Page 177 of We Can't Be Friends

“Braid.”

I part the hair into three chunks and weave them together. It takes me only two minutes. The entire braid is short, with a few flyaways.

“When did you learn to braid?”

“The day after you said you wanted to grow your hair out so you could braid it.”

“Seriously?” she sighs, but it sounds more like a moan.

“Told you, Dais. I’ve been yours for longer than you know.” Kneeling in front of her, I level our gazes. “Put on the skates and try. If you still don’t want to, then we’ll leave. The choice is yours.”

“If I skate. . . Do I get anything from you?”

“What do you want?”

She’s smirking, and even this version of her smile, the playful, devious one, is beautiful. It’s her captured into a single look.

“Hmmm. A date. I want to go on a real date with myrealboyfriend.”

“Deal,” I say quickly before she can change her mind—not that she’d need to ask me twice to take her out and show her off. I’d buy a billboard in Time Square to tell everyone she’s my girlfriend if I’d know she wouldn’t castrate me.

“Give me the skates.” Handing her the skates, I also pass her the leg warmers I found with them. “These were the last pair Aaron bought me.” She rubs the lilac material between her fingers and takes a deep breath, eyes slipping closed.

***

“Are you ready?”

She swallows, then tilts her head when she spots me struggling to lace the skates. “That’s not how you lace them,” Chloe retorts. “Here, let me.”

Scooting off the bench, she kneels in front of me.

I don’t think I’ll ever get over the sight of her like this, but I’d prefer it the other way any day.

Taking my left foot, she undoes my work, adjusting the skate, then relacing and tying a knot and another knot. She’s focused. Not really speaking, but that’s okay, I can sense her mind spinning. Twisting my ankle, I’m assuming she’s checking to make sure the skates aren’t too tight and that my foot won’t fly out. I watch more carefully during my right, wanting to be able to help her next time.

Chloe stands, helping me balance as I stand in front of her.

“Are you ready?” I ask again, hoping that my smile and demeanor are steadying. Reassuring. Showing the belief and admiration I have for her.

Chloe bites her lip taking in the open door to the ice. “I can’t do this.”

“You can.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. I believe in you.”

“Well, if you believe in me,” she says sarcastically.

“I do.” I step onto the ice first—I should probably tell her I have zero clue how to ice skate. Reaching a hand out to her, she hesitates.

“You shouldn’t believe in me.”

“Give me one good reason.”

“What is the point of me skating?”

“Because it’s not your fault.”

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