Isla and the Happily Ever After(58)
Josh exhales.
“They were looking forward to meeting you.”
“And now they aren’t.” He gives a sad little snort. “You worry about my parents, but I’m the one who was expelled.” Suddenly, his voice grows lower. “Someone’s moving around. I gotta go I love you bye.”
I don’t even get to say “I love you” back.
On Monday after detention, I find him in the background of some photographs taken over the weekend at a Brooklyn YMCA, a last-chance campaigning effort. He’s tall and handsome and smiling. He looks almost like my boyfriend. I can tell that his smile – no doubt convincing to others – is forced. There are no dimples.
“I didn’t wake you up this time, did I?” he asks. The call arrives in the dead of night. There’s a racket of people in the background, a general buzz of stress and excitement. Headquarters again. The election is only hours away.
“No.” I hug my pillow, wishing it were him. “Getting sleepy, but I’m still reading.”
“That’s my girl. What’s the subject tonight?”
“Orchid hunting. Did you know it was a surprisingly dangerous occupation?”
“Maybe that’s your future career.” A real smile creeps into his voice. “Orchid hunter. And I’ll join you on the expeditions. We can wear those khaki hats with mosquito nets.”
“How is it over there?” I ask.
“I’d rather be hunting orchids.”
“I hope your dad wins.”
“Me, too. Otherwise he’ll be intolerable for at least six months.” The sort-of joke falls flat, and he sighs. “Speaking of. Guess who’s sending a camera crew to my polling station? Guess who’ll be on the morning news?”
“Guess who’ll be glued to CNN’s live stream, hoping to catch a glimpse?”
“Guess who’ll be in class when it happens?”
“Oh.” My heart sinks. “Right.”
“Don’t worry, it’ll be uploaded to my dad’s website. Aaaaaaand my mom’s back.”
“Iloveyou!” I say.
“I love you, too.” Josh laughs in surprise. “Thanks for the enthusiasm.”
“I didn’t get to say it last time.”
“Ah, well. From now on” – and I hear his smile grow into a dimple-bearing grin – “let’s start with it.”
Chapter twenty-one
When school ends, I duck into a bathroom stall. I have ten minutes before I need to be in detention. I yank out my laptop from my bag. The race is still way too early for any of the poll numbers to be in, but I quickly scroll down the senator’s website. There. The video.
Josh enters the polling station with his parents. He’s cleaned up, as in…he looks clean-cut. He’s wearing a suit that fits so well it must have been tailored just for him. He smiles and waves at the cameras. His parents exit their booths. “Who did you vote for?” somebody shouts, and Josh’s dad says, “Was I supposed to vote in there? I thought I was placing a to-go order for breakfast!” Hardy-har.
It cuts back to Josh. He enters a booth while his parents look on proudly. A female reporter with large teeth shoves a microphone at Josh upon his exit. “How does it feel to vote for your father for the first time?”
“Surreal.” Josh flashes the camera a startling amount of charm. “It feels great.”
He’s not lying. And even though I understand that this is a genuinely remarkable moment in his life, it’s…it’s as if I were looking at a stranger. I rewatch the segment and pause it as he answers the reporter’s question. I touch his image onscreen.
If we hadn’t gone to Barcelona, he’d be back in Paris in twenty-four hours.
I push the thought down and away. Because if we hadn’t gone to Barcelona, we also wouldn’t have Parc Güell. Or a moonlit hotel room.
When detention ends, I run straight to my bedroom. I scour the internet, but the earliest poll numbers all read the same. The race is neck and neck.
Kurt shows up, and – to my surprise – he shuts the door behind him. “Bœuf bourguignon suivi d’un clafoutis aux poires. For you.” He sets down a plastic cafeteria tray onto my desk. “I didn’t know what to do, so I took the whole thing.”
His embarrassment is touching, somehow. The still-warm dinner and pear dessert both smell intoxicating. “Thank you.”
He pushes back his hoodie. “Nate said I could wait up with you so long as no one else ever finds out, under penalty of beheading. But I don’t think he’d actually behead us.”
My breath is bottling up inside my chest.