Page 46 of Wonderstruck

“You okay?” she asked, her voicesofter now, a thread of curiosity weavingthrough it.

“Yeah,” I said, though the word felttoo simple for the moment. “Just… thinking.”

“About?”

I hesitated, my throat dry. Her gaze, the shades of brown dancing in there soft as anything,held me there, in her orbit, and for a second, I thought about whether this was safe. Whether these little moments we were stumbling into regardless of the rules I’d set myself were going to be the thing to break us. Or make us.

I was going to tell her that maybewe’d made a mistake, that I wasn’t as ready for this as I thought I was.

But before I could find the words—

Thump.

Maple launched herself onto my pile ofnotes, landing with precision right between us. She stretched out dramatically, yawning as if she’d worked harder than either of us, then casually swiped at one of Rory’s coffee cups with her paw.

Rory blinked, the tension snapping likea rubber band. “Oh, hello.” Her voice was a murmur, falling between us as she smoothed out Maple’s fur and tickled behind her ear. And it seemedthat I wasn’t the only one weak enough to fall for Rory, as Maple flopped down onto her notebook, purring like a train.

Rory peeked up at me. “Guess shethinks we’ve had enough practice for one afternoon,” she said, a laugh bubbling in her throat.

“She’s just jealous. Big attentionseeker that one.” I mumbled, tripping over the laugh that came out.

Rory giggled, reaching out to scratchbehind Maple’s ears. “I don’t blame her.” I blinked, and before I let my mouth hang open, Rory reached over, grabbingmy coffee and a pen without a word. Her fingers moved quickly, sketching something on the lid with soft determination, like it meant something to her. After a moment, she slid it back toward me. “Here. Motivation.”

I looked down to see a tiny doodle of…something… wearing a beret.

A grin tugged at my lips as I glancedback up at her. “A mouse?”

The surprise on her face wasbeautiful, her brows shooting up. “It’s a cat,” she said, affronted.

I shook my head, leaning back slightly. “Well, thank God I didn’t need you fordrawing lessons.” My protest was cut short as she tossed a highlighter at me, aiming for my chest.

“Whenever you look at the cat—”

“Mouse,”

“Whatever,” she shot back, shakingher head, though the smile she was fighting crept through, warm and disarming. “Every time you look at it, think about how you need to relax. Frenchis complicated, and it will probably make you question whether this whole thing is worth it.” Her eyes lifted to me. “But it’s also beautiful, and maybe worth every bit of turmoil it brings.” One of her shoulders lifted, as her smile pulled tight. “Just remember that.”

My finger traced the edge of the lid,the rough texture grounding me for amoment before I looked back up at her. “I’ll remember.”

The words came out quieter than I’dmeant them to, the promise slippingthrough the cracks of my usual sarcasm. I had to work to keep the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth in check. “Thank you.”

Her smile stayed, lingering betweenus. The moment stretched again, quieterthis time, but not uncomfortable. And as she sat there, smiling at me, I felt the truth of it settle in my chest.

As much as I knew this was wrong, Ididn’t want her to leave. It would be soeasy to ask her to stay.

But wanting her so casually like thatwas dangerous, and that right there wasreason enough to set fire to those thoughts and keep this as what it was always meant to be.

A deal.

So, I swallowed the ache in my throat,smiled back, and promised myself thiswould never be more than French.

Even if it already was for me.

chapter thirteen

my happiness was a freight train, and i was tied to the tracks

Skipping class felt like a tiny act of rebellion.

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