The sensible part of my brain tells me to steer clear of all Alpha Sigma Phi parties, but when Nate closes shop early so the window guys can do their job, I detour one block over to Duds, Burnham’s only second-store. I can’t stop thinking about driving off a cliff, so to speak. It’s been a long time since I’ve “driven” anywhere with anyone, and though I have good reason for hunkering down to atone for last year’s mistakes, it hasn’t exactly been easy. Or interesting. Or satisfying.
It’s on exactly that unsatisfying note that I step into the musty-smelling store and bump into Kellan. The front row is lined with all manner of Halloween costumes and paraphernalia, and Kellan is, for some reason, pushing a shopping cart.
“Nora!” he exclaims. “I thought you were working.”
“I was. We closed up early, so I figured I’d come get some costume inspiration.”
His face lights up. “Me too. Clark Kent needs a good suit, and where better to find one than Duds?”
“Don’t you already own a suit?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to get…bodily fluids on it.”
“Thank you for that imagery.”
“Are you going as Lois Lane, then? Because this is perfect. We can coordinate our outfits. My tie, your shoes—”
“I’m not going as Lois.”
His face falls, then immediately lights up when he spots a French maid outfit, still in its vacuum-sealed bag. “Slutty maid?” he tries, holding it up.
“No slutty anything.”
“Who’s slutty? I’m interested.” Crosbie skids onto the scene, sneakers squeaking across the tiled floor. Duds is a big store for Burnham, full of countless racks of clothing and walls lined with shelves of shoes and housewares. It’s mostly empty at this time of day, so the noise attracts nothing more than a single disapproving stare from an employee hanging up jackets nearby.
Kellan sighs and replaces the French maid outfit. “Not Nora.”
Crosbie scoffs. “Obviously. I thought we were talking about someone cool.”
I shoulder my way past the duo. “This has been fun.”
“Aw,” Kellan calls to my back. “Come on, Nora. Now that you’re here you can help me choose a costume.”
“Your costume is just a suit.”
“But when I model for Crosbie he tells me I’m fat.”
Crosbie shrugs. “You are.”
Kellan socks him in the shoulder. “Dick. I’m going to look at ties. I’ll let you know when I’m ready to begin modeling.”
“Remember blue is slimming!”
Kellan flips him off and wanders away, leaving Crosbie and I next to the costume display. For a second we just stare at each other, Crosbie rubbing his newly injured shoulder, me trying to come up with something to say that doesn’t reveal just how much I noticed his absence these past few weeks. Or how hot he looks. His hair is damp, like he’d just taken a shower, and he’s wearing jeans and a puffy black jacket that makes his brown eyes look darker than usual as they take me in.
“What’s it going to be?” he finally asks.
“Pardon me?”
“Your costume. What is it?” He nods at the options. “Witch? Scarecrow? Viking?”
“Ah, Thelma.”
“Who?”
“Thelma. From Thelma & Louise? Marcela’s going to be Louise.”
“Which one was Thelma, Geena Davis or Susan Sarandon?”
“Geena Davis. I came to shop for some high-waisted jeans and sunglasses.”
He looks me over. “I can see it.”
“What about you? Browsing for a cape? Maybe some new tights?”
“I’ve already got my Superman costume at home. I sleep in it every night.”
“I don’t doubt it.” I make my way over to the women’s clothing and Crosbie comes with me, thumbing through the long rack of jeans for a suitably tight, acid-washed pair. After a minute I get warm and unzip my coat, realizing my mistake the second Crosbie’s eyes lock on my chest, then slide up to the prim Peter Pan collar of my dress.
His brows tug together and he gestures at me with one finger. “Let’s talk about this,” he says. “Did you have a big date today? Or perhaps a…very pleasant date?”
I smile thinly, remembering the afternoon’s unpleasantness. “I had a meeting with…someone.”
He leans in conspiratorially. “Was it a boy?”
I snort and push him away. “Why? Are you jealous?”
For a second he doesn’t react. Our eyes lock and my hand feels like it’s stuck to his chest, my fingertips digging into his pecs. And then he shakes his head and smirks and I take away my hand. “You see right through me, Nora.”
“Ha. I haven’t seen you much at all since pizza night.” The night he pretended to be looking for Kellan, but really came looking for me.
He turns his attention back to the jeans. “I’ve been busy.”
“I see.”
“With school.”
“Right. Me too.”
A pause. “And Kellan told me you had some trouble last year and really need to study, so you can’t afford any distractions.”
“You don’t distract me.” The words come out a little too quickly.
“He said maybe the video games were a problem.”