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“Feels real.”
“It’s happening.” She laughs, a little wet, and pulls me into her, arms tight around my neck. “You did this. All of it. This is you.”
I hold her for a minute. Just that. The specific relief of having someone to hand this to.
“There’s paperwork,” I tell her, when she pulls back. “Not a contract, not yet — Dan’s sending over some kind of summary. Development outline. I don’t really know what to do with it.”
“Send it to me.” She says it immediately, no hesitation. “I’ll read it. I’m pre-law, I read contracts for fun, this is genuinely the most exciting homework I’ve ever been offered.”
“You don’t have to —”
“I want to.” She holds my eyes. “You don’t have anyone else who can do this for you. Your dad’s not — that’s not an option. Let me be the person who reads the fine print so you don’t have to worry about it alone.”
I look at her. I think about the fact that six months ago I didn’t have anyone I’d have even considered handing this to. I think about the Tab, and the watch, and the specific luck of ending up with someone who wants to carry the paperwork just because it means something to me.
“Okay,” I say.
“Okay.” She smiles, the real one. “Send it over tonight. I’ll have notes by tomorrow.”
“You’re going to have notes.”
“I always have notes.” She kisses me, quick, and pulls back before it becomes something the whole house would notice. “This is the best Monday I’ve had in months, Theo. I mean that.”
“Yeah,” I tell her. “Me too.”
Chapter 22
Margo
The week finds its own shape.
Monday is practice and the tail end of the Dan Reiss high, both of us still a little giddy about it. Not loud giddy. Quiet giddy. The specific kind where nobody’s watching, nobody’s performing, and we spend the day texting like we’re passing notes in a class neither of us is technically enrolled in together.
He texts, around three.
Theo
Coach ran extra film today, found two things I did wrong in Q1 last game
Only two? Rookie numbers.
Theo
I’m being serious
So am I. Perfectionist.
Theo
You’d know
I laugh out loud in the middle of the library, which earns me a look from the guy at the next table, and I don’t even care.
Tuesday is LSAT prep until my eyes cross — practice logic games until the symbols stop meaning anything, until if A then not B starts to feel like a personal insult. Then Raven House at nine, because I tell myself I’ll only stay an hour and stay until midnight instead. Curled against him on the bed while he reads something on his laptop. I half-watch over his shoulder, not really following. Just liking the weight of his arm around me while he works.
Wednesday is Sloane’s turn. Coffee between classes, her telling me about a scene she’s blocking for her directing seminar — something about staging conflict so the audience feels the distance between two people even when they’re standing close together. I tuck that thought away without telling her exactly why it lands the way it does. I half-listen while running conditioning drills in my head for Saturday’s stunt sequence. The specific split focus of two people who both have too much going on and have learned to have half a conversation anyway.
Thursday is film session for Theo, so I don’t see him until late. Nine-thirty, maybe ten. Even then it’s twenty minutes on his bed with my head on his chest before either of us falls asleep sitting up, fully clothed, exhausted in the specific way you only get from caring about two demanding things at once.
