Every Little Thing

26

|| Evelyn ||

Two days after New York, Reed and I see each other in the hallway walking into school. His blue eyes catch mine and he smiles instantly, a gesture that I am all too happy to return. Part of me wonders if we can actually move past the almost-kiss, the fact that I'd wanted it so badly and yet, he didn't make another attempt. Part of me wonders if I can forget the utter hell my mind has been over the past two days, restless and worrisome and full of unwanted, terrifying thoughts.

But the thing is, I don't want to forget.

I don't want to forget the heat of his skin against mine, the way we locked eyes, the way the splash of freckles that dot his nose were so close to my face that I could count them. I don't want to forget the electricity buzzing in my veins, or the way his lips were almost—almost—touching mine.

I don't want to forget the greatest almost of my life.

So I approach him, smiling, my bag bouncing alongside me as he pulls me in for a casual, one-armed hug.

"Hey, there," he says, "How are you?"

"Tired, mostly," I say, joking as usual, "But good. Yourself?"

"I'm good, too."

And that's when I feel it—the discomfort rising between us, thick as fog. My stomach twists as I run through the endless list of possibilities again. He hates me, doesn't he? He's glad we didn't kiss; he didn't even want to in the first place. He's probably judging me for telling him about my anxiety and all of my stupid problems—

"Evelyn?" Reed asks, and his voice drags me out of my headspace. I blink once, twice until I realize that there's something close to amusement in his eyes. "You okay?"

"What? Oh...um, yeah."

"Not convincing."

What am I supposed to say? No, Reed, I'm not okay. I'm not okay because I can't stop thinking about how it would feel if you kissed me, if you actually kissed me on that bridge in Central Park. I'm not okay because I should have gone up to that goddamn police officer and punched him in the face—

I force myself to a stop, releasing a breath and choosing to tell him the truth. Or, at least, a variation of it.

"This feels awkward," I laugh, my voice breathy and nervous. Reed makes a vague noise of assent.

"Yeah," he concludes finally, "It sort of does."

He laughs then, a soft chuckle as he shakes his head.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. I'm trying to be cool about it, but"—he runs a hand through his hair absentmindedly—"that's obviously not going to work."

"No," I say, allowing myself a small smile, "It isn't."

"Well, here's the deal," He says, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking sheepish for possibly the first time. "I—um, I really—"

He releases another nervous laugh, and it takes everything in my body not to kiss him right then, just to get past all of this rockiness and get to the part where we confess our feelings.

Whoa. Did I just assume Reed Bishop has feelings for me? Where did that come from?

I bite my tongue, watching him, feeling oddly embarrassed as his teeth catch his lower lip, chewing as he continues with,

"Evelyn, I—I wanted to—"

"Kiss me?" I finish for him, out of nowhere, and his eyes widen as they find mine. Oh, God. That's what he was going to say, right?

What if it isn't?

My heart pounds ten thousand times harder in my chest as I wait, watching him carefully, head ducked and cheeks reddened, already cursing myself for being so blunt and so stupid—

But then he says, "Yeah. Yeah, that's what I wanted to do."

I can hardly believe my ears.

"Really?" I breathe, and he nods, a small smile quirking up one side of his face as the late bell rings and we're forced to part ways.

"I'll talk to you later, okay?" He asks, and I nod, unable to contain my excitement.

"Okay." I say, my entire body trembling with disbelief and glee and a million other things.

Reed Bishop wanted to kiss me.

The thought runs through my mind over and over again, slowly washing away the worry and doubt that had previously resided there. Reed Bishop wanted to kiss me.

I watch him head down the hallway, breathless. My heart skips a beat when I see him pump a fist into the air, a small, celebratory cheer escaping his lips. I can't help but laugh, and embarrassingly at that.

"I'm still here, idiot!" I call after him, and he turns to me, smiling wide.

"I know," he replies, voice resounding all around me, "I wanted you to see that I'm happy, too."

________

Under any other circumstances, I would tell Georgina about Reed and me right away. I would walk straight into homeroom, slam my books beside her and start talking a million miles per hour, explaining every detail and retelling every bit of dialogue exchanged.

Instead, I slip into homeroom quietly, sitting in the back corner and trying to ignore the twist of my gut as I see Georgina, sitting next to Hale in our usual spot, towards the middle of the room. Her dark eyes don't even flicker from him, even though neither of them are saying anything. Their hands, as always, are entwined beneath their desks.

I can't tell her. I can't walk up there and interrupt her intense love-stare with information that she probably doesn't care about. Not anymore, anyways. Not since the movie theatre, and since Reed and I found out just how annoying we were to her.

Things can't just go back to normal after something like that.

So I sit in silence, reliving the conversation by myself, telling myself that it's fine. That I don't care. That it's better this way.

I repeat these things silently to myself as I watch my best friend, hoping that if I think them for long enough, they might come true.