But she pushed. She forced herself into—if not a smile, then something that sort of resembled one. She pushed the air out of her lungs, up her throat, and out of her mouth.

“That’s great,” she said.

Two words. That’s great. The worst two words she had ever uttered. Her parents looked at her. They looked at David in his dress shirt. This whole strange little drama had an effect. And she knew at that moment that they would let her stay.

So why did it feel like she’d just lost the game?

23

THERE WERE ONLY TWO SEATS LEFT ON THE RETURN COACH WHEN they reached it, so it was David and Stevie together again. Stevie felt the tightness in her chest and realized that she was balling her fists so hard in her pockets that her nails were cutting into her palms.

“They seemed to like me,” he said.

“What the hell was that about?” Stevie said.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

Stevie got out her phone and stuck in her earbuds. David pulled one out.

“What? You get to stay. Why are you so mad?”

“Because,” Stevie said. “I don’t get to stay because of me. I get to stay because of you. Because they think we’re dating. Because they probably think I’ve landed some rich, preppy boyfriend. I get to stay because there’s a guy.”

“I know,” he said, his brows angling in annoyance. “That’s why I did this. You said they thought that was important. That’s why I came along. If you want me to learn my valuable lesson, you have to spell it out.”

“Dating,” she said coolly, “is what my parents think girls do. They date. So I have now achieved all they expect from me. Also, the Edward King thing? Yeah. I had to sit there and swallow that whole.”

“Seems to have worked out,” David said. “Again, not seeing why you’re mad. You’re here, they’re far away.”

“Because again, it’s not me. It’s Edward King, the guy who represents literally everything I hate. The guy is racist, fascist scum and now my parents run his goon army for the state, and I had to smile.”

“I just want you to know, you didn’t smile . . .”

Stevie was too enraged for a moment to speak. She breathed heavily until she found her voice again.

“Also, your mom isn’t a pilot, you lying freak,” she added.

“How do you know? She might be.”

“And your dad runs a fertilizer farm?” she asked.

“That one is true,” David said.

“Near the beach in San Diego?”

“Never swim there,” David said, gravely shaking his head.

“I know one thing that is full of shit,” she said. “And it’s you.”

He shrugged as if to say, Fair enough.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she asked.

“Lots of things,” he said.

“You’re a liar,” she said.

“Maybe we both are a little sensitive about our parents. I just wanted to help you solve your problem. Problem solved. You want to be mad, be mad. Here.”

He picked the dangling earbud back up, and she reinserted it. But she didn’t turn anything on. She looked out the window, and at his pale reflection in the glass. She found herself annoyingly transfixed by the line of his jaw. At first, it had looked so sharp to her, like his face was coming to a point. It wasn’t that sharp after all. He must have been tense before, jutting it out.

He was looking at his phone now, paying her no attention.

Except he had made his hand into a little spider and was dancing it along his thigh. She watched it, as she was surely supposed to, and it crept closer to her leg . . .

. . . then backed off.

. . . then it approached again, with one tentative spider-leg finger hanging over hers but not touching, not touching . . .

. . . just the very tip touched; was it even touching?

Her entire body was static, anticipatory.

The coach made the violent turn into the drive, jolting them and washing the spider away.

Stevie walked ahead of David when they got out on the drive. When she was halfway to Minerva, she slowed, expecting his footsteps behind hers. He was nowhere in sight. She entered the common room a ball of frustration.

“How was it?” Janelle said when Stevie passed her room. Janelle was in the middle of a pile of math books and wires and an open computer playing a TV show.

“Good,” Stevie said, taking as casual a stance as she could. “Good. I think it’s okay. I’m staying, for now.”

Janelle made an excited squeaking noise.

“Come sit,” she said.

“I’m just going to . . .” Stevie tilted her head toward her room. “I just need a few minutes.”

Inside her room, she paced around with her coat on. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were bright red from the cold. Her short hair was pressed flat against her head from the pressure of her knit hat.

It was time to ask herself something she had never seriously considered—was she attractive? What was attractive? What did other people like? She knew what she liked—the short hair. She liked the way she looked when she narrowed her eyes, because it was sharp and penetrating without being too squinty. She liked the fullness of her mouth, because she was not afraid to speak up. She felt solid in the fullness of her hips.

Was this what pretty was?

Who knew. This was what a Stevie was, anyway.

She grabbed the top edge of the bureau and stretched her arms out, looking down at the floor. Stevie knew about panic. What she didn’t understand as much was this new hormonal cocktail her body had on the menu and what it meant for her plans. She wanted to go upstairs. She wanted . . . David.

She wanted him. David, who had just made her madder than anyone else aside from her family. David, who she had to see every damn day. Someone who came in from a run smelling rank and appeared again in the common room all spicy and clean and . . .

Why him? Out of anyone, why did the hormone gods pick him?

She heard him come in. Heard him come into the hall. Was he going to stop?

No. There was the loud creak of the steps.

She had to go and talk to him, maybe. She wasn’t sure what about. She slipped out of her coat, paced the length of her room, and found herself leaving and heading upstairs.

Once at his door, she stood there uncertainly. She didn’t come up to this floor that often. The guys had to come down, but this place was optional. It was darker up here. The wind made more noise. She raised her hand to knock and held it in place for a full minute before bringing it timidly down on the wood.

When David opened the door, he did not look cocky. The heat collected up here, so it was extremely warm. The only light on inside was a small bedside lamp.

“You want something?” he said.

“I want . . .” What did she want? “. . . to understand.”

“What? Life? The universe?”

“I want to know what your deal is,” she said.

“My deal? What’s a deal?”

“There’s something you’re not saying,” she said. “There’s something . . .”

“There’s something you’re not saying either,” he replied. “Why won’t you mention that we made out?”