The Do-Over

I’ve daydreamed for years about getting in a fistfight with Khloe Kardashian. I’m positive I could take her.

The officer dropped me off with a look that was half impressed and half disgusted. As soon as I got into the school, I went straight to Josh’s locker. If I couldn’t find a way to end the repeating days, at least I could dump him for kissing Macy and feel like I had some kind of control over my romantic life. I’d missed all of first period, but happened to get lucky enough to show up during passing period, which meant the odds were good that he’d be there.

My phone vibrated. Dad: Call me NOW.

So Lisa had told him about the car.

Or the cops had.

I turned down the north hall and—wow. There he was.

Josh was standing beside his locker, laughing with Noah, and it kind of took my breath away. He was just so Josh in that moment. Pretty and funny and the guy who should’ve been perfect for me.

He’d read Sylvia Plath to me on a blanket in the grass, for the love of God. How could it be that he wasn’t the one?

“Emmie!” His eyes landed on me and my face got hot, just like it always did. He grinned the smile that told me he knew what he did to me and he said, “Get over here!”

I walked over to his locker and before I had a chance to publicly buh-bye him like I’d planned, he wrapped his long-fingered hands around my waist and pulled me against him.

His friends walked away, the friends that I’d planned on impressing with my epic dumping abilities.

“There you are.” He set his forehead against mine, and I got sucked into his deep, quiet voice. “The prettiest girl in school.”

“I, um—”

“You want your Valentine’s present now?” He pulled back a little and tucked my hair behind my ear. “You look incredible today, by the way.”

Instead of opening my mouth and saying dumping words, I said, “Thanks.”

“Ms. Hornby. Mr. Sutton. Please get to class.” Ms. Radke, the Lit teacher, crossed her arms and gave us the stink eye from behind her wire glasses.

Josh grinned at me. “Missed your chance. Lunch?”

I nodded, and he dropped a peck on my lips before turning and walking in the other direction.

“Get moving, Ms. Hornby.”

“Emilie, I have a note here that says you need to go to the counselor’s office.”

“Okay.” I stood up from my desk and walked toward Mr. Smith, my Calculus teacher. The man was a walking nose hair, so I looked at the smartboard behind him when I said, “Thanks.”

The DONC had lost a little of its excitement after seeing Josh, mainly because he’d behaved the same way he always had, which was perfect.

Ugh. So, so perfect. Like, the way he’d smiled when he’d seen me by his locker; that didn’t look like the smile of someone who was done with me and moving on to Macy. Maybe I hadn’t been wrong about everything.

Right?

I was grabbing the handle of the office door when I heard laughing in the direction of the snack store. I glanced over my shoulder and—of course—the melodically tinkling giggle came from Macy Goldman. She was laughing in the hallway, tossing her hair like a supermodel, and looking down at—

Oh.

Even after the repetitive days of witnessing them kissing, my chest felt like it was caving in as I saw Josh sitting on the floor with Noah, smiling up at Macy. He was smiling up at her in that way. The exact same enamored way he’d looked at me.

For the first time since I’d seen them kiss, I wasn’t hurt or sad—I was pissed. Livid, actually. So angry I wanted to kick things over or possibly punch something. I gritted my teeth and went into the office. I didn’t even bother with Mrs. Svoboda, but instead just went straight back to Kessler’s office.

“Here she is now.”

I walked into his office but I didn’t sit. I didn’t look at him, either. I just crossed my arms and seethed, glaring at the woman who was about to yank away my summer as if she was responsible for everything that had gone wrong in my life. She wasn’t, but she was unfortunate enough to be there when it hit the fan.

“If you’re here to tell me there was a mistake and I didn’t win the spot in the summer program, don’t bother. I need that for scholarship and college applications—and I’m not misusing the word ‘need’ here—and you are not going to yank it away from me.” I gritted my teeth and the lady looked at me as if she was a little scared. “Just because you have someone on staff who can’t count doesn’t mean I should lose my only shot at a Pulitzer.”

“Emilie.” Mr. Kessler tilted his head. “Why don’t you sit down?”

“Can’t.” I held up a hand. “I have someplace I have to be, but you guys are going to have to go back to the drawing board and find a way to make this right.”

The woman cleared her throat and looked confused. “How on earth did you know what I was going to say?”

I shrugged. “Intuitive, I guess. Probably what will make me such a stellar journalist, don’t you think?”

On that note, I left. What more was there to say?

And it felt good, doing something. Instead of being dragged along by my life, I was leading the charge with my fingers wrapped around its scrawny neck. For good or bad, this day was all about me proactivating the shit out of my life.

Because nothing mattered.

Mrs. Svoboda wasn’t at her desk anymore. It was empty, her chair vacant, and the microphone for the overhead speakers entirely unattended.

Um.

I glanced around. Nick Stark was sitting on a chair in the office, looking down at his phone. Talk about ironic. I looked at his handsome face and was slapped with a melancholic sadness. Because we’d had an incredible yesterday and had talked on the phone mere hours ago—his had been the last voice I’d heard before falling asleep—yet he knew nothing of it. We were basically strangers again, but I knew what he would buy for a girlfriend if he had one on Valentine’s Day.

And I knew he smelled like the cleanest bar of soap.

Focus, Em.

The principals each had their office doors closed, and the nurse was talking on the phone.

I couldn’t.

Could I?

I went around the desk, sat in Svoboda’s chair, and leaned forward. My heart pounded as I pressed the button.

“A-attention, Hazelwood students. I would like to announce that Josh Sutton is a total ass-bag.” I giggled. Seriously. A giggle popped out of my mouth, and my lips curved up into a huge smile as I leaned back a little in the chair. “This is Emilie Hornby, and I am officially dumping you, Josh, because you suck.”

Nick’s head shot up and he looked over at me like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and I shrugged because I couldn’t believe it either. “You suck so hard, you pompous jag with a stupid car, and I do not want you to be my Valentine.” I let go of the button, but then pushed it again and said, “Oh, yeah, and it’s so pathetic that you refer to your friend group as “the Bards” like you’re characters from Dead Poets Society or something—you freaking wish. Em out.”

I heard Nick’s deep laugh as I hopped up and went around the desk as fast as I could. I exited the office just as the bell rang, so I was lucky enough to be swallowed by all the students filling the hallway. I was sure they would be sending a pass for me later, but hopefully I could ditch the building by then.

Macy, Noah, and Josh were no longer by the snack store.

I walked to class with my head high, a smile on my face that I couldn’t contain. I knew that most of the people I passed didn’t even know who I was, but I still greeted my fellow classmates with a supercool chin-nod, like I was starring in my own movie.

In my head, “Sabotage” by the Beastie Boys was playing as I strutted toward Chem.

I was almost to my classroom when I passed Lallie, Lauren, and Nicole.

They were standing around a locker loudly cataloging what was wrong with Isla Keller’s outfit while Isla had no idea. She was grabbing a book out of her locker, doing absolutely nothing to deserve their bitchery.

“Seriously, why would anyone wear shoes that atrocious?” Lallie said.

“Oh. My. Gawd.” Lauren Dreyer took the lollipop out of her mouth and pointed right at Isla’s shoes before shoving it back into that hole in her face. “So ugly.”

“What is wrong with you?” I asked, startling them—and myself—with my loud voice.

All three of them turned to look at me. Lallie said, “What?”

“Why are you so petty?” I asked, my heart rate rising as I saw a couple of people stop and look in our direction.

“Um, I’m not the one who was just a total asshole over the intercom,” Nicole said, narrowing her eyes at me and looking like an evil queen.

“Yeah, Emilie,” Lallie sneered. “Seriously?”

Now, normally I would’ve been freaking out with an instant stomachache if those girls were getting on me to my face in the hallway. But DONC Em didn’t care. I said, “You do realize that you didn’t actually ask a question, right, Lalz? Or are you too high on bitchiness to piece together more than three words?”

That made Nicole gasp, so I pointed to her and said, “And don’t even start on me, Nicole. I’ve seen you be awful to everyone in the entire world since, like, the second grade, so let’s just both assume that you’re about to spew some hateful shit on me so you can save your breath and my time.”

Lallie and Lauren were puffing up for a comeback—I could see it in their overtanned faces—but I wasn’t having it. “Do you realize that everyone—like, for real, ev-er-y-one—in this school who doesn’t hang out with you hates your guts? Think about that. You are the butt of a million jokes—did you know that? It’s on the DL because we’re all terrified of you, but you are a laughingstock to eighty percent of this school.”

Then I grabbed the stick of Lauren’s sucker and pulled it out of her mouth. I almost laughed at the shocked look on her face, but I was able to keep a straight face as I dropped her sucker and walked away, “Sabotage” back to pumping in my head as I floated down that hall.

When I got to Chemistry, I went straight to my table. Nick walked in a minute later but he didn’t say a word. He just raised an eyebrow and sat on his stool.

“What kind of car does he have?”

“What?” I unzipped my backpack. “Who?”

“Josh. You said his car was stupid, remember?”

“Ah.” That made me smile because Josh thought that thing was the greatest vehicle to ever rumble over the planet. “A 1959 MG.”

He rewarded me for knowing with one of his smirks and said, “Ouch.”

I watched his Adam’s apple move when he swallowed and I was struck by how beautiful he was. Dark hair, ridiculously blue eyes, beautiful cheekbones, and lashes for days. And his body looked hard. I was pretty certain if I ran at him full speed, I would bounce off him instead of knocking him over.

Mr. Bong came in and immediately started lecturing. I didn’t have the notes, but I was apparently never going to need them, either. So instead of getting out my notebook, I pulled out my phone.

Dad: Clearly you’re not going to call me back, so you’re grounded from your phone when you get home. Where is my car?

I knew I should feel a little bad for taking his baby, especially after the nice-but-not-real moment we’d shared last night, but something about his response pissed me off. On most days, he and my mother both took hours and hours to respond to the tiniest of questions. The time I had an allergic reaction to cashews at summer camp and needed to know which urgent care to go to, it took each of them—and they didn’t live together—over an hour.

Yet when I waited an hour to respond to my dad about his car, he was losing his shit.

My phone buzzed.

Stankbreath: Can you come in today? Beck called in sick and since I gave you Sat off, you owe me.

😉

Ugh. Work.

I glanced at Nick’s profile, remembered the rules of DONC, and responded accordingly.

I’m not coming in AT ALL today because I don’t feel like it. Thanks, tho, Paulie.

I put my phone away. Instead of taking notes or paying attention, though, I stared at Nick.

But when he glanced over and caught me, instead of looking away like I usually would have, I just rested my chin on my hand and smiled. No consequences. He frowned like he didn’t understand, which made me full-on grin.

He looked back at Bong, and I continued drinking him in. After about five seconds, he muttered—without looking at me—“What are you doing?”

“Just looking.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” He wrote something in his notebook and added, “But why?”

I bit down on my lower lip and thought What the hell before saying, “You are just really, really attractive.”

He still didn’t look at me. “You think so?”

Bong stopped lecturing to glare at us. “Mr. Stark, care to enlighten us as to what’s so important it can’t wait?”

“I can.” I raised my hand and said, “I was telling Nick here that I think he’s attractive and I was hoping he’d maybe want to hang out since I’m single now.”

I knew Nick could be surly, so there was a definite chance he would totally call me out in front of everyone. But it didn’t matter because it was the DONC. He turned his head and looked at me with wide eyes.

Bong stuttered, “This is neither the time nor—nor—”

“Absolutely I would,” Nick said.

I heard a couple of laughs behind us as Nick gave me the smirk that had become very familiar to me.

“Mr. Star—”

“Do you maybe just want to go now?” I was speaking through a laugh because it was impossible not to.

“That’s enough.” Mr. Bong’s face was getting very red as he stared at us. “I don’t know what’s come over you today, Emilie, but I will not allow—”

“Let’s go,” Nick said, grabbing his backpack and standing while hoisting it over his shoulder.

“Sit down, Mr. Stark,” Bong said.

“Perfect.” I was beaming at Nick as I grabbed my bag and we both turned around to leave. The entire class was gaping at us in shock, and I swear to God I felt an actual electrical current shoot through me, starting at my fingertips, when I felt his hand grab mine and he led me out of the room.

“Stop by the principal’s office while you’re at it,” Bong yelled.

As soon as the door closed behind us, Nick looked at me and said, “Want me to drive?”

Y’know, like ditching school in such a public manner was normal—commonplace—and the biggest concern was who was going to be behind the wheel.

I nodded. “Yes, please.”

That made him grin. “Come on.”

He pulled me by my hand, his tightening around mine, quickly heading for the side door. “Let’s get out before Bong has the resource officer hunting us.”

We started jogging down the hall, and I couldn’t hold in the laughter. What an absurd, wild thing to be doing at ten thirty in the morning. I breathed in the fresh air as we burst through the exit doors and a frigid, sunshiny breeze rushed at our faces. Nick continued pulling me along behind him in the direction of his car.

And as we ran over the snow-packed pavement, I felt magically, wonderfully not like myself. I was the manic pixie dream girl in a movie, a character created solely to be uncomplicated, unexpected, and utterly unpredictable.

“Here.” He stopped beside Betty and unlocked the passenger door. He pulled it open, and then looked down at me. “You still want to do this?”

I met his gaze and wanted to do whatever he wanted when he looked down at me like that. It was so cliché, but his eyes had a twinkle, a mischievous glint, when he was amused, and I was addicted to that look. I grinned and said, “As long as you have a jacket on the floor of your truck that I can borrow, I am all in.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he said, “It just so happens you’re in luck.”

While Nick went around to the driver’s side, I got in and reached over the back of the seat to grab the coat. When I shoved my arms into the heavy material, it was so familiar that it was like the jacket belonged to me.

Nick got in and did a double take. Fell into a smile and pointed behind me. “Yeah, um, the jacket is behind the seat. Help yourself.”

That made me laugh even more, and as he started the truck, I pulled the hair tie out of my ponytail, shaking my hair and running my fingernails through it while pushing it off my face. I snagged the Ray-Bans from his dashboard and slid them up my nose while propping my feet up on the dash.

“Comfy?” He looked amused and surprised by my actions, so I crossed my ankles and my arms.

I leaned back and said, “Comfier than I’ve felt in years.”

He just looked at me for a second, with that secret smile on his mouth, before giving his head a little shake and saying, “So where are we going?”

“Let’s go downtown.”

“Downtown it is.” He put the truck in gear and pulled away from the school. “Buckle up.”

I wanted to squeal as wild energy floated through me, encompassing me in the thrill of just living for the moment; for my moment. For whatever moment I wanted to be encompassed in, if that made any sense at all. I took over his stereo and switched to FM radio, scanning until I heard the notes of that ridiculous song.

The “Thong Song.”

“Oh my gosh—remember this song?” I glanced over at Nick, and he gave me a look that told me he did and he also regretted that remembrance. “Sing it—come on. ‘She had dumps like a truck, truck, truck.’ ”

“God help me,” he muttered.

“ ‘Guys like what, what, what,’ ” I sang.

He said, “Kill me now,” but he was smiling against his will as I belted out the entire rest of the song, not caring about anything other than the fact that it felt good.

When it ended, he turned down the volume and calmly asked, “Is there anywhere in particular you want to go once we’re downtown?”

“Well, I definitely want to get a tattoo. Other than that, I’m down for just about anything.”

His eyes narrowed and he looked at me like I’d just professed myself an alien.

“What?”

That didn’t change the way he looked at me, so I said, “What? Do you know a good place to get a tattoo?”

Obviously, I knew that he did because he’d told me about his job on the phone last night. But he didn’t know I knew that, and I didn’t want to sound like a creeper.

He said, “Why do you assume I know?”

“I’ve seen your tattoo.”

He kept his eyes on the road when he said, “Maybe I did it myself.”

“Nope. It’s on your right arm, and you’re right-handed. That would be impossible. Try again.”

“Okay, creeper.” His eyes darted over to me. “Maybe I got it in juvie.”

“That’s a little more believable.”

“Nice.”

“But still not right. Downtown at Mooshie’s?”

He shook his head. “Not.”

“What, too cool for you?”

“Too trendy, more like.”

“So…? Where did you go?”

“402 Ink.”

“Okay.” I grinned because I already knew that. “So will you take me there?”

“You do know they take appointments, right?” His right hand was relaxed and kind of draped over the steering wheel, his left elbow resting on the window frame while just a few of his fingers actually managed the steering. It was cool confidence, just like him. He said, “All tattoo shops. Odds are not in your favor that anyone can fit you in today.”

“Really? Don’t you have any connections?” Any coworkers? “Any favors you can call in?”

“Just because I have a tattoo doesn’t mean I have a contingent of tattoo artists who are available to me for favors.”

“ ‘Contingent of Tattoo Artists.’ Band name. Called it.”

That actually made him smile. “I like it. You’d be the singer, I assume?”

“Are you kidding? I have a terrible voice. Tambourine all the way.”

“Weak.”

“No, ‘weak’ is not helping your friend get squeezed into a tattoo appointment.”

“Oh, so you’re my friend now.”

I pulled down the visor, grabbed the lipstick in my bag, and reapplied. “Yes. We’re friends, Nick Stark. Deal with it.”

Nick turned on his blinker and merged onto the interstate. “If you’re my friend, name three things you know about me.”

“Um, let’s see. Three things.” Now, if I had been being honest, I could probably fill a few notebook pages with the things I knew about him from all my repeated days. But I pretended to struggle before I said, “First, I know that you drive a truck.”

“Low-hanging fruit, Hornby.”

“Okay.” I flipped the visor back up and said, “Um. For starters, you don’t take notes in Chem but always get a better grade than me.”

“You nosy little shit—keep your eyes on your own paper.”

I was smiling as I put away my lipstick and said, “Number two, you always smell like soap.”

He gave me the side-eye. “It’s called showering.”

I rolled my eyes. “No, you smell like soap, soap. Like you’re made of Irish Spring or something.”

He made a tiny chuckle sound before saying, “You are such a weirdo.”

“Am not. And number three. Hmmm.” I looked over at him. “You’re less of a jerk than I always thought.” It came out more sincere than I intended—a big change from my previous joking tone—and I blushed, looking down at my knees.

“Well I guess that’s good,” he said, giving me a closed-mouth smile while hitting his turn signal and switching lanes. “Right?”

“Right.” I cleared my throat and said, “So will you help me?”

He said, eyes on the road, “Well they aren’t open until after lunch, but yes.”

“You will?” I squealed it and didn’t care. “Yes!”

He just shook his head as he accelerated.

“Okay, Nick,” I said, desperate to know every little thing about him, “let’s play a game.”

“No.”

“I will ask a question,” I calmly said, trying not to laugh as he didn’t look at me but his eyes got crinkly around the corners, “and you will answer.”

“Nope.”

“Come on—it’ll be fun. Like Truth or Dare, only it’s all truth and not skanky.” I turned the radio off. “I mean, you can ask me questions next, if you want.”

He gave me the side-eye yet again. “I’m good.”

I didn’t care about his reticence as I turned toward him, smiled, and said, “Question number one. If the law required you to compete professionally in an athletic event or be killed by a firing squad, which event would you choose?”

He didn’t even look at me. “Running.”

“Really?” I tilted my head and looked at him in his faded jeans and black jacket. “I just can’t picture you running.”

“Next question.”

“Well, no—the point of the game is that I learn something about you. Do you run?”

“Yes.”

“You do?” I just couldn’t picture it. I mean, he looked like he was in great shape, but he seemed too intense to be a jogger. “You go for runs?”

His eyes squinted a little. “How else would I run if I didn’t go for runs?”

“I don’t know.” I really didn’t. But, “Well, what do you listen to when you run?”

“This game sucks,” he muttered as he took the St. Mary’s Avenue exit.

“Metallica?”

He glanced at me. “Sometimes.”

“What else?” I needed to know more about this. “And do you run every day?”

He came to a stop at the traffic light before turning to give me full-on eye contact, the kind that sucked you inside of him so you were aware of nothing but Nick Stark. “I get up at six every day and go for a five-mile run. Is it my turn now?”

I blinked—six in the morning? Five miles?

“Not yet.” I cleared my throat. “Okay—this one is a hypothetical question. Why would a guy pretend to not recognize a girl he knew from school?”

“What? That’s a dumb question.”

“To you, but not to me.” I giggled in spite of myself, knowing how nonsensical I must’ve sounded. “I just need a guy’s perspective. If a guy was introduced to someone he already knew, but pretended not to know her, well… what would you say he’s up to?”

He looked at me. “I’d say he either doesn’t like her and wants to avoid conversation, or else he’s got a thing for her and is trying to be cool.”

“Okay.” Warmth buzzed through me at the thought of Nick having a thing for me. Could it be possible? Had Nick Stark noticed… and liked… me before this whole thing started?

Although, it could be just as likely that he didn’t like me. I thought back to the Em I presented myself as in school, the one Nick saw in class. Would I have liked me if I met me?

Instantly, I decided it didn’t matter either way—a very un-Em-like conclusion, I realized. I forged ahead and said, “You’ve passed the test. One more hypothetical question and you’re done.”

“Thank God.”

“Right?” I smiled and tried to think of the best way to say it—to say it and not sound like a weirdo. “Okay. If you started reliving the same day over and over again—like a time-loop scenario—would you tell anyone?”

“No way.”

I was disappointed. “Really?”

“There’s no way to not sound like you’re out of your mind.”

“Oh. That’s probably true.”

Nick glanced over, his eyes all over my face. “Did I give the wrong answer or something?”

“Nah.” I shook my head and added, “No wrong answers on hypotheticals.”

“Okay—my turn.”

“But I’ve barely started asking you questions.”

“Don’t care.” He looked down at my sweater and said, “How come you don’t dress like this all the time?”

“What?” I crossed my arms back over my chest. “Are you seriously going to talk about the way I dress? Don’t be that guy.”

“I’m not.” He pointed at my body with his chin and said, “But you usually dress like a sorority girl who color-codes her daily planner and secretly hopes to marry a senator. This looks real, like you’re not trying to be a Ralph Lauren influencer.”

“Okay—two things,” I said around a laugh. “First of all, that’s totally the look I’m going for. Or was going for.”

“Shocking.”

“And second, you’re right about today’s outfit—I am feelin’ myself.” I looked down at the leather pants, slid my finger along the outside seam. “Today is Em-centric, where I am only focusing on what I want. And today, I wanted to wear leather pants.”

“Well—”

“Nope—my turn. Why are you so antisocial?”

He scowled. “I’m not.”

“You’ve never said a word to me in Chem.” Until Valentine’s Day started repeating itself, that is.

“You’ve never said a word to me, either.”

“But… that’s because of your energy.”

He scowled harder, saying the two words like I was ludicrous. “My energy?”

“You put off a very strong Don’t bug me vibe. Next question.” It was the DONC, so pride didn’t matter. I asked, “Are you interested in anyone—romantically—at the moment?”

The scowl disappeared. “Would I be out here committing mayhem in the 402 with you if I was?”

“Probably not but I just needed to clarify.”

“Why?” A slow smirk moved his mouth and his eyes got that twinkle as he looked over and asked, “You got plans for me, Hornby?”

That made my cheeks get hot, but I kept my devil-may-care attitude and said, “Today, anything is possible.”

“Okay—my turn.”

He turned into the Old Market community parking garage, rolled down his window, and grabbed a ticket from the dispenser. “What’s your all-time favorite movie? Not the one you tell people is your favorite, but your actual favorite.”

That made me smile, because he totally saw me in that moment. “I’ve been known to say it’s Schindler’s List, but it’s actually Titanic.”

“Oh, Emilie.” He looked horrified. “You are right to lie about that. Bury that confession deep, deep in your disgusting soul forever.”

I asked, “What’s your favorite movie?”

He put the truck in gear and turned it off. “Snatch. Ever seen it?”

“I don’t watch porn.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” he said, chastising me while his cerulean (thank you, DeVos) eyes squinted around a grin. “It’s Guy Ritchie and Brad Pitt, dumb-ass.”

When he came around to my side of the truck, I couldn’t help it—I beamed up at him like I was a three-year-old coming face-to-face with Elsa from Frozen.

He frowned. “Why are you smiling like that?”

I shrugged. “Because I just kind of like you, I think.”

“Oh, you think?” he drawled, giving me a teasing smirk that did wild things to my insides. “You drag me out of Chem and you’re not sure?”

I shrugged again. “Jury’s still out. I’ll let you know when I know.”

I started walking, pulling him behind me, but his hand tugged me to a stop. His breath clouded around his face as he grinned down at me. “You didn’t know to wear gloves or a coat in the middle of February in Nebraska—you don’t know shit, Emilie Hornby.”

Before I even realized what he was doing, he let go of my hand, pulled off his big gloves, and put them on my hands. They were ginormous on me, but warm inside. Then he reached around my head to yank up the hood of the coat I’d jacked from him.

“You’re a damn child,” he muttered, still smiling as his face hovered just over mine. “Maybe now you won’t freeze to death.”

“Y’know, if this was a movie, I would look at your mouth right now. Like this.” I let my eyes glance down to his lips. “And you would kiss me.”

“Is that right?” His voice was low and I felt his gaze in my stomach as he looked down at my lips.

“Yes,” I said, sounding a little breathless.

“Well, thank God we’re not in a movie, then.”

Ouch. I looked at that face and breathed, “You wouldn’t want to kiss me?”

He was quiet for a brief second, and the moment hovered as our collective breaths mingled and shared a cloud in front of our faces. His eyes were solemn, so serious, as he looked at me and said, “I wouldn’t want the complications that accompany kissing you.”

“Why are you so sad?” I asked.

I hadn’t meant to say it, hadn’t even realized it was on the tip of my tongue, but I’d never wanted anything more than to know the answer to that question at that moment.

His jaw flexed, unflexed, and his haunted eyes stayed on mine. I felt like he wanted to tell me as his entire being paused in response, but something about the way he swallowed made me want to protect him from his answer.

“Forget it—you don’t have to answer.” I tugged on his sleeve and we started walking again. “I’ve got a million other questions.”

“Wonderful.”

“So tell me your life story.” I needed to know every little bit of him that wasn’t sad. “Did you grow up here? Who’s your best friend? Brothers and sisters? Any pets? Well, other than Betty, that is.”

He gave me a weird look. “How do you know my dog’s name?”

Shit. “You told me when, um—I don’t remember, actually, but I remember you mentioning it sometime.”

Nice answer, you imbecile.

Thankfully he just said, “That’s our only animal. What about you?”

I pushed his Ray-Bans up my nose. “My mom and her husband have a puggle named Potassium—and I can’t even remember where they came up with that ridiculous name. He’s cute but we aren’t close.”

That made him smirk.

“My dad and his wife have a cat—Big Al—who is amazing, but he’s been known to pee on the straw rug in the laundry room, so he definitely has issues.”

He pushed open the door to Zen Coffee and held it while I walked in. “I also have two little brothers who are my dad’s. Man, that sounds utterly dysfunctional, doesn’t it?”

“No,” he said, but when I raised an eyebrow he amended with, “Maybe a little.”

He was giving me another funny look that warmed me, and when we moved into the big line, I said, “The questions were supposed to be for you. Brothers and sisters?”

“Are you always this nosy?”

“Nope—only on the DONC.”

“We should talk about this DONC of yours.” His eyes flitted down for the briefest of seconds when I unzipped the big coat, and the mere idea of him being interested in my body made my heart pound.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” I looked at that face that I knew really well and said, “Let’s just say it’s a social experiment. What will happen if for an entire day, I do exactly what I feel like, consequences be damned?”

He shrugged. “You’ll have a fun day today and a nightmare tomorrow.”

“Which is why,” I said, lowering my voice a little, “I’m refusing to think about tomorrow.”

We moved up in the line, and Nick looked deep in thought. He was probably thinking that I was marginally unstable; I mean, I would think that in the reverse. He didn’t even look at me while we waited, which made me worry that he was going to bail on me. That he’d realize my particular flavor of hot messiness wasn’t worth detention and he’d make a break for it, leaving me alone downtown.

When we got to the front and the barista looked to me to order, I said, “Could I please have a large Americano? And the gentleman will have a large… Sleepytime…?”

I glanced at him and he rolled his eyes before saying, “Large green tea, please.”

I laughed at his obvious annoyance in my rightness, and we didn’t talk again until we got our drinks and went back outside. We both started walking without even discussing where we might be headed, and I was just starting to feel my cup’s heat through Nick’s gloves when he said, “For the record, I think your DONC idea is really terrible because you will have to face the consequences tomorrow.”

I glanced at him and said, “You don’t—”

“But I still want to do it.”

I stopped lifting my cup toward my mouth and froze. “You do?”

“I’m in my own head too much, and I also fucking hate Valentine’s Day,” he said, looking straight ahead, “so the way I see it, being a dipshit like you for a few hours might be a nice break.”

“Awww—so sweet.” I finally managed a sip of the deliciously dark caffeinated beverage.

“But you don’t want to steal a car or anything, do you?”

That made me snort and choke a little on my coffee. I held up one finger while I coughed, and then I said, “I already did that this morning.”

He looked at me with deadpan eyes as a jogger went around us. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Um, sort of…?” I went on to tell him about my dad’s car, getting pulled over, and then watching my dad’s precious baby get towed away. I managed to make him look scandalized over every word, which felt like some kind of a win. I said, “So I’m not going to get arrested for GTA or anything, but I did, in fact, start my day by taking someone else’s vehicle.”

He looked at me through narrowed eyes, turning sideways to keep eye contact while we walked. “This is blowing my mind that you, the girl I’ve seen reading in Chem, in the cafeteria, who’s always digging in her backpack, which is—of course—full of books, is out being a deviant. Before today, I would’ve guessed you were a candidate for ‘Most likely to work in a library.’ ”

“That’s actually my number two career choice,” I said, fascinated by the fact that he knew things about me after pretending he didn’t on multiple days.

He ignored my words and kept going.

“But here you are, joyriding in Porsches, ditching school, and destroying your ex-boyfriend in a very public way. Was there some sort of a final-straw event that started this thing?”

The image of Josh’s lips touching Macy’s flashed through my mind but I shoved it away. “Can’t a girl just mix up her life a little?”

“An unhinged girl, maybe.”

“Well then, I’m that.” I might as well be, since the real explanation actually was unhinged.

He asked as we went around a food cart, “So is your dad going to kill you?”

“Probably.”

His eyebrows furrowed together. “How do you not seem concerned about it?”

I shrugged. “He’s just going to yell at me for a while and then it’ll be over.” He wouldn’t, actually, but I couldn’t explain that to Nick.

“We clearly have very different parents.” He gave his head a shake and said, “My dad is super cool but he would destroy me. Like, I am getting scared just thinking about my father’s reaction to something like this, and he doesn’t even have a nice car for me to steal.”

I took another sip of my coffee as we stopped to wait for the light to change. I asked him, “Are your parents still married?”

I was fascinated by people whose parents were still together. It seemed surreal and impossibly beautiful to me, the idea of living out all of your childhood years with both parents, together in the same house.

“Yep,” he said, and we both started walking as the signal switched. I waited for him to elaborate and talk about his family, but he didn’t say anything else.

“You never answered about brothers and sisters.” I leaned a little to my left and bumped him as we crossed. “One? Two? Ten? Do you have any?”

Irritation flashed in his eyes and his jaw was hard when he said, “Do we really have to do the ‘Tell me about your family’ small-talk thing?”

“Oh. Um, sorry.” Coffee splashed onto my glove as I stumbled over a crack in the sidewalk.

“It’s fine.”

Yeah—sure it was. I looked straight ahead and wondered if it was possible to feel like a bigger dork, because his face had shown exactly how annoying he found me. All of a sudden, I was aware of the biting sting of cold on my cheeks as I struggled to think of something—anything—to say.

“Stop it.”

I glanced over at him. “What?”

“Stop feeling like that—I’m not mad.”

That made me roll my eyes. “How do you know how I’m feeling?”

“Well, your face got all pinched.”

“Pinched?”

He shrugged and gestured to my face with his free hand.

“Oh, okay—that explains it.”

“Ms. DONC.” He grabbed my elbow and led me out of the foot traffic, so we were standing beside a closed storefront. He looked down at me with that handsome face, his soapy scent ribboning around me, and said, “Tell me. What epic Ferris Bueller shit are we doing first?”