"Why does everything seem bigger when we're sad?"
"Because we feel smaller."
"I hate feeling small."
"You're not small to me, Jellybean."
"..."
"Say okay."
"Okay, Fox. Okay."
ｃｈｒｉｓ
There's a rhythm in the bass. It thrums through my shoes, moves up my calves, and settles in my chest, where it beats along with my heart.
Bodies move like shadowy wraiths caught in layers of heat, perfume, and the low flashing lights from the ceiling. There's a faint metallic tang of spilled drinks on my tongue, but I've only been sipping lemonade. I like lemonade.
Cam and Whitney are a frenzied tangle of limbs on the dance floor, moving as if they're two creatures made of silk threads snipped loose. They're laughing, spinning—Cam's curls wild, tumbling over her shoulders, and Whitney's hair like a spill of starlight.
Jed's with me on the sidelines, leaning against the cool metal of the wall. His eyes follow Cam and Whitney with a strange look, as if he's seeing past them.
Cam's laughter rings out over the music, high and wild. She breaks free from Whitney and stumbles toward us in a neon orange sweatpants-hoodie combo. She grabs Jed by the face. "Dance, my beautiful spirit guide! Dance!"
And with a flourish, she drags him toward the lights.
A small smile tugs at my lips. For Cam, for this brief moment of forgetting, one she deserves after each heartbreak she's had to swallow. We're strong at heart, but we're just paper dolls twirling in a hurricane.
Then I glance over, by instinct I'm sure, and my gaze finds him.
Fox is sitting alone at the bar, head bowed, twirling the straw of another club soda. He's in pressed slacks, shiny shoes, and a fancy white shirt with a loose hanging tie. He never said why he was in a suit, but when Cam said he had a date, my heart skipped. His fancy outfits are usually about med school—I hope that's still the case.
Fox's eyes have held a steady watch over all of us. He's always like this, I realize, a guardian holding the world steady for everyone but himself—like Atlas with the weight on his shoulders.
Whitney spins across the floor, a blur of light, wild and free. She's stealing the show tonight, her head thrown back in defiance of gravity. Untouchable, lost to the rest of us, belonging only to herself and whatever she's dancing for.
The songs meld into one another until they slow and I'm all out of lemonade. The beat shifts into something gentler. Jed, Whitney, and Cam form a slow-moving huddle, rocking gently together. Jed looks almost happy, a little grin on his lips.
And then I feel him before I see him. A warm presence at my side, close enough that I catch the faint, familiar scent of his soap, clean and spiced and grounding in all the haze.
"Hey," Fox murmurs. I look up, into those eyes—green and gold, impossibly gentle. He's holding out a hand, open and steady, and he asks, "Would you dance with me?"
Cam shouts, "Fuck yeah, Chris! Dance with Freckles! He's the best dance partner ever!"
"Excuse me?" Whitney yells.
YOU ARE READING
Beside
Romance''Tell me how it feels,'' he whispers. "Good," I gasp, my entire body trembling. Deeper. Harder. Perfect -- like we've been doing this for years. His hand finds my jaw, fingers firm as he tilts my head up, making me look at him. And that's it. Wav...
