Page 33 of The Tattered Gloves
Why not some badass rule-breaker or a guy who at least didn’t wear polos or T-shirts with comic book characters on a daily basis?
But, man, if he didn’t look a little like Captain America…
“Did you just sigh?” Sam’s voice cut through my awkward, slightly unsettling daydream.
“What? No. Did you?” I fired back.
“Didn’t figure you much for the school-dance type, Mittens,” he said, fully turning toward me, only to fall back against one of the lockers behind him. He did so with such ease and fluidity, like the whole world just bended to his will.
Maybe it did.
He was dressed better than I’d ever seen him. Wearing a nice pair of khakis and a navy blazer, he looked like he’d just stepped out of a country club or some fancy restaurant. Standing next to him in my combat boots made me feel awkward.
“You know they’re not mittens, right?” I found myself blurting out.
He smiled, his mouth forming a lazy grin. “Yes, I know.”
I let out a frustrated puff of air, wrapping my arms around my waist. “I’m here with Allison.”
He nodded, as if that was all the explanation needed. “She’s a hard one to say no to.”
“But, clearly, you did,” I replied sharply.
“Again, you’re jumping to conclusions about people because I know Allison didn’t tell you that.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“Allison and I have been friends for years, since we were barely able to walk. She might be mad at me, but she’d never make things up just to hurt me.”
“No, she wouldn’t,” I agreed.
“Well, at least we agree about something.”
Silence fell between us as I tried to figure out what to say next.
Staring at the old linoleum floor that had probably seen more drama in these halls than a daytime soap opera, I finally spoke, “I’ve never really had a friend like her — loyal and kind. I’m sorry for the other day. I was just trying—”
“To protect her. I know. Just, next time, get the facts first before you strike. You’re kind of scary when you’re mad.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it.
“Will do,” I conceded, noticing the music had changed back to something more upbeat.
Knowing Allison, she was searching around for me, worrying I’d been left alone to my own devices for far too long.
“I’d better get back.”
He nodded coolly, hands tucked neatly in his pockets.
Before I had a chance to reach the doorway, I heard him call for me, “Willow?”
Turning back, I found he’d taken a few steps toward the door.
“You look nice. I mean, I wanted you to know you look really pretty tonight.”
Heat flooded my cheeks as I tried to compose myself.
Total fail.
Apart from dissolving into a complete pile of goo right there on the floor, I didn’t manage to say one word back to him. Instead, I pivoted on my heels and exited.
More like sprinted.
It wasn’t until I was back in the safety of the gym, under the strobe lights with the nauseating music, that I realized what had just happened.
Sam hadn’t called me Mittens this time.
Only Willow.
For the first time in my entire life, I kind of loved the sound of my own name.
