Page 42 of Tilly in Technicolor
“Why are you smiling?” I ask. Wait. Christ. Is that… Oh no. “Why are youcrying?” My hands make a weird fluttering motion like two flailing birds in her general direction.
Tilly snorts out a laugh then covers her mouth and nose with her hand. She literally flickers through the entire human spectrum of emotions in a second flat. I can’t keep up with this girl.
“I, um, I guess I’m feeling really overwhelmed with some really big feelings and…” She blows out a breath, lifting the hair swooping across her forehead. “And, right now, I’m just really glad to know you.”
A few very terrifying things happen to my body when she says this: my heart skips a beat, squeezes painfully, then pounds double-time in my chest. All the while, a weird surge of electricity shoots across my nervous system all the way to the tips of my toes and fingers, making them prickle. To top it off, my breath gets caught right at the top of my throat, and I’m fairly certain I’m about to die.
I jolt up to standing, doing what I can not to, er, you know, die. I manage to suck in a breath. Then another. And I think my heart is going to be okay, but I’m also going to call my mums tonight to ask if I should seek out a cardiologist to be on the safe side.
I glance down at Tilly, and she’s still doing that horrifyingly interesting soft crying/smiling thing while she looks up at me. That’s when I realize I’m smiling back.
She pushes herself to standing, too. It’s quiet for a moment, and then I clear my throat.
“Would you like to look around Rome a bit more? We could try to find some spots that are more—”
“Neurodiverse friendly?” she says, arching an eyebrow.
“Yes. That.”
Tilly nods. “I’m down. Plus, I want to make sure we give Mona and Amina enough time to… well, do whatever it is they need to do so they can stop pining after each other already and start dating. The yearning is actually killing me.”
“I still don’t understand how you picked up on any of that,” I say with a skeptical look. “They seem like perfectly platonic business partners to me.”
“Expert on sapphic love, are you?” she asks, giving me a lascivious wink. I feel my cheeks burn.
“Fair point,” I mumble, dragging my palm across the back of my neck and staring at the ground. When I glance back at Tilly, she’s giving me a smile broader than the horizon.
I turn, ready to find us another sensory-safe spot in Rome, when Tilly clears her throat.
“Ollie?” she says, voice soft.
I spin back around.
She clears her throat again. “I… like… Itotallyunderstand if this is a no, and no pressureat allbut would it be okay if I maybe… umm… hugged you?”
My head tilts to the side as I look at her, and a brilliantly warm feeling fills my chest. If the feeling had a color it would be Pantone 176. A pale pink. Bright. Soft. Safe.
Suddenly, a hug from Tilly sounds like the most wonderful thing in the world.
“Actually, never mind,” Tilly says, eyes going wide and cheeks flushing at my silence. “Please forget I asked. Seriously. That was weird. I didn’t mean to be weird. I’m just feeling the teeniest tiniest bit ripped open and raw from this afternoon and I think I—”
I’m not sure what comes over me, but, next thing I know, I’m grabbing Tilly’s hand and pulling her against me.
She’s frozen for a moment—we both are, quite frankly—but then she just…melts.She presses closer, wrapping her arms around my waist while mine fall across her shoulders, palms resting on her back. She squeezes me tight, nuzzling her head against my chest. I wonder if she can feel the way my heart is violently rioting against my sternum.
That’s it, I’m definitely finding a cardiologist.
Chapter 21Death by a Thousand Passive-Aggressive Texts
TILLY
The next week is a whirlwind of planes, trains, and automobiles as we wind our way across Europe. Ruhe hasn’t struck a deal since Rome, and the initial high has worn off, Amina, Mona, and Ollie alternating moods of superb pessimism with disgusting cheeriness.
For my part, I’m having an absolute blast. Mona and Amina tasked me with writing fun and poppy taglines and descriptions for colors, and I’ve been slowly pushing the boundaries of weird and outlandish in the descriptions, adding things like “the perfect color to wear to the funeral of your no-good third husband who tragically passed in a sudden and mysterious way. Better Off Red tells the world you’re feeling oh-so-forlorn at inheriting his millions.”
Mona is always hesitant, but some aggressive puppy eyes from me and Amina have caused her to cave more often than I could have hoped for.
I still don’t go to any of the Ruhe meetings—I like to spend those hours alone, wandering and writing. So much writing.
