29
Hannah
By the time I reach my dorm room, Gerald Reed-Wilder has become a problem.
Not because he’s heavy. He is a three-inch rubber duck wearing a tiny plastic hockey helmet, so physically, no.
But emotionally? Catastrophic. I stand outside my door with my keys in one hand, my phone in the other, and Gerald tucked against my chest like I’ve rescued him from a disaster zone instead of a ring toss booth run by Carter and his fraudulent confidence.
My last text from Nate is still glowing on the screen.
**Nate:** *No decisions tonight.*
Three words. Simple, reasonable, and annoyingly effective. They’re the kind of words that should make me feel like I can finally breathe. Instead, they have lodged under my ribs like a tiny emotional splinter.
I unlock the door and step inside. Ella looks up from my bed immediately. Of course she’s here. She is sitting cross-legged on my comforter in pajama shorts and fuzzy ghost socks, a bag of popcorn in her lap and two cans of cherry soda on my nightstand.
She takes one look at my face, then at the rubber duck, then back to me.
“Oh no,” she says.
I close the door behind me. “Why are you in my room?”
“Because I had a feeling.”
“That is not a legal reason.”
“It is in best-friend court.” Her eyes narrow, focusing on my passenger. “Why are you holding a duck like it has custody rights?”
I look down at Gerald. His tiny, painted-on smile stares back, cheerful and entirely useless. “His name is Gerald. Gerald Reed-Wilder.”
Ella’s entire face changes. “Oh, Hannah.”
“No.”
“You named the duck after both of you?”
“It was a joke. I was under pressure.”
“From the duck?”
“From the carnival.” I drop my keys and phone on my desk, then sit on the edge of the bed. Ella glances at Gerald again.
“Can Gerald sit somewhere else? His expression is making this feel like a mediation.”
I turn him to face the wall.
“Thank you,” she says. “Now. Start from the beginning, because the duck has a double surname and you look like someone just got politely stabbed.”
I rub my hands over my face. For a second, I don't know where to start. Nate’s hand on my back? The hay bale? The way his thumb went still on my shoulder when Ethan asked me for coffee? Everything is tangled. Not poetically tangled—more like a drawer full of old headphones tangled.
“The carnival was weird,” I admit, pulling off my boots and letting them thud to the floor. “Nate was being... Nate.”
“Hot and irritating?”
“Yes.”
“And the fake couple stuff?”
“Strategic temple kisses. Arm around the shoulder. The works.”
I picking at a loose thread on my comforter.
“It was just harder tonight, Ella. Everything felt different. Before, I could tell myself it was for the plan. But now, every little touch in public reminds me of something private. My brain and body are having separate committee meetings, and neither has snacks.”
“Concerning,” she murmurs, handing me the popcorn. “Then Ethan showed up?”
“Yeah. He saw us. He saw Nate’s arm around me. He laughed at Gerald.”
“As all men should.”
“And then he asked if I wanted to grab coffee tomorrow and compare anatomy notes.”
Ella sits up straighter. “There it is. The original mission objective. And?”
“I said tomorrow might work. I told him to text me.”
Ella waits. I look at her. She keeps waiting. “What?” I snap.
“That’s all? No fireworks? No choir? No internal twelve-piece marching band?”
“I don’t know!” I throw my hands up, popcorn flying onto the blanket.
“I don’t know what I felt. I thought I’d be more excited. I mean, I *was* excited. Kind of. But Nate got weird. He did that thing where his face goes smooth and he disappears behind it. He told me I should go to coffee. Like he was pushing me toward the plan.”
“Did you tell him that?”
“Yes. I walked away for a second. He followed me and asked what I needed. He said he wasn’t trying to push me, he was trying not to get in my way.”
Ella’s face softens. “That is such a Nate question. What do you need? Annoying. Hot.”
“Very.” I flop backward onto my bed, staring at the ceiling. “That’s the word of the week. Complicated.”
“Did you want to go back to his place?” Ella asks gently.
I stare at the ceiling. The answer is yes. The answer is no. The answer is a swarm of bees in a cardigan. “I don’t know,” I whisper.
I reach for my phone and grab it off the desk. Ethan’s text is already there.
**Ethan:** *Hey, tomorrow still good for coffee? Maybe 3 after Hale’s class?*
A month ago, this message would have made me scream into a pillow. Tonight, I just feel... tired. Not uninterested, just tired of needing a feeling to be bigger than it is. I type back a confirmation before I can overthink myself into a fossil.
“How do you feel?” Ella asks.
“Like I want a manual. For everything.”
“Unfortunately, we are operating on vibes and crisis management,” she says solemnly. “Brutal honey: you are more upset about Nate being normal than you are excited about Ethan asking you to coffee.”
The words hit like cold water. “That’s not true.”
Ella gives me a look that says she loves me too much to lie. “Okay.”
“It’s not,” I insist. “It’s just because Nate and I have a plan. And his 'okay' was weird.”
I pick up my phone again. My thumb opens the thread with Nate. I type out the update.
**Hannah:** *I said yes to coffee tomorrow.*
The dots don't appear right away. My stomach twists.
**Nate:** *Okay.*
**Nate:** *Text me after if you want to adjust the plan.*
So practical. So clean. So carefully distant that my chest actually hurts. I type back a final 'Okay' and throw the phone onto the bed.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Ella.”
“No one does. Nate looks like he does, but I think he’s very good at seeming in control while internally setting off fireworks in a trash can.”
I laugh despite myself. “That was vivid.”
“I paint with arson.”
We lie there in the dark after Ella turns off the lamp. The room is quiet, except for Gerald watching the wall. Tomorrow, I’ll have coffee with Ethan. I’ll see how it feels. I’ll give the original plan a real chance. That’s smart. That’s what I wanted.
But as I close my eyes, I find myself thinking about Nate’s hand in mine as we left the carnival. Warm. Steady. Easy.
It was supposed to be fake. But I don't know how to make it feel that way anymore.