Page 32 of Wonderstruck

And that was when I noticed it.

“Um, Rory?” I called after her, and shepaused, turning back with a wary lookthat told me she already knew what I was about to say.

Before I could ask why she was suddenlyswapping her usual soft pink aesthetic for a green and white Lions cheerleading uniform, she cut me off. “Don’t even say anything.”

I raised my hands in mock surrender,trying not to smile. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

Her eyes turned to slits. “Yes you were.”

“Was not.”

“Yes, you were.”

“I wasn’t.”

"You—" Her hand flew to her face, eyes squeezing shut as she sucked in a sharp breath.

Man was she adorablewhen she was annoyed.

And okay, maybe I was going to saysomething.

But the fact that she was talking to me,giving me anything at all—even if it was annoyance? I’d take it. After a year of barely getting so much as a glance, I was ready to cling to every second of this. Just like how I was hanging off every word she uttered to me last week up in the attic.

“Actually,” I said, leaning on my bestinnocent tone as I leant agaisnt the boards guarding the rink, “I was going to say thatyou look really nice.” Her expression softened, just a little. “But since you interrupted me, I’m sorry to say that compliment has now expired. You’ll never get to hear it again.”

Hereye roll was—God help me—theprettiest thing I’d ever seen. “Darn." Her arms folded. "Whatwill I do without gratification from a man?”

I grinned.There she is.

And while I had her, standing infront of me and willing to give me more than barely a glance, I took a stepcloser, remembering what I'd promised myself, remebering how I'd bottled it and ran last time I had her this close, and breathed, “Look, I’m sorry—”

“Finn.” She sighed, taking a step back.

My head shook. “No, I should have saidit a long time ago—”

“Exactly.” Her voice was so quiet I almostdidn’t hear the crack. “I can’t do this right now—”

As she went to turn away, my hand fellinto hers, my grip soft, and her stare locked on me again.

I swallowed hard, forcing out the truth. “I thought maybe sayingit—anything—might make it easier to breathe. Because honestly? Not saying it has been killing me.”

She shrugged at my attempt to saysomething meaningful, like shaking offraindrops from an umbrella. “And how am I supposed to believe that? If it was killing you, why wait so long to say anything to me? This isn't the first time we've been alone since being back, so don't say you've never had the chance.”

Her voice wasn’t sharp or angry, but itgrazed me just as deep.

I met her gaze, the weight of her hurt slamming into me. “You know I feelawful about how I treated you that night, right?”

Her head shook slowly, her eyes dropping to the green and white cheerleaderuniform before flicking back to me. “No,” she said softly. “But right now I’m not really sure I know anything.”

I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but stopped myself. She wasn’t ready to hear it. Not yet. Thewords were right there, clawing at my chest like they’d tear me apart if I didn’t get them out, but I swallowed them down anyway. If I said the wrong thing now, I’d only make everything worse. And I’d already done enough of that.

But this? Having her this close? Having her voice melt in my ears? It was a start.

My eyes flicked to the pleated skirt and crop top, trying to redirect the crushingweight between us. “What’s with the uniform anyway?” I asked softly, trying to keep my tone light.

She shrugged. “I’m helping a friend. And the school’s paying its cheerleadersnow. I could use the money.”

Her voice dipped on that last part, like she didn’t want to admit it.“Oh,” I murmured, my chest tightening.“How come?”

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