Page 31 of Seven Percent of Ro Devereux
“Body language,” he says, after we’ve watched ten clips of rom-com couples with, as Felix describes it,undeniable chemistry. “It speaks volumes. And yesterday, your body language said, ‘I have a clinical allergy to this person.’”
Felix raises the lights in the room and turns to Miller. “When you walk through a door, or sit next to Ro on a couch, or doanythingin her vicinity, you need to be aware of her body.”
Miller doesn’t move, but the pale shells of his ears go pink.
“When you move through a tight space together—a doorframe, or a crowded hallway, or an aisle at the freaking grocery store—you touch her back, or her elbow. Youattuneto her.” Felixpoints at me. “Ro is stunning. You are capital-B blessed to be matched with her. Act like it.”
I swallow, staring at Felix because I absolutely cannot look at Miller.
“And you,” he says to me, “need to meet Miller in the same ways. Reach back for his hand when you get separated in a crowd. Scoot closer to him on the couch. Lean into him like he’s your partner and you draw strength from him, because he is and you should.” He looks to Miller, then back at me. “You two are ninety-three percent compatible, all right? That’s as sure a bet as anyone ever gets, and you’re squandering it by letting this pettiness suck up all your air. It’s time to get the act together.” Silence falls between us, and Felix turns to raise his perfect eyebrows at me. “Capisce?”
“Capisce,” I say, but my voice is hoarse and unconvincing.
“Similarly,” Felix says, replaying a muted clip of a couple at a dinner party. “You need to work on your eye contact. By which Ido notmean glaring at each other, because you’ve managed to nail that one with no help from me. Look how these two find each other in the crowd.” On-screen, our hero and heroine connect eyes over a platter of canapés. “They’re talking to other people, but they’re always aware of their partner. They check in, because no matter who else is in the room, there’s one person they care about most. They’re attuned.”
He looks at us, and I take a sip of my water. When Miller agreed to do this with me, I understood, somewhere, that we would need to behave like two people in love. But the actual mechanics of it, the elbow-touching and the eye contact and theattuning, feelhuge enough to knock me out. With anyone else. With any given stranger. But how can I, possibly, with Miller?
“When one of you speaks,” Felix says, “the other looks to them. When Ruby Chakrabarti asks Miller a question on live TV, Ro looks at him like what he’s saying is a freaking siren song. If you’re in public together and thirty seconds have gone by without one of you looking at the other, correct it.” I glance at Miller, but clearly this diatribe has not inspired him to look at me, because he’s studying his fingernails. “People in love love to look at each other. That’s facts. Apply it.”
I nod at Felix, and he says, “Good. We’re going to practice right now.”
For the first time in an hour, Miller speaks. “What?”
“We need to take a photo to post on social ASAP,” Felix says. “Get some damage control going.” He stands, readjusting his kaftan. “So we’re going to go to the park down the street and stage an adorable little park date moment, and you’re going to apply everything we just talked about.”
Miller swallows, glancing at me. His cheeks are pink. “Okay,” he says, and I wonder what happened to that confident person from the elevator. “Great.”
“Great,” I echo, though this is decidedly not great.
Felix claps his hands. “Great.”
When we step out onto the sidewalk, Miller holds the door for me.
“Nice,” Felix says. “Good start, Miller.”
He startles, and I know it’s because it wasn’t intentional. Millerhas good manners like a reflex; they have nothing to do with me.
“Ro,” Felix says, “take Miller’s hand.”
I do, and after everything that’s happened in the last few days, it feels like I’m betraying myself. I hold Miller’s fingers as loosely as possible, and he surprises me by tightening his grip. He looks down at me, and I look back at him, and in the second before I remember he’s doing it because he’s supposed to, I think,What?
“Look at that,” Felix says, holding his fingers up and faking a camera. “The picture of young love.” A chilly breeze blows his kaftan around his knees. “Very nice.”
We walk to the park in silence, listening to Felix prattle on.Hugs should linger, he says. And,Deepen your eye contact whenever possible. Also,Make each other laugh, even if you’re faking it. I feel like I should be taking notes, but part of me doesn’t want to remember any of this.
The park at the end of the block is small and shaded, a hilly affair with scattered benches and a colorful playground mulched in at the far corner.
“Perfect,” Felix says, directing us toward an unoccupied bench. It’s green-painted metal dotted with bird shit, and the slats are cold through my jeans when I sit down. “Let’s grab some photos here.”
Miller sits next to me, goose bumps blooming over his forearms. The wind rustles his hair, and he pushes it back.
“Should’ve brought a jacket,” I tell him, and he just says, “Yeah.”
“People,” Felix says. He’s holding his phone and staring atus, unimpressed. “Am I going to have to direct this moment by moment, or can you two at leasttryto apply what we talked about inside?”
I scoot closer to Miller, until the seam between our bodies collapses.He’s warm, my brain tells me. It feels nice before I can remind myself to dislike it. Miller puts one long arm around me.Also warm.My shoulder notches into his armpit. I look at Felix, but he just waves his hand, like,Keep going.
This already feels like way more than enough, but I steel myself and then cross my legs, angle my body into Miller’s, and look up at him. He’s already looking down at me. His chin has disappeared into my curls.
