Page 4 of Better Than the Movies
The bell rang, so I grabbed my stuff and shoved it into my bag. Jocelyn and I started walking toward our lockers, and she said, “Before I tell you, you have to promise you’re not going to get all worked up before you hear everything.”
“Oh my God.” My stomach stress-dropped, and I asked, “What’s going on?”
We turned down the west wing, and before I had a chance to even look at her, I sawhimwalking toward me.
Michael Young?
I came to a complete halt.
“Aaaand—there’s my tea,” Joss said, but I wasn’t listening.
People bumped off me and went around me as I stood there and stared. He looked the same, only taller and broader and more attractive (if that was even a possibility). My childhood crush moved in slow motion, with tiny blue birds chirping and flitting their wingsaround his head as his golden hair blew in a sparkling breeze.
I think my heart might have stopped.
Michael had lived down the street when we were little, and he’d been everything to me. I’d loved him as far back as I could remember. He’d always been next-level amazing. Smart, sophisticated, and… I don’t know…dreamierthan any other boy. He’d run around with the neighborhood kids (me, Wes, the Potter boys on the corner, and Jocelyn), doing typical neighborhood things—playing hide-and-seek, tag, touch football, ding-dong-ditch, etc. But while Wes and the Potters had enjoyed things like flinging mud into my hair because it made me scream, Michael had been doing things like identifying leaves, reading thick books, andnotjoining in on their torture.
My brain cued up “Someone Like You,” and the song started over from the beginning.
I’ve been searching a long time,
For someone exactly like you.
He was wearing khakis and a nice black shirt, the kind of outfit that showed he knew what looked good but also didn’t spend too much time on fashion. His hair was thick and blond and styled the same as his clothes—intentionally casual. I wondered what it smelled like.
His hair, not his clothes.
He must’ve sensed a stalker in his midst, because the slo-mo stopped, the birds disappeared, and he looked right at me.
“Liz?”
I was so happy that I’d taken the time to apply Retrograde Red. Clearly the cosmos had known Michael would be appearing beforeme that day, so it had done everything in its power to make me presentable.
“Girl, chill,” Joss said between her teeth, but I was helpless to stop the whole-face smile that broke free as I said, “Michael Young?”
I heard Joss mutter “Here we go,” but I did not care.
Michael came over and wrapped me in a hug, and I let my hands slide around his shoulders.Oh my God, oh my God!My stomach went wild as I felt his fingers on my back, and I realized that we could very well be having our meet-cute.
Oh. My. God.
I was dressed for it; he was beautiful. Could this momentbemore perfect? I made eye contact with Joss, who was slowly shaking her head, but it didn’t matter.
Michael was back.
He smelled good—so, so good—and I wanted to catalogue every tiny detail of the moment. The soft, worn-in feel of his shirt under my palms, the breadth of his shoulders, the golden skin of his neck, scant centimeters away from my face as I hugged him back.
Was it wrong to close my eyes and take a deep brea—
“Oof.”Someone bumped into us, hard, destroying the hug. I was shoved into and then away from Michael, and as I turned around, I saw who it was.
“Wes!” I said, irritated that he’d ruined our moment, but so unbelievably happy still that I beamed at him anyway. I was incapable ofnotsmiling. “You should really watch where you’re going.”
His eyebrows crinkled together. “Yeah…?”
He was watching me, probably wondering why I was smiling instead of going ballistic over the packing tape incident. He looked like someone waiting for the punch line, and his confusion kicked up my happiness to an even higher level. I giggled and said, “Yeah, you big doof. You could really hurt someone. Buddy.”
He narrowed his eyes and talked slower. “Sorry—I was talking to Carson and doing the extremely difficult backward-walking thing. But enough about me. How was your drive to school?”
