Page 41 of Seven Percent of Ro Devereux
“What’s with the mood, Ro?”
“There’s no mood,” I mutter, though I can feel myself going sour. Like the strength to keep this up is leaching out of me, dissipating into the cold air. I want to go home, fully and all at once. Iwant Vera to be there, waiting for me. I want to be with someone who loves me without having to pretend.
“Whatever you say,” Felix mutters, flipping through his photos. With the lens turned away, Miller takes a step back so we’re not touching. “I’ve got what I need, so I’m going to get my geriatric ass away from this teenage mess.” He glances at Autumn and Maren. “Thoughyou twohave been a delight.”
They trade smiles, and then Felix points at Miller and me. “Have fun. I’ll see you soon.”
Our flight to New York City leaves in eight days. We have two talk show appearances booked, three in-person magazine interviews, and hotel room reservations for three nights near Times Square. Usually I feel excited about it, but right now I just feel tired.
“I gotta ask,” Autumn says, breaking the silence. It’s just the four of us on the dock, cold wind brushing the snow across the wood boards. Miller and I are a foot apart, and I’m hugging myself to keep warm. “Is this real?”
I look at her. “Is what real?”
She shrugs, almost apologetically, and gestures between Miller and me. “I mean, I follow you on Instagram. I’ve seen all the pictures and I’ve watched your interviews and Maren’s told me you guys are legit and everything, but...”
My first thought is that I’m surprised, after seeing the closeness between them, that Maren kept our secret from Autumn. Then I feel guilty for being surprised. Why should I be? Maren’s my best friend.
“But what?” Miller asks, his expression hard to read.
“But I don’t know if I buy it,” Autumn says. Maren looks at me, concerned, but Autumn’s not done. “There’s something weird between you guys, for sure. But it doesn’t look like love.”
We’re found out, I think.It’s over.I start babbling right away. “Well, it’s just—”
“What would love look like?” Miller asks. He’s calm as ever, like this conversation isn’t about to blow our whole cover and everything we’ve been working at for months.
“I dunno,” she says. “Like kissing, I think. You guys haven’t kissed once.”
I look at her, something sliding sharp as a pocketknife into my chest.
“Autumn.” Maren forces a laugh. “Come on.”
And then—Miller’s hands on my cheeks. They’re warm in the new-winter cold of the lakefront, and I’m still looking at Autumn when Miller uses them to turn my face toward his in the dark. His eyes skate across mine, quick but connecting, before he dips his chin. He kisses me, and it’s careful. Like the soft press of his mouth might hurt me, or him.
When he pulls away he doesn’t look at me again, just turns back to Autumn. “Can we go inside now?” His voice is even and unaffected—like that was casual, which I guess it should’ve been. “It’s freezing out here.”
Maren’s mouth is hanging open just a little. Autumn laughs into the night, and we’re all walking back toward the building when my phone rings in my bag. I fumble for it, still half-disoriented,and see the three letters there on the screen:Dad.
I stop walking, all the blood dropping through my body to my feet. I know—even before I pick up, even before I hear his voice. Just ahead of me, music pours through the open doors to the Snowberry Room. But the world has gone suddenly, absolutely silent.
“Dad?”
Maren hears me and turns around, reaching out to stop Autumn. Miller is behind me, maybe, or maybe he’s nowhere, or maybe he’s gone. I look down at my shoes, and I have the stupid thought that I’ll never wear them again without thinking of this moment.
“Ro,” Dad says. It’s loud where he is. “Are you still at the lake?”
“Yeah. Where are you?”
“I’m—” He hesitates, but I already know. “I’m at the hospital. I know you’re at your dance. I know. I—Ro, can somebody drive you here?”
I blink at my shoes. Patent leather, catching the fairy lights from inside.
“Is she—” I can’t get the word out; it traps in my throat like it doesn’t want to be in the world with me. I don’t want it to, either.Dead.
But he knows what I mean. He says, “It’s time, honey.”
“Okay,” I tell him, though it isn’t. “Okay. I’m coming.”
When I put the phone back in my bag, Maren steps toward me. “Ro,” she says, and her voice sounds very far away, like she’s calling to me from the bottom of a well. “Is it Vera?”
