Page 44 of Wonderstruck

Jesse grunted in response. “Meneither. Honestly, we should ask her to come over more often—motivation through sheer panic.”

I didn’t bother replying, mostlybecause he wasn’t wrong, and I didn’t have a decent comeback. My brain was too busy spiralling at the thought of Rory showing up any second. And when she did, I’d have to sit next to her, probably for hours, while she talked to me in French, and I tried with every fibre of my being not to stare at her.

Fuck.This was a terrible idea.

It had been stupid enough to agree toskate with her yesterday.And okay, I admit, I wasn’t lying whenI told her I’d do anything so she could make the money she needed without having to dance for Hatterson, but I didn’t think beyond that. I was thinking short-term. Doing it, patching things up, was for the group, and so she didn’t have another thing weighing her down this year. But I didn’t think about what it meant for me.

There was a strict reason why I didwhat I did to her last year—a reason I clung to like a lifeline. And I loved watching her skate yesterday. Every single second. But for one very selfish moment, I realised how right I’d been to turn her down.

Rory was the lake you stand over justbefore you bungee jump, staring into it’sdepths and losing yourself in the currents. The kind that terrifies you, yet somehow, it whispers—soft and certain—that you’ll be okay if you trust yourself enough to fall. So, you leap. And before you know it, you’re climbing back up thesteps desperate to jump again. And again. Until you’re addicted—until it’s the only way you want to start your days.

She was too magnetic. Too bright. Tooher.The kind of person who could make you fall in love with just by being in the same room.

And I couldn’t let that happen.

I couldn’t turn out like my dad, tooshattered and hollow to exist. A shell of the man he was. If anything happened to Rory—if I messed up or drove her away—I wouldn’t survive it. It was in my DNA to spiral, so why would I risk it?

So, obviously, the best plan here wasto stay emotionally unavailable. Easy.Simple. Totally doable.

Then there was a knock at the door,and my stomach fell to the centre of theearth.

Doable. She knocks on the door and allI want to do is rip the thing off it’shinges to see her.

“She’s hereee,” Jesse said in a sing-songvoice. Kinda creepily.

“Both of you, out,” I snapped, shovingJesse toward the hallway and givingTristan a look that saiddon’t push me right now or I’ll set the cat on you. Again.

Tristan smirked but shrugged, makinghis exit. “Good luck with your…French.”

“Go write a song about Goldie,” I said,shoving him into his room, and closingthe door with a soft slam.

I could feel my heartbeat pounding inmy ears as I walked back down thehallway, the thing a jackhammer in my chest as I got a few paces in front of the door. I let my lungs fill, holding the air for one second, two, three, before closing my eyes and easing it all back out.

I’d be okay. We were being civil,right? Civil meant friends. Civil meant being polite and smiling and then not letting that smile drop because she is so funny and smart and pretty and—oh myGodwhat am I doing?

You’re weak, Finneas. Pathetic and weak.

I raked my hands through my hair,pulling at the ends slightly, before gripping the door handle so hard it hurt. And when the creaky hinges sounded, all my carefully constructed plans to not lose my cool went out the window.

Rory stood there, bundled in a coattoo big for her, cheeks blushed from the cold, and holding two steaming cups of coffee. Her thick curled hair was a little messy, her smile a little shy, and so damn adorable that I forgot how to speak.

Do you hear me Finneas? Weak!

“Hi,” she said, tilting her head, hereyes flying up and down my oversized white tee and jean shorts. “Um, can I come in? Or are we doing this outhere?”

I stepped aside, my brainshort-circuiting. “Yeah. In. Come in. Uh, the island is… clean-ish.”

“Clean-ish,” she repeated, laughingsoftly. “That’s reassuring.”

Her eyes roamed the place as shebreezed past me, taking everything in as she placed coffee on the island, before sliding off her coat. I quickly shut the door and walked over to take it from her, passing her a tiny smile before hanging it on the pegs above the door, away from the jean jacket that Iknow for a fact Jess hasn’t washed because he’s scared about the patches coming off.

When I turned back to her, she waspulling out one of the island stools, unloadingthe textbooks from her backpack and laying them out in front of her. She looked like she belonged there, and for one brief, ridiculous second, I let myself imagine what it would be like if she really did. If this wasn’t just tutoring but… us.

Nope. Can’t go there either. Not safe.

“So,” she said, pulling a notebook outof her bag and flipping it open, beforegently placing the bag by her side and slipping onto the stool. “What do you need help with? Vocabulary? Sentence structure? Pronunciation?”

“Literally all of it,” I admitted, walkingover to the island sinking into the chairacross from her.

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