Page 40 of Seven Percent of Ro Devereux
Miller’s eyebrows draw together. “What?”
“You wore it to your presentation,” Maren says. “That day we saw you, back in August.”
“Oh.” Miller glances as me. “Yeah, it’s the only suit I own. I had to get it for my aunt’s second wedding last year and it was so expensive my mom kind of put her foot down on buying any other formalwear.” He shrugs, looking down at the tuxedo. “Forever, I guess.”
“So you’ll always be the best dressed person in the room,”Autumn tells him, smiling. “I see no issues here.” She reaches for Maren’s hand, tugs her back toward the front door. “Come on, I can’t wait to dance with you.”
Their sun-bright affection tightens something in my throat. Miller steps around me to follow them.
“I drove here in a coupe,” Autumn says, glancing at us. “So we can drive separate, or...?”
“I can drive us,” Miller says, pulling keys from his pocket. He slides the corsage toward me on the table as he passes by, leaving me to put it on myself. “Plenty of room.”
I snap the band around my wrist, take one last look down at the flowers, and follow them all outside.
23
Autumn chatters from the backseat the entire drive to the lake. It’s clear why Maren likes her: she’s hilarious, and she tells great stories, and the familiar way she touches my shoulder as she talks makes her feel like my oldest friend. When she describes trying to impress Maren on their first date by ordering something called “Rocky Mountain oysters,” Miller laughs so hard he’s unrecognizable.
He’s just pulled into a parking spot, and when he turns back to look at Autumn his smile is huge and unguarded. He says something to her but I can’t even hear it—I realize I haven’t seen him look this way once since we started all this. That his joy is foreign to me, and that it’s my own fault. His eyes crinkled in laughter, the color in his cheeks, the smile he doesn’t zip away—they aren’t mine. I look away from him, popping open the passenger door. Miller’s a different person like this. And even as he follows me onto the asphalt, as he takes my hand, as he passes Mr. Gupta ourtickets, he’s never felt further from me.
The Snowberry Room is decked out like a dream. There are fairy lights floating from the cavernous, wood-beamed ceiling, white linens on all the cocktail tables, and frost at the corners of the huge windows over the lake. The moon’s up, hanging low and yellow on the water. Before we’ve even had a minute to look around, Autumn’s ditching her coat at a table and pulling Maren out to the dance floor. Maren’s film camera bounces around her neck.
“She’s funny,” Miller says, watching them go. When I look up at him, he’s still smiling.
“Yeah,” I say. “I can tell you think so.”
He looks down at me, a little V forming between his eyebrows. “Ro, are you—”
“No,” I cut him off. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Because right in front of us, slicing through the sea of high schoolers in a pinstripe suit, is Felix.
“What are you doing here?” Miller asks, as Felix sidesteps a junior in a full skirt.
“Great to see you, too.” Felix adjusts his tie. “Our photographer canceled and I can’t trust you two to get decent photos.” He gives us each a once-over, eyes landing on Miller’s boutonniere.
“Miller.” His mouth drops open as he leans in. “Tell me you’re not wearing weeds on your chest.”
“They’re herbs,” Miller says, and Felix looks up at him.
“Why?” Then he looks at me. “Why couldn’t you just have let me style you?”
Miller’s eyebrows go up. “You’re telling me Ididn’thave to wear this tux?”
“Of course not,” Felix says, swatting at him. “You look like a lost groomsman.”
“Do you need pictures or something?” I interrupt, and they both turn to me. “Let’s get it over with.”
“Snippy,” Felix says, but lifts his camera. “Let’s go outside. There’s some romantic string lighting on the dock that I feel very strongly about.”
Miller and I trudge back into the cold, reaching for each other’s hands like always. It’s robotic now; I don’t even think about it anymore. There are shouts from behind us, and when I turn, Maren and Autumn are following us from the restaurant.
“What’s happening?” Maren calls. “Are you guys leaving?”
“Photo shoot,” Felix says. “Want to come with?”
“Decidedly yes,” Autumn says, and just like that we’re all on the dock taking pictures in the thirty-degree chill. Autumn and Maren are giggly, hopping from foot to foot and rubbing each other’s arms to keep warm. When I fold into Miller to take a photo against the frigid railing, Felix points back at them and says, “Can you adopt some of that energy, please?”
“Maybe you should be photographing them instead,” I tell him, and he lowers the camera to look at me.
