Page 46 of Wicked Serve

I straighten. “Oh.”

“I faked it.” She shoves her hands underneath her armpits, rocking back and forth. “Which I know is so embarrassing, okay? I don’t think he noticed, but I didn’t want to run into him again if I could avoid it.”

“That’s not embarrassing.”

She snorts, passing me on her way back to the sidewalk. “Sure.”

“Really,” I say, hurrying to catch up. “Sounds like a him problem. You come when you’re with me.”

She crosses the street, heading for the park—and the festival—on the other side. I barely glance at the road before jogging across as well. I reach for her wrist, holding her in place gently. She looks over her shoulder with a surprisingly vulnerable expression.

“Did I say something wrong?” I rub my thumb over her wrist. “You come when you’re with me, right?”

“Yes.” We’re under a streetlamp, and the light is bright enough that I can see the blush on her cheeks. “Yes, God, of course. But before, I never... not with him, or anyone else.”

“Never?”

“Let’s play a game,” she says, a determined edge to her voice. “A question for a question.”

“Isabelle.”

“I ask you a question, and if you answer, you get to ask me one back.”

She’s looking up at me with so much fire in her eyes that I have no choice but to back down. “What kinds of questions?”

“What’s your favorite animal?”

“That’s not...” I trail off. “That’s not a real question.”

“Sure it is.” She takes my hand, leading me down the sidewalk. The park entrance is to the left; this close, I hear the live music. Something country, rising over the noise of the festival-goers. “Everyone has a favorite animal, and it’s weird that I don’t know yours yet.”

“What’s yours?”

“I’ll tell you when you tell me yours.”

I pay the entrance fee for both of us, waving away the offer of change. “Um... dogs? I’ve always wanted a dog.”

“Didn’t have one when you were a kid?”

I think of Dad and suppress the urge to make a face. “I thought it was my turn to ask a question.”

“True. Have to respect the game. Ooh, they have apple cider.”

We get paper cups of hot cider and meander through the crowd, stopping at a couple of booths. Kids with face paint and cotton candy run around us, and up ahead, a group of people dance to the band. Most of the people here must be from Moorbridge, not the university, because I see lots of young parents and old couples. She takes my hand again, a comfortable anchor, as we peer at a jewelry stand.

“What about you?” I finally ask. “Favorite animal?”

“I love koalas. I won’t consider my life complete until I hold one.”

“That’s not what I was expecting.”

“They’re so cute, Nik! Their noses!”

“Don’t most of them have chlamydia?”

“What? No way.”

“I’ve definitely read that somewhere.”

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