After hearing Celeste’s name, I’m basically the opposite of hungry. But having never met a cookie I didn’t like, I am one of the first to pick one up. It’s plump and soft, and my mouth starts to water. I’m just about to sink my teeth in when someone suddenly grabs my hand, jerking it away from my mouth and pulling me out of my cookie euphoria.
“Don’t eat that!” Max cries, his tone almost irritated as he throws the cookie into the trash can like it’s on fire, more animated than I’ve seen him in days, more animated than I’ve seen him maybe . . . ever. Then his eyes shoot back to me, wide, as though he can’t believe what he’s just done. I swallow. We both look down at the trash can, and I can hear Max breathing heavily.
“Poor cookie,” is all I can think to say. Because I mean it, it does look so sad there all alone, and also because I have to fill the silence.
“It’s made with almond flour,” Max finally replies, lowering his voice back to normal and not taking his eyes off the trash. “He brought them in last year, too.” There’s another pause before Max asks, a little quietly, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I manage to say, still not daring to meet his eyes. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” he says, running a hand through his hair. Then he clears his throat and strides out of the room, as though leaving the scene of the crime will erase it from ever having happened.
“That was rude!” Leilani Mimoun says as she walks up next to me. “Are you guys even friends?”
But I can’t manage a response, because my mind is far, far away, standing at a street cart in Bangkok.
He remembered my nut allergy.
Because he remembers everything.
Because he was there.
Because he is the Max from my dreams after all.
8
Crew Is a Sport, Rowing Is a Movement
WHILE I’VE BEEN trying to puzzle everything out the past two weeks, he’s been there all along. My Max. It’s really him. Through all my second-guessing and anxiety, he’s just been there the whole time, literally within my reach. One desk up and to the left. I’m walking down the hall in a haze, trying to grasp exactly what that means, when I catch sight of Oliver’s curls through a doorway in the science building and pause to catch his eye.
“Jeremiah,” Oliver is saying heatedly to a chubby kid with a World of Warcraft T-shirt on. “I don’t know any other way to explain this. The existence of dinosaurs does not in any way prove that dragons once walked among us.”
“I’m merely asking you to admit that just because we have yet to uncover any bones does not mean they are a purely mythical creation!” Jeremiah wrings his undoubtedly sweaty hands. “How else do you explain the burned ruins in Romania I showed you last week?”
“Show me a wing bone and we’ll talk,” Oliver says dismissively. That’s when he notices me. “Speaking of medieval maidens.” He grins.
I smile. “Don’t stop on my behalf, this sounds interesting.”
“We’re just finishing up anyway,” Oliver says. “This is our weekly Game of Thrones Fan Club.” He points to Jeremiah, who I now see is the only other person in the room. “Jeremiah, meet Alice. It’s a little too soon to tell, but I’m pretty sure she is going to be my first wife.”
Jeremiah crosses his arms. “No girls allowed.”
“We do allow girls to join, Jeremiah,” Oliver says. “It’s just that none of them want to join us.”
“I’m having a party Friday,” Oliver tells me as we walk to our two-wheeled vehicles. “My parents are out of town . . . again.”
“And you didn’t want to invite Jeremiah?” I say with mock incredulity. “But he seems so friendly!”
“Oh, I invited Jeremiah,” Oliver says. “Everyone is welcome at my parties. I don’t buy into that high school exclusivity crap. Unlike some people . . .”
He looks to where Max is standing by Frank, acting equal parts awkward and annoyed. My heartbeat picks up as I look at him for the first time with the understanding that everything has been real. All of this is real. Then he meets my eyes and I look immediately down at the path again.
“Wolfe,” Oliver says, taking out his keychain and unlocking his Segway with a beep-beep like it’s a Porsche. He’s either oblivious to the tension or he’s just being polite, and since it’s Oliver, it’s most likely the latter. “I was just telling Alice that I’m having a party, and because I’m not exclusive, even people like you can come.”
“Thanks for your generosity,” Max says.
“So will you, Alice?” Oliver ignores Max. “It’s Friday. Come early if you want, so we have some time together alone.” He looks at Max and rides off.
“Why is he always with you?” Max frowns.
“Maybe I’m always with him,” I say, and Max’s frown deepens. Then he looks down at his feet for a minute. When he looks back up at me this time, his eyes are wary but his expression is kind.