Page 33 of The Misfit

His observation is both terrifying and refreshing, and while I want to run for cover, I also want him to know how understood, accepted, and normal he’s made me feel.

Except I’m not normal. Never will be.

My car’s leather seats will need to be wiped down three times when I get home. The books in my bag will need to be realigned perfectly on my desk.

“I hate this,” I whisper, more to myself than him. “Hate needing help. Being scared. Of not being able to just exist like everyone else.”

“Whoa, it’s okay.” Lee’s voice is gentle in a way I’ve never heard. “Everyone else is overrated. Their normal is bullshit. Their existence is just as messy as yours. The only difference is they’re better at pretending.”

“Like you?” My response is out before I can stop it.

His laugh holds no mockery, only understanding. “Exactly. Like me. From the outside looking in, you would never know how many issues I have because I’ve mastered pretending to be something I’m not.”

I study him in the afternoon light, seeing past his cultivated bad-boy image. Past the rebellion and charm and perfect facade.

Bel is right; there is more to Lee than what most think.

“Tomorrow, then,” I say, finally unlocking my car. “Coffee. Talk. Discussion of… arrangements.”

“Tomorrow.” He straightens but doesn’t move closer. “I’ll be there. With sanitizer and sealed cups.”

The fact that he remembers these details shouldn’t make me feel better about this decision.

But it does.

“Thank you,” I say as I slide into my car. “For today. For understanding. For …” I gesture vaguely, encompassing everything I can’t put into words.

His gentle smile is real. “That’s what fake boyfriends are for, right?”

NINE

salem

I’m technicallyten minutes early, but I can’t help but feel I’m late. Maybe because I’ve been sitting in my car for a while watching Lee perform the most unexpected show of my life.

He arrived a few minutes after I did. I know because I counted every second until he got out of his Jeep. I expected him to head straight insideThe Daily Grind, order a coffee, and wait, but that’s not what he did. The backpack he brought in with him makes more sense now. How the heck would he have brought all the cleaning supplies in without getting a bunch of strange looks? And he wouldn’t need to bring books or anything.

I’ve been watching him systematically sanitize what I assume is meant to be my seat and all surrounding areas since. One, two, three wipes across the table’s surface. The chair gets the same treatment. Even the napkin holder hasn’t escaped his attention.

I clench my hands in their fresh gloves as he arranges sealed creamer cups in a perfect line. After a minute, he rearranges them, then does it a third time. The morning sun catches on his dark brown hair as he leans down to inspect his work, mumbling something to himself that makes him shake his head and start over.

He’s actually counting.

Like me.

Something warm and dangerous unfurls in my chest as he disappears from my sight inside the windows, returning with what looks like sealed water bottles and individually wrapped straws. He sets them down, steps back, surveys the arrangement, then adjusts one bottle slightly.

“What are you doing?” I whisper to my empty car, directed at him, but I already know.

He’s making it safe. Making it perfect.

Making it mine.

My phone buzzes, shattering the moment.

Noah:You’re still sitting in the parking lot, aren’t you?

Me:Shut up.

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