Still. I can’t bring myself to just dramatically shift subjects, not after he shared something like that with me. So I do what I’d do with Alice or Maggie—I open my playlists. I hold my breath as I pull my phone out. Marius might think I’m ignoring him or being rude and leave. I force a breath out, looking up.
“Do you like Kendrick Lamar?”
“Yeah.” Marius glances up. “Why?”
There’s a stack of unused paper cups on top of the cabinet. Empty cups always work well as amplifiers, so I plop my phone in. After a second, Kendrick’s voice fills the room. He makes it feel full in a way it wasn’t before. Like his voice is pushing against the walls.
Maybe it’s from my glass of wine. Maybe it’s Kendrick. Whatever it is, I can’t explain it. I just get up and start dancing. With Kendrick ringing in my ears, I shake my head and my arms and the rest of my body the way I would if my sisters were here. Whatever Marius might think of my body is an afterthought. My eyes are shut and I’m basking in the moment. The moment when I don’t have to worry about anything.
Something shifts beside me. I blink my eyes open. Marius is moving in front of me, but it looks more like someone is pulling his body in different directions. I can’t help but double over in laughter. Marius is good at a lot of things, but evidently, dancing is not one of them. He jumps up and down and doesn’t seem to care that he’s falling over, even when I pull him up on the bed.
“I haven’t bounced on a bed since I was little,” he says, struggling to speak over Kendrick (which is almost impossible). “Oh my God, why did I ever stop?”
I giggle, shaking my head. He’s holding both my hands. Part of my brain wants to stop and analyze everything. What does this mean? Is the tender feeling in my chest warranted?
Whatever. I push the questions aside. Marius tilts his head back and raps all the words. I join him, our bodies going up, down, up, down.
Kendrick isn’t the only artist on this playlist, which is for rocking out—there’s some Frank Ocean, J. Cole, Childish Gambino, SZA. It’s hard not to look at Marius when he’s right here and we’re holding hands. His face blurs in front of me, but eventually, he just bounces a little in place. His cheeks—he doesn’t have real cheeks, like me, but there’s enough there—are dotted with red. I can’t tell if it’s from jumping or because of the drinks.
I can’t stop looking at him. This isn’t how getting rid of crushes works. If anything, this is the hardest I’ve ever fallen.
Fuck.
@JosieTheJournalist: idk i feel like we should stop calling people crazy and just be nicer idk idk
I wake up the next morning without a headache, but with Alice right in my face.
“Did you drink an entire bottle of wine? By yourself?”
Ah, this is the reason why Mom wanted Alice to come with me. My sister is almost—almost—as big a nag as our mother. I groan, running a hand through my hair as I sit up. It’s sticking up all over the place because I went to bed without covering it.
“Come on. It’s not a real bottle,” I say. “Look at it. That’s a tiny little thing. And I shared it with Marius, so even less alcohol than you think.”
Her brows rise so high that it looks like they’ve disappeared.
“You brought him back here? I thought you were interviewing him in the lobby?”
“When did I say that?” I ask. “No, it was always supposed to be in the room. It’s not like you were here, so I don’t know why it’s a big deal.”
“It’s a big deal because you’re supposed to be interviewing him,” she says, shaking her head. “We have one more week on this trip, and instead of working, you’re here drinking with your subject.”
What would she know? Writing is my thing. She can’t take it like she took Spelman.
“I— You can’t just—” I run a hand through my hair. There’s so much I want to say, so much anger and frustration, that my mind goes blank. “You did it first.”
“I didn’t finish an entire bottle,” she snaps. “You did, and now the people at the magazine are gonna see the charge and we’ll have to make some sort of excuse. I thought you were more responsible than this.”
“Don’t lecture me,” I say, already feeling a groan rise in my chest. “I’m not a baby. I understand how things work.”
“Do you?” She leans in. “Interviewing your—whoever he is—alone in your hotel room and sharing a bottle of wine with him isn’t professional. At all. Deep Focus is a gigantic magazine. What would your editor say if she knew?”
God, she’s right. I can only hope that Marius doesn’t tell anyone about what happened yesterday. It doesn’t seem like the type of thing he would share, but still, if Ms. Jacobson heard about it, I’d be toast. This is such an incredible opportunity. I’d be devastated if I ruined it over something as silly as a crush or a bottle of wine. I hate how small she makes me feel, but Alice is right.
“I guess you’re right,” I finally say. It sucks to admit that, but it’s even worse to have to say so out loud.
“You guess?” Alice kisses her teeth. “I don’t know why I even bother.”
She stomps away into the bathroom. A few seconds later, the shower starts. I shake my head and pull out my phone. I answer several texts from Mom and Dad—Yes, I’m having fun, yes, I’ll try to take more pictures, yes, I promise
