she automatically clasps her hands at the back of his neck and leans into him, as she’s done so many times before.

They don’t move—not really. It’s more of a hug than a dance, the two of them standing there in the dark, locked together like they’re afraid to let go. She can smell the antiseptic that Stella used on his cut, a clean, tangy scent, and beneath that, the peppermint shampoo his mother bought for him. She traces a finger along his back, just between his shoulder blades, and she feels him shiver beneath her touch. When he bends to kiss her temple, it makes her feel like crying.

“Remember that night?” she asks, and she’s surprised to hear her voice tremble a little bit. “You kept spilling punch all over yourself.”

He bows his head, laughing softly into her ear. “I was nervous.”

“You were a mess.”

“But a charming mess.”

“You were holding your cup while you danced,” she says, pressing her cheek against his chest. “It was sloshing all over the place. But you refused to put it down.”

“I needed something to do with my hands,” he admits. “I was afraid you’d see what a terrible dancer I am. I needed a diversion.”

“So you sacrificed your suit.”

“It was for a very worthy cause.”

They hadn’t been anything official yet, that night: just two people who liked each other, on the brink of something more. But already, she was beginning to see what it might be like, being with Aidan. Around them, everything else felt plodding and predictable, their classmates all going through the motions, carrying out the overly dramatic business of every school dance: the girls crying in the bathroom, the couples making out in the corners, the two groups of guys on the cusp of a fight, the upperclassmen practicing their most withering stares.

But Aidan—Aidan was fun. All night, he’d danced around her: moonwalking and then break-dancing, marching them around in a stiff-armed tango and then reeling her back for a comically formal waltz, spinning and swinging her so quickly she could hardly see straight. He was nervous and jittery, but also whirling and unpredictable, with flashing eyes and a dazzling smile that was only for her. She was laughing so hard she could barely keep up, and she kept having to stop and catch her breath.