Today Tonight Tomorrow: List 5

Bernadette’s is designed to look like an old speakeasy, dimly lit, black-and-white photographs of old Seattle lining the walls.

Grace tries to suppress a grin.

“What time is it?”
I have a phone I am perfectly capable of removing from my pocket, but there’s something adorable about the anachronistic way Neil checks his watch.

“It might be a lost cause,” I say by way of explanation. “I sealed its fate when I showered in the dark this morning and couldn’t dry it, and it’s been getting exponentially worse by the hour.”

A foot of space has suddenly materialized between us on the bench.

He learned to hide so much of himself after what happened to his dad, and based on the way he’s turned stoic, he’s still excelling at it.

When did this really start for me? Because I’m pretty sure it wasn’t today. When I dreamed about him? Has it been dormant since that short-lived freshman-year crush?

Someone opens the door, and Neil and I run for it, racing toward my car in the murky darkness.

“I keep wondering if Cooper was involved in the founding of Seattle somehow, or something else in Seattle history, maybe. I found this article about Frank B. Cooper, this guy who oversaw the building of new schools in Seattle neighborhoods. Could it be leading us to the first school in Seattle, or is that too circuitous? What do you think?”

I had no preconceived notions of what it would be like, and for once I wanted to turn off my brain and simply feel.

“Glad we’re on the same page,” he says, but his words are clipped, and he sounds anything but glad.

I only have one more comeback.
“If we’re not friends,” I say, my voice this horrible choked sound, “then why are you still here?”

And despite everything else, I’m glad I got onstage and read my writing. Another thing Neil McNair is inexorably tied to.

“Full disclosure,” my mom says. “We’re both a little tipsy. But we're so glad you told us. If you ever want either of us to read it, we’re more than happy to.”

The air is cool against my face, and down below, the water is black and serene.

He’s waiting on a bricked street with a rickety staircase that leads to the museum.

Following sightings of unidentified flying objects over Maury Island in Puget Sound, Fred Crisman and Harold Dahl claimed to witness falling debris and threats by men in black.

“‘The Maury Island UFO Incident occurred in June 1947. Following sightings of unidentified flying objects over Maury Island in Puget Sound, Fred Crisman and Harold Dahl claimed to witness falling debris and threats by men in black. Dahl later took back his claims and stated it was a hoax...BUT WAS IT?”’ I tap my chin. “A little bit of editorializing, I think.”

It’s like my natural instinct is to fight with you, and I’m trying really hard to override it, but I’ve messed up a few times.

The fantasy: that my perfect high school boyfriend would be the epitome of romance.
The reality: Neil McNair has been here all along.

But I’ve never felt this wanted, and it’s an intoxicating, powerful feeling.

“Is Nora Roberts prolific?”
“More than two hundred books,” I say.

“Cool museum,” Brady says, and I force my oxytocin- addled brain to remember where Brady was in the most recent blast of Howl standings.

Summoning any latent athletic ability I left on that soccer field in middle school and any strength gained from carrying a massive backpack for the past four years, I throw open the door, launching myself at Brady.

“Yes,” I say with a wince, hobbling toward the gym.

She motions to Nisha and Olivia, who pull out their phones, presumably to send another text blast.

Maybe this is how I’m supposed to say goodbye to high school: not with an arbitrary list or a preconceived notion of the way things are supposed to be, but by realizing we’re actually better together.

“God bless my rigorous workout routine.”
“Is that what you call those eight-pound weights on your desk?”

“It’s not going to be romance-novel perfect,” he says, but he’s not admonishing me.

I groan. “Oh my God. I was so mortified.”