Isla and the Happily Ever After(14)

“How did you know this was my room?” I finally ask.

“I saw you come in here the other day while I was waiting for the elevator. It caught my attention, because…this used to be mine.” Josh glances around, taking everything in. This must be strange for him.

It’s strange for me.

Along with the quilt of Manhattan, my bed is mounded with soft pillows and cosy blankets. I’ve squeezed in a skinny, antique bookcase that overflows with adventure books of all kinds – novels, non-fiction, comics. I have a curvy glass lamp and sheer lace curtains and, instead of posters on my walls, I’ve hung scarves and jewellery. My closet is jam-packed with clothing, and I have an additional chest of drawers wedged beneath the school’s chest of drawers. Indulgent bath products line the corners of my tiny sink and equally tiny shower. My desk is organized with special nooks for homework, and my pens, pencils and highlighters are arranged like bouquets in matching vases.

“I knew that,” I admit. “That this was yours.”

Josh raises his dark eyebrows. “Why didn’t you say something?”

I can only shrug, but he nods as if he understands. And I think he does. He places his hands in his pockets, nervous and unsure.

“You’re still in the hallway.” I shake my head. “Come in.”

He does, and the door swings shut behind him.

“Careful!” I grab a textbook and shove it underneath to prop it back open. “Nate’s enforcing the new rules, you know.”

Immediately, I feel like a dork.

But Josh looks confused, and I realize he doesn’t understand because he missed Nate’s speech. I fill him in. “And I don’t want to get in trouble,” I add. “Because then he might not allow Kurt in here any more, and we’ve already been caught once.” It happened during a room check on the second day. We got off with a warning, but we’ve spent most of our afternoons since at the Treehouse, our secret refuge across the river.

Josh rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah. Of course.”

He wants to leave.

I flush with panic. I don’t know why he’s here, but I do know that my heart will break if he goes. I gesture towards the desk chair. He takes it. I can barely contain my exhale of relief. I sit across from him on the edge of the bed. I smooth my wrinkled skirt. I stare at my coral-painted toenails.

“It’s prettier in your hands,” he says at last. “The room. Mine always gets messy.”

I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and then I look down and let it fall forward again. “Thanks.” I force my eyes to meet his. Hazel. My stomach twists. “My mother is a window dresser. She always tells me that small spaces can still be beautiful.”

“Hard to get smaller than these rooms.”

“You know those crazy holiday department-store displays that people actually wait in line to see? She does them for Bergdorf Goodman.”

“Those are a big deal.” He leans forward, impressed. “Your mom is French, right?”

My heart skips as it does every time he remembers something about me. “Yeah. She started working here, moved there for a better internship, met my dad, and…stayed.”

Josh smiles. “I like that.”

“How did your parents meet?”

“Law school. Yale. Boring story.”

“I’m sure it’s not boring to them.”

He laughs, but my own smile fades. “Where have you been this week?” I ask. “Were you sick?”

“No. I’m fine.” But he sits back again, and his expression becomes impenetrable. “It’s Sukkoth.”

Sue-coat. “Sorry?”

“The Jewish holiday?”

The humiliation blush is instant. Ohmygod.

“I’m off from school until next Thursday,” he continues.

I search for something intelligent to say, something I’ve picked up from living in New York, but my mind is blank. Sukkoth. That’s not a holiday people take off, is it? It can’t be. As my brow furrows, Josh’s eyes brighten. They look…almost hopeful. He shakes his head as if I’d asked the question aloud. “Nope. Most American Jews don’t take it off. And even then, it’s only the first two days.”

“But you’re taking an entire week?”

“I also took off last Friday, even though Yom Kippur didn’t start until sundown. Same thing, the day before Sukkoth.”

“But…why?”

He leans forward. “Because you’re the first person to question it.”

I’m not sure whether I’m more stunned by his deception or by being singled out. I laugh, but even to my ears, it sounds apprehensive. “Exactly how many holidays are you planning to take off?”