Page 68 of Wonderstruck

i’m deleting your number.

you say that every time. and yet, here we are.

so when are you free to skate again?

you were serious about that?

course. someone's gotta spot you for those jumps.

so, what’s your schedule looking like, greene? i’m all yours.

tempting offer, but there are only so many knock-knock jokes a girl can pretend are funny before she cracks.

i promise, no jokes while we skate. just pure, unfiltered charm.

oh, that’s even worse.

you wound me.

you’ll live.

only if you show up.

shameless flirt

how’s tomorrow afternoon?

i can meet you after my shift at flo’s. after 5?

i’ll meet you there, bambi

stop calling me that.

never

you’re impossible.

and yet you haven’t deleted my number. can’t be that sick of me.

i guess not.

Meeting Rory at Flo's didn’t make much sense, considering practice wrapped up at 4:30, and I was already here. But Flo’s was a good distance from the campus rink, and the idea of her wandering over alone in all the foot traffic didn’t sit well with me.

So, I came to get her.

She gave me a small smile when shespotted me sitting in the booth that the guys and I practically owned whenever we came here, and handed me a steaming latte with a flower ring doodled on the lid. But beyond that? Not much. She hadn’t really spoken much as we walked back to campus, which I wouldn’t have batted an eyelid at last year. But now? I felt like all the warming up to me she’d done had frozen over again and we were back at square one.

Once we fought our way through therush-hour crowds, elbowing our way tothe rink, we dropped our bags, laced up in silence and hit the ice. The familiar chill I’d not long since warmed from filled the air, and soon enough Rory had claimed the centre of the rink, gliding in lazy circles, her movements fluid and unhurried.

“So,” she murmured, shifting into a turnthat looked so effortless I had to remind myself not to stare. “Why are we doing this again?”

Before I could look at her, the buzzing in my bag caught my attention. I pulled it out, sawDadon the screen, and shoved the thing right back into the depths of my bag before zipping it shut like I was sealing off a crime scene. Shame clung to me for asecond—maybe less—before I remembered that this was probably another false alarm.

He didn’t actually want to talk to me. Not really. Just like last time, when I caved.

There'd be no more caving from me. That much I was sure of. If anything, cutting the strings he’d been pulling, forcing me into the same damn dance over and over, had made things clearer. Like I wasn’t constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for the moment I screwed up and turned into him. It was a start. A messy, uncertain, probably-temporary start—but a start nonetheless.

"Finn?" Her voice broke through my thoughts, snapping me back to reality.

---