Miles removed the book from his face to reveal the smile I had missed.

I ignored his last comment as a desperate attempt to regulate my heartbeat. His simple words had gotten to my head with such ease.

"As it would turn out, covering your face with a book doesn't transfer the information in as you would expect." I leaned against the doorway for extra support. "I know. I was disappointed too when I found out."

He chuckled as he sat up on the bench. Mr. Crawford was right—joking didn't make me feel better but making Miles laugh sure did.

My phone rang in my back pocket. I pulled it out with a frown before I saw Miles's name pop up.

"I was just making sure it still worked," he said with an amused expression on his face as I rolled my eyes at the childish move.

"What are you, 5?"

"It depends on what the scale is about."

It took everything I had in my self-control reserve to move on without gaping at him. "Anyway, I'm sorry for ignoring you. These past weeks have been, well, taxing."

Concern replaced the taunting features on his face. But before he could ask anything, I changed the subject because I knew I had no control over my mouth when around him. "Still considering that other publishing company? Did you make a decision yet?"

His narrowed eyes told me that my topic change had not been as subtle as I thought, but he played along.

"The downside of signing with them is that I'd need to stay here this fall."

"Were you thinking about leaving?" A shaky sound underlined my words and I hoped he hadn't noticed.

"I only wanted to after they told me I wouldn't be able to."

I laughed and, from where I stood, he looked like a fitting part of the scenery, charming and peaceful, like the rest of the garden. The kind of peace my cluttered brain could only admire from afar.

If not for the mischievous glint in his eyes that he wouldn't be able to hide if he tried, suggesting that chaos lied underneath the apparent calm, he would blend right in with the plants.

I looked away before my thoughts could translate into words I definitely did not need him to hear.

He left his bench and walked over to me, stopping way too close. "It's been a while since our last date. We should really do something about that."

My eyes widened at his words, but that only brought a wicked grin to his face as though getting a reaction out of me was his favorite entertainment.

"It wasn't a date."

"Now, try to say that with a straight face."

I stepped back and hoped that the farther I was from him, the clearer my mind would be. "Not a date," I repeated as I stared straight into his brown eyes, challenging him with mine.

"Good. In that case," Miles said, not backing down from the challenge as I hoped he would. "I'd love to do another one of those non-dates sometime. A certain someone offered her help, then disappeared for days and ignored my calls. How ever will she make it up to me?"

I smiled at his theatrics. "What, does my presence make you a better writer?"

"If nothing else, it keeps me sane."

"Fine. For the sake of your book and your readers, I'll take one for the team."

A mocking smile emerged on the corner of his lips. "Am I such miserable company that you're not looking forward to it?"

I glanced at my watch to make up for not answering. "I'm going to be late for work."

"About these past few days," he said, and his hand barely grazed my arm when he touched me, "you don't have to tell me anything, obviously, but go easy on yourself."

The sensation still lingered where his fingers had been even after I walked out of the room. This was bound to be a long day.

➷➷➷

I had every intention of skipping Mr. Crawford's class the next day.

I hadn't intentionally missed anything since elementary school, but the mere thought of writing added unnecessary weight on my shoulder.

The idea of ever enjoying it seemed like a foreign concept like I never would again.

I was planning on sneaking into the dance studios to see Emma. But before I could make it to that building, I ran into Mr. Crawford in the courtyard an hour before his class. I thought he would keep walking without sparing me a glance, but he didn't.

"You've been missing my classes. You can't really afford to take days off." He seemed to read something on my face that prompted him to add. "If you're thinking you should quit, then you probably should."

"Right." I looked down and hoped he wouldn't notice that my attitude had been through a radical development since the beginning of the semester. "Maybe it's not for me."

I expected him to repeat the catchphrase that I had heard him say since my first class with him: "Then you're wasting my time."

It hadn't deterred me when I was a freshman but acted as an additional incentive to succeed. But now, even though I had come this far, I almost wanted him to say it so that I could blame his harsh words for quitting.

Instead of playing into my hand, Mr. Crawford's features softened when he said, "Ridiculous. I expect to see you in class today. Don't be late." He walked away before I could react.

These ambiguous words were the kindest ones he had ever spoken as far as I could remember. I didn't know what to make of them as I continued on my way to the Performing Arts building.

I couldn't have walked into the locker room at a worse time.

"Put me down," Emma was saying, wriggling in Ace's arms as he carried her. Her voice held more bitterness than it had when she and I had talked about him. "You can't be in here. This is the girls' locker room."

Any other semester, every corner of the room would be packed with dancers changing into and out of leotards and drama students putting on elaborate costumes. Nervous and excited chatter would fill the locker room as they practiced steps last minute.

But today, it was quiet and empty apart for Ace and Emma. He had scheduled his intrusion well.

He noticed me as he set her down on one of the locker room benches. "Oh, good! Do you have any band-aids?" he asked as he pulled her feet to him.

I looked through my backpack as a reflex even though I knew I had none.

"Leave me alone," she said, though she made no move to escape his grip.

"You're hurt."

I glanced at her legs in his lap. Pink blisters and bruises covered most of the skin surrounding her toes, and a red patch covered the front of her feet.

"Why do you care?" Her voice sounded more tired than angry at this point.

"I saw you fall just now. What was I supposed to do, leave you on the floor?"

"That's not your problem anymore. Let go of me."

He didn't seem at all affected by the words. "Where do you keep your first-aid kit thing?" he asked.

She sighed and pointed to a locker on her left. I half-jogged to it, jumping on the opportunity to feel useful again.

I took the blue pouch from the locker and handed it to him. He quickly found a small bottle of alcohol and some cotton balls as if he had done it a million times.

"Emma, about that day—" he mumbled as he applied a cotton ball to the blisters.

She hissed when the alcohol made contact and scowled at him.

"I don't care, Ace. It's too late for all that. It's been weeks."

"I was a jerk," he said as he looked through the pouch and took out band-aids and corn pads. "Sebastian—"

"What does he have to do with this?" she asked, wincing whenever his fingers touched her feet.

"He's..." He breathed out and pressed the corn pads to her toes. "He's great. He knows what he's doing all the time. I don't. I have no idea what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm not... well, I'm not good at anything. You deserve—"

She flinched away at the sting on her feet or at his words. "Don't tell me what I deserve. You're acting like my parents. Except that you didn't care what they thought."

I cleared my throat. Discomfort made me want to sprint out of the room before Ace and Emma could notice. "I, uh, I should go."

"No, stay," Emma said. "He's the one who should leave."

How did I find myself in the middle of this mess?

Her words didn't seem to register to him as he continued, "I thought I didn't care, but, I don't know, I guess those things build up... and they revealed themselves in the worst possible way because I hurt you." He examined the brace on her left foot. "Even then, I thought I was thinking about what was best for you—that you needed to be with someone better than me."

I watched the small numbers around the combination locks around me to try to tune out their conversation.

"He understands your dance references. He composes the perfect pieces to complement your choreographies." He looked down at her feet with a sigh. "How was I supposed to compete with that?"

"You never had to." Emma's usually-quiet voice filled the room as she escaped his hold and pulled back her feet towards herself. "Here's what you didn't get. If you had asked, I would have let you accompany me with Chopsticks for the showcase. That would definitely shock everyone. But, I never cared about their opinions. I cared about yours, though. And just so you know, I could dance the heck out of that song."

He smiled. "I believe it."

"Look, I knew you didn't care about much. I was willing to live with that. But I thought you cared about me."

"I did—I do. I thought you were too good for me, Em."

"No, don't make this sound nobler than it was. I don't care if you're only now realizing that I wasn't expecting you to be a virtuoso pianist or a master choreograph. I wasn't even expecting you to figure out what you were doing with your life. Did you think I didn't know who I was dating?"

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she held her chin up. "I picked you from the start. Over my parents. Over logic. But you didn't get that, so when it mattered, you didn't choose me over your fears."

Ace seemed to run out of things to say. I took it as an opportunity to say, "I'm going to be late for class."

Then I ran out of the room before they held me back again under the illusion that my presence would keep them civil—that had clearly worked wonders so far.