Page 87 of Feel Free to Scream

The question confuses him. “Whenever we want to go.”

I guess the party starts when he gets there. “I mean, when should I be ready?”

“After dinner? Claudio doesn’t work weekends, so we could eat out if you’d like. See if Markus and Dez want to do dinner and the movies after all.”

“That’d be nice.”

“Any movie you’d like to watch?”

I give him the complete list of all the movies I haven’t watched so far this year, not sure some are still showing. I’ve been squirrelling away all the money I could spare in view of coming here, after all.

“Markus will stab you if we force him to suffer through the newSnow White. The ratings are awful.”

“But wouldn’t it be fun to watch how awful it is and laugh?”

He considers this. “Maybe at home, with alcohol. Away from Markus.”

I see the wisdom in this. “Captain America, then?”

“Wise. Book four seats. My card,” he reminds me. “And text me the time. I’ll reserve the restaurant before. Back in an hour.”

It occurs to me that I don’t normally see him leave.

His med school schedule is more packed than my freshman one, but I’ve begun spending most mornings in Dez’s kitchen, taking notes. If he’s not there when I head back home just to drop off goodies and pick up my bags, I don’t have time to notice it.

I don’t like it.

First, I check the theater, finding a showing at eight and another at eleven.

Me: 8pm or 11pm?

Keller: eight. Be ready at a quarter to six to head out to dinner.

It’s pretty soon, so I occupy myself by showering, applying makeup—I’m no Lily in that department, so I keep it light. Thinking of her, I text Keller.

Me: Can Lily come with us tonight, if she’s free? I haven’t properly seen her in forever.

Keller: To dinner and the movies, sure? To the Wyvern House? Only if you don’t mind ditching her ass downstairs. She can’t come up.

I grimace. It would be kind of weird to invite her to part of the evening and not the rest, wouldn’t it?

Me: Never mind then, another time.

Keller: She’ll join us, eventually. Whenever she and Cross stop that weird thing they have going on.

Me: I think the kids call it flirting these days. Not that you’d know. You’re more about stalking and blackmail.

Keller: *coercion. I never blackmailed you. Get your felonies right.

The simple fact he’s happy to say things like that to me via text, inwriting, brings a smile to my face.

He trusts me. Everything he does proves as much—the credit card, even the fact I’m alone in his house, but the open discussion of punishable offenses takes the cake.

Next, I go to my closet, and sigh.

One thing should have dawned to me earlier: I don’t have anything to wear. Not to dinner withKeller, who looks positively edible. I mean, I knew that. I don’t particularly like most of my formal wardrobe. My entire collection of clothing is knee-length dresses and skirts, and formal tops. My favorite piece of clothing is the skirt I sort of stole from my ex-roommate.

I know what Keller would say: Ineednew clothes and should immediately purchase a ton of them. But it doesn’t sort things out for tonight. We’re leaving in forty-five minutes and I don’t have anything to wear.

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