“Oh, guys are gonna want to get some, Lily. And I’m gonna make sure you know how to fight them off.” He dips his chin and gives me a serious glare.

  “So, you don’t want me to have a boyfriend?” The question falls out faster than I give it thought, so I try to peel away any hint of flirtation from it with a steady glare and folded arms.

  Henry leans in again, his shoulder warm alongside mine.

  “You’ll have a boyfriend, Lily. You’ll have many.” His lips fall into a soft line that hints at a smile and his eyes don’t blink but rather settle into this expression that feels like a mask—like he’s hiding a secret.

  “Doubtful,” I say.

  “Ha…probable,” he retorts. He shifts in his seat and wiggles his head, looking out his window toward the lake as we rush deeper into the city, then turns back to face me with a broad smile and an open palm resting on his knee.

  “What do you say? Who knows…maybe you’ll like it.”

  My lungs inflate and burn with a breath I don’t remember taking. I’ll hold his hand. I’ll do it because I want to, because I don’t know what other answer to give him or any way to avoid it that won’t lead to more teasing. But he’s wrong about one thing—I do know. I know I’ll like it. And that’s precisely why I don’t want to.

  I form a tight smile and blink hesitantly back into his eyes and let out my breath, my shoulders forced to relax for a moment.

  “Fine,” I say, shaking my head as if this is somehow torture and I’m just giving in. I slap my palm against his and curl my fingers around the rough and soft parts of his skin, and the moment we connect, I feel the pounding of my heart in my belly.

  “What was that?” Henry asks. I lean a few inches away from him and lift my shoulders, looking him back in the eyes.

  “What?” I immediately unfurl my hold and feel the heat crawling up my chest and back. Was he tricking me just to tease me? Did he not really want me to hold his hand?

  “You said hold your hand, so I held your hand,” I huff.

  Henry chuckles.

  “Yeah, but…that’s not how you hold a guy’s hand. Well…if your four, maybe. Or if your buds, and goofing around. But you hold a guy’s hand like that your freshman year and I will never have to worry about you having a boyfriend to fight off. They’ll think you’re either not interested…or…”

  “Or what?” I feel sick.

  “Or a wrestler…I don’t know!” His laughter spills out uncontrollably, and I catch the driver’s shoulders shaking with amusement too.

  “Ugh!” I tighten my hold on myself, hiding my hands under each of my elbows, and flop my weight back into the seat with a sigh, shifting my attention to the railways and industrial buildings outside.

  “Don’t give up. Come on…that’s why we’re doing this. Let me show you.” I feel the back of his hand on my elbow and my head jerks to look at it. His fingers gently work my arm loose from my body and I give in quickly. He spreads my palm open and rests my arm and hand on my knee, just like his was.

  “Here, like this…” His eyes catch mine as he nods, then gestures to look down and watch this terribly embarrassing lesson on intimacy he’s about to give me. My throat is closed, and I haven’t taken a breath in what feels like a minute. I dip my chin and watch as Henry’s hand gently moves over mine, the tips of his fingers grazing along my wrist, his thumb drawing a soft line straight through the center. The sensation leaves tingles in the wake of his touch, and my fingers start to curl out of my control. The weight of his hand on mine increases, his fingers now moving in unison into the open and waiting space between each of mine until somehow—naturally—both of our hands fall in line together.

  Henry twists his hand, moving mine along with it, and then shifts his thumb to slide it against my wrist twice. My dad used to do this to my mom’s, right before he’d bring her hand to his lips to kiss it. That thought drives a shiver up my arm and neck.

  “See the difference?” Henry leans in again after his question, but doesn’t let go of my hand.

  I glance at him briefly, sure he’ll noticed the bright shade of pink my face has turned if I look too long. I nod once and smile as if he’s just shown me how to serve in tennis, then look back out my window with a combination of terrified, wide-open eyes and pure glee on my lips.

  Henry holds my hand for the entire ride, and when we get out of the car on Michigan Avenue, he finds a way to take my hand again just before we enter the mall. We pass dozens of couples who look just like us only they’re real, and I watch the girls’ eyes as they swing from Henry to me, judging to see how well we match. A few times, I try to pull my hand away, but Henry keeps us intact, sometimes so we’re only linked by a single finger or two. Every new position excites me, and I dread how much I’m liking this.

  Finally, we get to my favorite shoe store, and Henry lets go so I can roam the stacks of shoes in search of my size. When I find a pair I like, I rush to a seat and unbox them quickly, worried that he’ll kneel in front of me and try to slip the shoe on for me. I think people would stare if he did that.

  Once both shoes are on my feet, over my still slightly damp socks, and tied, I stand and walk over to the mirror slanted near the ground and lift my heels one at a time.

  “How do they look?” I glance over my shoulder at Henry, who’s on his phone and holds up a finger.

  “One sec,” he says, typing out something with his thumbs then putting his phone away in his pocket. He leans forward with his elbows rested on his knees and squints at my feet, then nods.

  “They look just like your old shoes.” He leans back and folds his hands behind his neck as he smiles.

  “Is that good? Or bad?” I probably shouldn’t have asked.

  “It’s…shoes.” He shrugs, so I sigh and look back at the reflection of my feet, bouncing on my toes a few more times.

  “And they’re dry,” I add, deciding to be done shopping. “I’ll take them, and I’d like to wear them out,” I say to the clerk. He nods and puts my old, still-damp shoes in the box and walks up to the counter.

  Henry pulls his wallet out and slides a credit card free with his thumb. I notice his name on the bottom, and I start to cringe over the fact that he’s buying me shoes.

  “I’ll pay you back,” I whisper, leaning in close. I miss his hand.

  “Nah. Elena puts money in my account. She’s the one buying these and she’d hate it if you paid her back.” He smiles down at me then turns back to the counter to sign his name on the receipt.

  The clerk hands the bag with my old shoes and the new box to me, and I wrap the strings around my wrist, keeping the box between Henry and me like a barrier. I thought this through in the few seconds it took him to pay, and I figured if the logistics were too hard for him to hold my hand, he wouldn’t. Not that I don’t want him to, but I like thinking that he’s not because my hand simply isn’t free, not because he doesn’t want to.

  We retrace our steps back to the front of the mall, and Henry stops at the pretzel store to buy a lemonade on our way out. He offers me a sip, and I decline because in my now-twisted psyche, drinking after Henry would be equivalent to kissing him.

  I’ve gone mad.

  The flash of deep blue and a rich shade of pink forces my eyes to pay attention. I stop a few steps behind Henry to stare at the short but flowy dress paired with white Converse on the mannequin in the window. I’ve never been much for shopping, and even when I was younger and would come here with my mom to pick out Easter dresses or things for school events, I’d let her do the browsing. I was fine with whatever I wore. But this dress—I want to wear this dress.

  “Hey, sorry…didn’t see you stop,” Henry says, pausing to slurp through his straw. “That’s pretty,” he nods toward the dress.

  I smile at it and picture it on my body, lining my head up with the form in the window to see how I look in the reflection.

  “It is,” I agree.

  Henry makes a louder slurping noise, and I breathe out a short laugh, glancing at him. He nods back toward the window.

  “Let’s get it,” he says, walking past me and into the store. I shake with a mix of surprise and fear, forgetting my temporary rule about shoe barriers as I grab his arm.

  “No, no! It’s fine. I just wanted to look at it…Henry…” He laughs me off, wiggling out of my hold and moving his drink to the opposite hand.

  I trail him into the store, letting the distance between us grow while I think about bolting to the nearest restroom. Henry jets toward a college-aged guy wearing a short-sleeved white shirt and a purple bowtie with suspenders. His badge says JARED. I swallow while they talk, and my feet pool with the blood draining from all parts of my body. I shift my weight so I don’t pass out.

  Henry and Jared walk toward the window, and I move with them, only because I look suspicious hovering near the entrance.

  “I think we have two more in the back. Let’s see…” Jared turns to face me and puts his fingertips on both of my shoulders as he gazes me up and down. “Probably a medium.”

  I can feel the wrinkle deepen between my brow. That’s where my worry lines go. I’m worried. More accurately, I’m nervous. I’m stressed. Is it too late to sprint for the nearest bathroom?

  “You look like you’re going to vomit. Don’t throw up,” Henry says, his lips closing around his straw. He smiles while he drinks.

  “I’m just not comfortable with other people buying things for me…and I saw the price. How about I just try it on?” Even admitting that made my stomach tighten.

  Jared’s already found the medium, and he’s holding it draped over both arms as if he’s bestowing me with a queen’s cape. “This dress is going to look great on you!” he beams.

  My mouth falls wordlessly open.

  “It sure will,” Henry adds. I turn my head to face him quickly, my mouth still frozen. He grins and takes another drink, his cup now almost empty. He sucks the final droplets and breathes out, “Ahh.”

  “Ring us up,” Henry says, twirling his finger in the air.

  I start to shake my head and force the dress into Henry’s hands. Jared has already sprinted to a register.

  “Henry, no. I don’t really want it…”

  He stops abruptly, turning to face me, and I nearly plow into his chest. He lifts my chin with his fingertips, and our eyes lock. His pupils grow and the black deepens, bleeding into the deep lines that slash through the greenish-brown.

  “It’s okay to want things, Lily,” he says.

  I nod and start to answer with “I know, but…”

  His thumb presses against my bottom lip, and my mouth quivers. He has to notice.

  “And it’s okay that I want to buy you something.”

  I blink, numb as if his touch has stung me with poison. I think maybe it has.

  Henry runs his thumb along the width of my lip once and lets his hand fall away, grinning as he turns back to face Jared. I wait a few steps behind him, stupefied and madly in a crush that is going to kill me. I barely move when Henry hands me the bag with my new, beautiful dress, and I don’t actually speak when he tells me the blue color is kind of like my eyes. He also doesn’t try to hold my hand again—not through the mall or in the cab ride home.

  I’m disappointed, yet glad. I’ve let myself dwell on a fantasy today, which I have never done before. I’ve liked boys, and I’ve gossiped about that stuff at school with friends. I haven’t done much of that since my parents died, though, and I haven’t really clicked with anyone in our neighborhood since I’ve lived with Alice and Collin. Not like I have with Henry, at least.

  There’s a deep-red SUV waiting in the driveway when we get back to Henry’s house. I never see people visit, at least not during any of the times I’ve ever been here over the course of nearly a year. I open my mouth to ask Henry who it could be, but before I can he exits the cab, tossing money through the front window, and begins to jog over to the vehicle, turning to wave to me just before he opens one of the back doors.

  “I had fun today, Lily. Just text me what you think about the essay later, okay?” Music spills from the open door but cuts off the second he slams it shut, now inside and sitting next to a girl with straight, silky-blonde hair. I hold up my palm to wave as the woman driving smiles and turns her wheel, maneuvering the car around the circular driveway. She bunches her hand at me as if we know each other. We do not.

  Like a dumbfounded fool, I gawk through the back window, watching Henry lean into the girl just as he did with me. I close my hand into a fist, remembering his touch while I imagine he plays the same game with her. I picture her laughing and knowing how to hold his hand the first time.

  “Lily, did you want to play today?” Elena’s voice is practically a drowned-out echo behind me.

  “Actually…” I say, turning to meet her eyes. She’s holding the door open, welcoming me in. I don’t know where Henry’s gone to, or when he’ll be back, but I know I’d like to be gone before he comes home. “I’m finishing up my application for Satis today, so I really should be getting home.”

  “Oh,” she steps forward, one foot now on her front steps. “I didn’t know you were thinking of that one. How…wonderful.” Her smile is polite. She either senses my bullshit or knows my chances of getting in are terribly slim. The encouragement, even if it’s just to be nice, still feels good though.

  “Thank you for the shoes,” I say, a wave of nerves rattling through my core because I just remembered I’m holding two bags. I look like a moocher. I’m not sure if I should bring up the dress or not. I’m thankful for both. Sort of.

  Elena waves her hand, and I notice her eyes glance to both bags—two store labels.

  “Henry insisted I get a dress…I guess I don’t have many or whatever.” That could not have possibly come out more desperate.

  Elena’s eyes crinkle with her smile, her face shaded with a touch of pity.

  “Of course. I’m sure it’s lovely on you. Maybe we’ll have you over for dinner, so you can wear it one night.”

  I swallow hard, praying that invite never comes. It sounded like one of those things people just say, so I take it as that.

  “Thanks. And…thank Henry for me…whenever he gets home.” I turn to leave simply so I can scrunch my eyes and chastise myself for adding that little passive aggressive bit on the end. I should have just said thank you and left.

  “I’ll tell him in the morning. I’m sure he’ll be out late,” she says, sharing a fact I preferred not to know. Now I can obsess on that, imagining an entire night of Henry and blonde beauty holding hands, and kissing. Kissing! I bet with her there is kissing.

  Somehow, I’m strong enough to keep walking without adding more to this conversation, and I push through the gate, letting it slam to a close behind me. The iron fencing rattles all the way to the corner, the noise keeping me company as I walk quickly and rush my steps across the street. I get to the train station about twenty minutes before the next train is due to arrive heading back in my direction, and I almost convince myself to take one going the other way just to ride for a while. I know I’d only be compelled to look for him, though. To look for them.

  When my train pulls up finally, I slip into the last car, taking a corner seat near the back where homeless people normally sleep and tuck their rolled-up sleeping bags. There are only two men in here with me today, and they’re passed out drunk and unshowered. A few rows separate us, and normally I’d move. Then again, normally I wouldn’t be back here hiding with them in the first place. Instead, today, I sink into the seat and open the top of the dress bag against my chest so I can reach in and feel the delicate, light fabric. I squeeze it in my palm and tuck my chin to breathe in the linen scent. I did love this dress the moment I saw it. Now, though…I’m not so sure.

  CHAPTER 4

  I applied to Satis House almost as a dare to myself. It wasn’t even an option I allowed myself to plan for on paper, because the odds of being accepted were so slim. I had to fluff answers for most of the questions, and my essay vaguely steered close to the question. Collin helped me with it, though I wrote it after planning with him.

  The question was to talk about influences in our life—meaning people, I am sure. On Collin’s advice, I wrote about my parents’ deaths and the severe turn my life took. One accident with ripples felt all over the place. It wasn’t a very happy essay, but it was an honest one, and I suppose that—or the guilt that comes with denying a teenaged girl who recently lost her parents—is the reason I’m hauling a wagonful of the few things I own along the Thirty-First Avenue sidewalk toward the girls’ dormitory.

  The letter came exactly one week ago. I had one offer from a prep school in Wisconsin, and that school came with room and board expenses we wouldn’t have been able to pay even if the three of us had six jobs apiece. I was ready for my freshman year to play out at Jefferson Union along with four-thousand other faces in a sea of adolescents. I knew the envelope was special the moment my fingers felt the paper. It was thicker than a normal piece of mail—the paper ridged and expensive, my name typed on the front.

  More than just being accepted, though, somehow my financial aid application earned me enough to cover everything. Free private school education, far away from Alice and Collin—a young couple who didn’t really want kids. I was going whether I wanted to or not.

  And I wanted to. Even though my palms won’t stop sweating today, I want this. I want this more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

  Alice is with Elena today, so Collin switched for a night shift to help me move in. I’m glad it’s him. He’s less structured, like me, and I’m too nervous to have someone pointing out things I’m doing wrong today.

  “Maybe this is how you earn your scholarship—one stair at a time,” Collin says through a half-grunt, half-laugh. I join him, unable to see him around the box full of jeans, tees and sweaters clutched in my hands and resting on my face as I climb up the final flight of stairs.

  “I bet the view from the sixth floor is amazing,” I say.

  “Lily, if you’re stuck looking at a brick wall your stuff is not coming back down these stairs for at least nine months. And if there’s an option to leave everything here for good, like a donation after you graduate, by all means, please can we do that?” He huffs out a breath as he leans against the stairwell wall and kicks open the door, holding it with his ankle while I catch up.