Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

MARA

He got a ninety-one on the quiz.

I found out the way I found out most things involving Cole now — not from him directly but from the world around him, which had started to feel like a thing I was part of whether I'd agreed to it or not. Kamali posted grades Friday afternoon. Jess texted me the number before Cole did, which meant she was checking his grades, which was information I filed away for later use.

Cole texted twenty seconds after. Just the number. Then: told you.

I typed back: I told you.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Then: come celebrate with me tonight.

I looked at my phone for a moment. My shift had ended at four. My mother was home. The responsible answer was that I had college essays to finish and a calc problem set due Monday and celebrating a quiz score on a Friday night was not something I did.

I typed: where.

He picked me up at seven. He didn't tell me where we were going and I didn't ask, which was new for me, the not asking. We drove with the heat on and the radio low and his hand finding mine on the center console the way it had started doing, easy and without announcement.

"How are your essays going," he said.

"Slowly."

"Which schools?"

"Berkeley. Davis. A few others." I watched the streetlights pass. "NYU if I'm feeling brave."

"You should feel brave."

"It's expensive to feel brave."

He glanced at me. "You'd get in."

"Getting in isn't the whole problem."

He was quiet for a moment. Not the uncomfortable kind. Just thinking. "I know," he said finally, and left it there, which I appreciated more than if he'd tried to fix it.

We ended up at a place near the water, a taco spot with picnic tables outside and heat lamps that worked about halfway and a view of the bay that made up for the cold. It was loud and casual and nothing like I would have expected from him, which was exactly right.

We sat across from each other with paper trays between us and he stole one of my chips before I'd even unwrapped my order and I moved the tray pointedly out of reach and he moved it back.

"You did that on purpose," I said.

"I'm hungry."

"You have your own food."

"Yours looked better." He bit the chip and looked completely unrepentant. "Tell me something I don't know about you."

I looked at him. "That's a very open question."

"Pick something."

I thought about it. "I wanted to be a marine biologist until I was twelve. I had a whole plan. I was going to study bioluminescence specifically."

"What happened at twelve?"

"I realized marine biologists spent a lot of time on boats and I get seasick."

He laughed, a real one. "That's a terrible reason to give up a dream."

"It's a very practical reason."

"What do you want to be now?"

"I don't know yet." I said it simply, without the anxiety that usually came attached to it. "Something that uses the way my brain works. Something that matters."

He was looking at me in that way he had, steady and unhurried. "It will."

"You don't know that."

"No," he said. "But I know you. So."

I looked down at my food and felt warmth move through my chest that had nothing to do with the heat lamp.

"Your turn," I said. "Something I don't know."

He considered it. "I almost quit football sophomore year."

I looked up. "Really."

"My dad left at the end of freshman year. It just—" He turned his cup on the table. "Everything felt pointless for a while. Football was the thing he and I had, you know? I didn't want to do it for a while."

"What changed?"

"Coach sat me down and didn't say anything inspirational. He just said, is this yours or is it his? And I thought about it for like a week and decided it was mine." He shrugged, but not dismissively. "So I stayed."

I looked at him across the paper trays and the chip bag and thought about how many versions of people existed that the hallways of school never showed you.

"I'm glad you stayed," I said.

His eyes met mine. "Yeah?"

"You'd be terrible at bio without the discipline."

"That's why you're glad I stayed."

"Mostly."

He reached across the table and took a chip from my tray, slowly, deliberately, maintaining eye contact the entire time. I let him. He ate it. Neither of us looked away.

"Mara," he said.

"Cole."

"I really want to kiss you right now."

The heat lamp hummed beside us. Somewhere behind me a group of people laughed at something. The bay was dark and flat and the lights from the other side of it sat on the water like scattered coins.

"We're in public," I said.

"I'm aware."

"There are people."

"Also aware." He leaned forward slightly. "Is that a no?"

It was not a no. He could tell it was not a no. I could tell he could tell, which was the most irritating part.

I leaned forward too, closing the space between us over the paper trays, and kissed him. Brief, warm, tasting like salt from the chips. He smiled against my mouth and I pulled back before it became something the entire taco stand needed to witness.

"Happy about the quiz?" I said.

"Very happy about the quiz." His eyes were bright. "Best study arrangement I've ever had."

"You've never had any other study arrangement."

"Still counts." He stole another chip. "Same time Wednesday?"

I picked up my food and looked out at the water and felt something settle in me, quiet and certain, the way things feel when they stop being temporary in your mind.

"Same time Wednesday," I said.