Page 22 of Best Year Ever

And no matter how convinced I am of my own exceptionality, I do actually feel better. I mean, except for the throbbing finger. That still hurts.

I fold up my latest exercise in talking myself out of an ER visit and walk out of the work room. Tessie stands with her elbows on the circulation desk, waiting for me.

“Sage,” she says, in a voice too loud for the quiet space. “You’ll never guess what.” She’s tapping her fingertips against each other, like she’s hatching a scheme.

I grin at her. I love how excited she is about everything. I used to be like that.

“You’re right. I’ll never guess. You better just tell me.”

“Theodore B. Halverson is coming to do a concert at Chamberlain. Remember when we saw him at Carnegie?”

Our grandmother took all the girls in the family to see his performance at Carnegie Hall when he was still on Broadway. She’s kind of a tastemaker, my grandma, and she wanted us all to know that Halverson was going to be the next big thing. We believed her when we saw his picture on the website, because he’s really very handsome. But then we sat in the concert hall and heard him sing. Even Tessie’s younger sister, who was only thirteen and says she hates any music that doesn’t have a strong bass line, was impressed. Mouth-open impressed.

“I heard about that,” I tell Tessie. “Should we get tickets for the family? I bet they’d be happy to make the trip.”

She shakes her head. “Just us. And dates. Come on. I’ll lend you my shimmery blue dress, the one that makes your eyes pop. You can find someone around here who would be willing to eat a meal and sit with you at a concert. Especially if you’re wearing the magic dress.” Her emphasis onsomeoneis evidence that she believes I’ll have to do some kind of barrel-scraping work to get a date.

I grin at her. “Your confidence in me is so flattering.”

She shakes her head. “You know what I mean. Someone will go with you. Not everyone thinks you’re still a student.”

Do I tell her?

She goes on. “Everyone on campus is probably off limits. Because that would be weird. These old men used to be your teachers and stuff. But Chamberlain doesn’t exist in a vacuum. There are men in town. That guy with the taco truck? He’s hot.” She’s doing that thing where she twirls her shiny hair around a finger. I can never do this thing. My aggressive curls get stuck.

Now it’s my turn to shake my head. “I don’t think so.”

“Snob.”

I laugh. “I’m not. I just have someone else in mind.”

Her hands still. She’s not moving. And I must have known she’d zero in on a statement like this, so I guess somewhere in my subconscious, I want to tell her. Her eyes are wide open, waiting.

I don’t speak fast enough. “Spill, Sage.”

“Okay. Yes. If we get tickets to the concert, I’d like to ask Grayson Mercer.” My voice is appropriately pitched, even if she’s still broadcasting this conversation too loudly.

Her mouth drops open now, and her face is a study in comic beauty. She’s not laughing, which is a good sign.

“No way.”

Okay, maybe not such a good sign.

“Why not?”

She shakes her head.

I’m not going to ask again.

Is she squinting at me? What’s she trying to see through?

“Wait. You’re serious?”

I glance around to see how many people are listening to us. A few. But none of them are going to care. I don’t even know these two girls who watch us from a couch by the windows.

“Serious implies way more than what’s going on here. I’m not kidding, though.”

“More than what’s going on? Wait. Whatisgoing on?” she asks, leaning farther across the counter. If this keeps up, she’ll slide so far over that she’ll be here on this side of the desk with me.

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