Page 32 of The Pocket Pair

I glance at Winnie as she dries and stacks my dishes. “Was she mad?”

“Why would she be mad?” Lindy tilts her head, looking puzzled. “Wait—what are you talking about?”

I lower my voice. “Chevy offered me his guest room. To stay in.”

“Ohhhhhh.” Lindy’s eyes go wide, then flick to Winnie.

“Is she gonna freak out?”

Lindy chews her lip. “Honestly? I have no idea.”

I have a sneaking suspicion Winnie won’t approve of me living with Chevy. I mean, she could have suggested his guest room as an option. We’ve had a few text conversations about my plans since then. It didn’t come up. I have to think that there’s a reason for that. And I’m pretty sure I know what it is.

The first and only rule about crushes on your best friend’s brother is you don’t talk about crushes on your best friend’s brother. I mean, everyone knows. I’m better at hiding it now, but when I was younger, I think I probably followed him around with a steady stream of cartoon hearts floating above my head like a cloud. The few times we have talked about my feelings, it was usually Winnie warning me away.

The reason kept changing, though. When we were younger, it was that dating her brother would be “horrifying and disgusting” (her words) for her. Then, he was too old for me. I can’t remember when Winnie last said anything about it, but she brought up his inability to commit and his “propensity toward dating vapid skanks” (also her words).

I’d like to think if something really DID ever transpire between Chevy and me, which until this week has seemed completely out of the realm of possibility, Winnie would approve. I mean, she loves her brother. She loves me. It stands to reason if we were mature adults and decided to give it a real go—again, unlikely to the nth degree—Winnie would approve.

Wouldn’t she?

The fact that I’m scared to even tell her I’m going to crash in Chevy’s guest bedroom does not bode well.

“I’m sure it will be fine. Just tell her,” Lindy says, sounding a little more sure this time. “Do one brave thing a day. That’s my new motto. This can be your brave thing.”

I don’t point out that Lindy, so far as I know, still hasn’t done her own one brave thing and taken one of the pregnancy tests Winnie all but forced her to buy.

“I also have to quit tonight. That’s already one brave thing.”

“You hate your job. Quitting should be fun.”

“Mr. Silver is almost as terrifying as Winnie,” I point out. My boss has a permanent scowl affixed to his face and tosses out sharp words with the deadly force of ninja stars.

“Well, I guess you can always double up on brave today and let yourself off the hook tomorrow,” Lindy says.

But tomorrow’s brave thing will be moving into Chevy’s house. As excited as I am, it’s also slightly terrifying. How can I live with my crush without my true feelings leaking out everywhere?

When Winnie claps her hands I jump. “Out of bed, you. These boxes aren’t going to pack themselves.”

Lindy pats my leg before hopping out of bed and dragging me by the hand. “One brave thing,” she whispers.

Maybe I should start small, like just thinking about one brave thing for the day. I can save all the brave things for tomorrow.

Because you know what they say about tomorrows? They never come.

* * *

A few hours later, my entire tiny apartment is packed up into more boxes than it seems like it should take for my few belongings. I’ve got a bunch of bags ready to donate, and all four of us have different kinds of mustaches drawn on our faces in permanent marker.

It feels so very final.

The mustaches keep it from feeling too depressing though. Because you can’t take anyone seriously when they have a drawn-on handlebar mustache.

Despite Lindy’s frequent pokes to my ribs and the way she keeps gesturing to Winnie and mouthing, Tell her, I’ve so far avoided any brave thing. Unless you count killing a spider I found behind a stack of books. Which totally counts. It had hairy legs.

“I’m sorry I stole Winnie’s guest room,” Kyoko says, tucking her short dark hair behind her ears. “I can totally sleep on the couch or we could share a bed? I don’t snore, but I might accidentally spoon you.”

“She found a place,” Lindy says, throwing me under a speeding double-decker bus.

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