Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113047 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 565(@200wpm)___ 452(@250wpm)___ 377(@300wpm)
“I’m gonna get ginger ale,” she says and walks over to the snack table, but I think I see the ghost of a smile.
The kids paint nails peacefully for a while, trading friendly barbs and compliments like always as their music pumps in the background.
“Holy…,” Rafe mutters, and his eyes are on his nails. Mischa has actually made them look like pictures I’ve seen of outer space. Black with swirls and clouds of white, stars that blaze yellow and blue, and smatterings of dusty particles. “That’s amazing,” he says to Mischa.
“Dude,” Mikal says, “there are, like, a thousand tutorials on YouTube. Get a meme.”
I smile at Rafe. I should’ve known that it wouldn’t matter if it was actual astronomy or nail polish technique. Rafe is captivated by anything that takes skill. I’m so distracted by how handsome he looks that I don’t notice my own nails until Mikal says, “All done!”
He’s changed the color somehow. My fingernails look like broken glass, with white shattered over the gray.
“What the…?”
“You like?” Mikal asks.
“Dude, that’s… kind of awesome. Looks like a broken windshield.”
“Good call on the crackle topcoat!” Mikal calls to Dorothy.
She salutes him, then says, “An announcement, then cake.”
“Ooh, there’s cake?” Mikal asks, and she just shoots him an offended look that says You would dare to doubt me?
Dorothy nods to DeShawn and everyone falls into a circle, their attention on him.
“I wanted you all to be the first to know,” DeShawn says, but his gaze is split between Rafe and Anders. “I got into MIT. I just found out.”
Rafe lets out a whoop and is across the gazebo in an instant. He grabs DeShawn and squeezes him in a hug so tight DeShawn’s feet come off the floor.
“Dude, dude, you’re gonna get your galaxies all over his shirt!” Carlos yells.
Rafe unhands DeShawn, but he’s grinning wide.
“I’m so proud of you,” he says to DeShawn. “So damn proud.”
DeShawn is nodding and looking at the ground, seemingly overcome. Anders is standing against the wall. He doesn’t look surprised, but he’s watching DeShawn intently and he has his arms wrapped around himself.
All the kids are whooping and patting DeShawn on the back, carefully keeping their freshly painted nails away from his white clothing, and Rafe looks like he’s close to tears. His eyes are wide and unfocused, and his hands are shaking at his sides, galaxies vibrating.
Finally, in all the jumping and yelling, Rafe’s eyes find mine and everything in him pulls at me.
I don’t care that we’re in public, don’t care we’re in front of twenty teenagers and that god knows what bubble-gummy dance music is blaring in the background. Rafe needs me, so I take a step toward him and keep my eyes on his.
“Colin,” he says, his voice shaky. I nod at him and he grabs my shoulder. DeShawn had a lot of trouble over the last few months. A bunch of family issues arose, and his uncle was concerned about his mental health and turned to Rafe for some support. Since DeShawn is eighteen, Rafe felt okay being involved, and they’d ended up talking a lot about DeShawn’s future, and what he hoped for if he got into MIT. Rafe’s pride in DeShawn is radiating from him. He’s practically glowing.
He pulls me to him and buries his face in my neck. My arms come around him automatically and I hold him tight. Then he tilts my chin up gently and kisses me. Just a light brush of our lips, but his thumb strokes my cheekbone and he’s looking into my eyes like he doesn’t see anything else at all.
And suddenly it goes dead quiet except for the pulsing backbeat from the stereo.
“Um….”
“Uh….”
“So….”
The kids who already knew about Rafe and me are grinning. The others are staring at us and looking around at each other.
“Oh. My. God. I totally called it!”
“Dude, me too—I knew it!”
“Um, yeah, we all knew it.”
“But—”
“And—”
Then it’s just more clapping and squealing and the kids are bouncing around us. Someone has thrown their arms around us in an excited hug. Someone has turned the music up and the kids are dancing. Someone has thrown glitter up in the air and it’s falling down on us like rain.
Through the backbeat and the nail polish and the goddamned glitter, Rafe puts his hands on my shoulders and my eyes find his. He holds me there, at arm’s length, like we’re kids at a middle school dance. But his smile is as warm as I’ve ever seen it. His dark hair falls around his face and his skin glows against the collar of his white T-shirt and he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world.
“Hey,” I say, “Rafe. Move in with me.”
Rafe freezes for a moment, then relaxes. “I basically already live there,” he says over the music, his eyes dancing. I roll mine and look at him expectantly. He pulls me into a hug and I press my nose into his neck, breathing him in.
“So? What do you say?”
His laugh is pure joy. “Do we have nail polish remover at home?”