Only Mostly Devastated: Chapters 11–15

“We are victorious,” I said, switching off the camera with a flourish.

Juliette had brought the channel up somewhat defiantly, telling me it was proof that someone from North Carolina could become a famous musician.

“All right, be pedantic then. Well done, Valentina Lisitsa’s clarinet equivalent. You’re halfway to college!”

I had more than a slight inkling it was down to the basketball guys.

If I did that, I’d look like I was trying and failing to emulate James Dean.

The same mischievous, playful, fist-bumping kind of attitude that’d pissed me off coming from Will in class was way more palatable outside of it.

It didn’t seem to matter what he said, or how terrible his jokes were, or whether he put his foot in it, they drank it up. It was just his energy. He was ineffably charismatic.

It didn’t seem to matter what he said, or how terrible his jokes were, or whether he put his foot in it, they drank it up. It was just his energy. He was ineffably charismatic.

Suddenly, the guys drifted away, the Labrador paradox apparently resolved to everyone’s satisfaction.

An apparently naive part of me wanted to check that Lara was all right.

So here I was, trying to run a dictatorship while my two citizens were staging a coup.

Crista was totally solemn.

His hair was a little too long, hanging in his face in dark, wavy tendrils.

“Black notes? Do you have synesthesia or something?”
“Huh?”
“Like hearing and tasting color?”

In our defense, it wasn’t exactly...depraved...when we shut the music room door.

Between these lunchtime visits, Music Appreciation, and the occasional conversation after English—always ostensibly so he could ask a question about an assignment or something until his friends left the classroom—it was getting easier to adjust to the idea of going at his pace.

Despite our fragile truce, though, a part of me wanted to at least clarify if we were supposed to be totally platonic now, to address the elephant—and ringmaster—and whole freaking circus—in the room, but I was too self-conscious to bring it up without an opening.

At least we had a rhythm going in our new little friends-without-benefits pantomime.

In real life, right here and now, he looked apprehensive. Like he was worried I was going to hurt him.

It’s an indisputable truth that one of the best things about holidays is getting to sleep in.

Three hours later, I was very rudely awakened. I peeked through bleary eyes into the pitch-black room, trying to piece together what was going on.

I felt around for my shoes, trying to form a coherent picture of the situation in silence.

Her naps weren’t really deep sleeps as much as they were an inability to hold her eyes open for more than ten-minute stints.

Part of me wondered if she’d smuggled some of the leftover vending machine loot into her pockets and eaten it on the drive. I’d seen her do craftier things in my time—she was capable.

It was freaking freezing, even for late November, and our breath was opaque enough to reflect the streetlight.

Among the din, I could make out an even mixture of Spanish and English.

To be honest, the thought made my heart drum nervously until it reverberated in my throat.

In hindsight, I can see how opening a closed door to see his son closely examining a trophy he’d had for years, while his son’s friend sat awkwardly on the bed with perfect posture and tousled hair, could’ve raised an alarm bell for Mr. Tavares.

Rivulets of melted mint ice cream ran down Will’s cone and over his fingers.

Something about the thought of stripping down to my shorts and jumping into the lake with this guy I barely knew seemed illicit and thrilling to me.

Izzy, who thought lyrics were only there to complement an epic drum track, decided to mostly ignore them while she experimented with different beats, humming the chorus to herself.

She had the air of someone who’d won a battle with the patriarchy.

I shrugged, and waited sullenly while he took his phone out. He held it up, then lowered it again. “Can I get a picture where it doesn’t look like you’re thinking of ways to drown me?”

I sat down warily.

“Come on, Lara,” Matt wheedled.