Nova.

She’s not coming.

That’s his first thought when he sits down in the back of the old café, glancing at his phone. Why would she?

Of course she isn’t.

Then, he realizes that it’s only quarter to five and that he’s being ridiculous. It’s early. Maybe there’s traffic. Or she couldn’t get a cab. Or…maybe she’s just late. He doesn’t know what he was thinking when he threw that note on her seat. What was he even going to tell her?

He orders a cup of coffee to pass the time.

It still inches by at a tortuously slow pace.

Rhett keeps glancing at the door. His coffee comes. He leaves it untouched. He should have really thought this through. He doesn’t know what he wants to say and if she’ll even show up in the first place. What if she stands him up?

In the event she does show up, she’s probably going to think he’s an idiot or a jerk or both and leave. In the event she doesn’t come, he’s going to look like an idiot for waiting so long for someone who hasn’t (and probably isn’t going to) shown up.

The small bell above the door chimes and he looks up, only to see a rather confused Nova looking for him. People in the shop stare at her, but she ignores them. She stalks towards him and sits down, setting her things down on the floor.

“Hi,” he greets, a little nervous.

“You’ve been gawking at me for the last two weeks, like some prepubescent creep,” she answers quietly, crossing her arms across her chest. “All you can say is hi? You have to do better than that.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Why have you been staring at me?” she asks, looking at him with a bit of irritation.

“Because.” A waitress comes up to her and asks her if she’d like anything. Nova asks for water. Once the waitress leaves, she narrows her brown eyes at him.

“Why?” she insists.

“Well, I don’t know, I just, uh—” he stammers, nervous.

“Spit it out.”

She’s impatient.

“I think you’re really pretty, for starters.”

She remains stoic. He hasn’t said that to anyone before and actually meant it, so expects something more, but he doesn’t know what.

She runs a hand through her hair, shaking her head. She’s wearing her hair down this afternoon. It’s long and looks soft and he wonders what it’d be like to touch it. For a split second, he thinks she’s going to smile and her cheeks are going to turn red just a little but they don’t and she’s not and her serious look returns.

“I don’t believe you.”

“But you are.”

He’s confused. Don’t girls like being told they’re pretty? None of this makes any sense. She scowls at him, narrowing her eyes.

“But I’m not, so you’re going to have to come up with a better reason.”

“That’s my reason.” Her water comes and she drinks half of it before setting the glass down and wipes her mouth with her sweater sleeve.

“Why did you want me to come down here?” She runs her tongue over the wires in her mouth, looking annoyed. It’s cute.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?” Here it comes, he thinks. Here comes the massive word vomit. He opens and closes his mouth, trying to figure out what to say. She looks at him with amusement, and for a moment, he thinks she’s going to laugh. She doesn’t. Not yet.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly after a couple of failed attempts at verbalizing his feelings. They fall into silence. The sounds around the shop are almost muted, the cling and clang of the pots and the forks and spoons and cups are almost not there.

It’s strange.

He can’t focus because she’s staring at him the same way he’s been staring at her for the last couple of days and it’s unsettling. He blushes. She tucks some of her hair behind her ear. She leans forward a little, holding up her head with her hand. She’s inspecting him and he wonders how he measures up. She probably has a boyfriend and she’ll probably tell him about this and they’ll laugh, his all deep and manly and hers all sweet and dulcet and he feels like more of an idiot than he ever has and wishes he hadn’t done this at all.

This silence isn’t awkward, but it’s still odd all the same.

Nova looks down and starts rummaging through her bag. She pulls out a blue pen and grabs a napkin. She scribbles on it, folds it, and slides it over to him.

“For when you finally figure out what you want to tell me,” she says, laughing. The wires around her teeth glint in the soft light overhead when she laughs. She leaves and he sits there, looking down at the folded piece of paper.

Her number is scribbled on it with a small little heart and her name.

He could almost faint.



“I figured it out.”

“I’m listening,” she replies softly, sounding tired. He wonders briefly what she’s been doing and where she’s been and why she’s so tired, but then again it’s late and she always sounds tired anyway.

“I think you’re different. In a good way. I think you’re nice and sweet and smart and wonderful and lively. I think you’re beautiful.”

She laughs and he can almost see it, the way her cheeks lift up and the way her teeth look and how her eyes shine and then she sighs.

The line goes flat.



It’s a Saturday morning.

He’s supposed to take Amelia to dance—she’s trying to practice more for that audition—but she’s nowhere to be found. She’s not in her room or the study or the kitchen or the dining room or the den or anywhere. All of her usual haunts are sans-Amelia. He frowns.

Maybe she already left?

The house is empty. His mother is off doing Pilates and his father’s doing something business related. He likes the silence, sometimes, but now it's kind of worrying. Where could she be? He eats some of last night's leftovers half heartedly, but ends up throwing the rest of it out, sighing.

He leaves a half hour later for the studio, after getting dressed. Instead of walking in this infernal cold, he takes a taxi. He’s thinking about Nova again, as per usual. It’s starting to become slightly ridiculous.

Only slightly.

He gives the fare to the driver distractedly and then gets out, walking up to the large brownstone. Amelia’s explained the floors to him before so he wouldn’t get lost: first floor, beginner’s ballet; second, intermediate; third, advanced. Amelia’s been an avid ballet student since age four, so it’s safe to assume she’s practicing on the third floor.

The front door is always left open because the instructor lives on the fourth floor and hardly ever leaves her home anyway. She’s rather eccentric, but she’s a pretty good teacher (according to Amelia), so most people tend to accept her peculiarities.

The whole place is silent, save for the third floor. He climbs the stairs, sure that Amelia left this morning by herself. He didn’t mind it, but a call would have been nice.

He could be sleeping right now.

The third floor is one long hallway with a door to a long room completely paneled with mirrors. He poked his head in the door, only to see Nova dancing. He was expecting Amelia, of course, but this was a pleasant surprise. It’s all very smooth and fluid, the way she arches and bends and sighs and moves and breathes and he wonders briefly why she wouldn’t think she’s pretty.

He doesn’t understand.

“Keep it up, I know you can—” She looks up at the mirror, sighs, rolling her eyes. She spins. She sighs.

“I hope you know I can see you,” she informs him, sounding a bit annoyed.

“Good morning to you too.”

“Just keep followin’ the heart lines on your hand—”

She dances for a good five minutes, trying to ignore him. She can’t. He’s too distracting and he would feel bad if she didn’t look so pretty even when she was mad. She shifts and curses under her breath, stumbling a little. She stalks over to the stereo and turns it off, glaring at him.

“What do you want? This is a closed practice,” she says, scowling. He wonders why she sounds so angry all the time. “As in, you shouldn’t be here right now.”

“I know. I just thought Amelia would be here.”

Nova snickers, shaking her head as she walks to the wooden bar running along one side of the room, starting to stretch her arms and legs.

“She never practices on Saturdays.”

“But I always drop her off here and—” Nova cuts him off with more laughter.

“And she always leaves five minutes later with her boyfriend. She lets me have the studio all to myself most of the time. It’s pretty sweet.” She jumps up slightly and stands on the tip of her pointe shoes, then bends and brushes the floor with her fingertips. She turns to him. “I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t.”

“If you saw she wasn’t here, why did you stay?”

“Because.” She sighs and shakes her head, walking over to her bag on the floor.

“What do you want from me? Be honest. Enough with this ‘pretty’ nonsense. What do you really want?” She sits on the floor, starting to take off her pointe shoes. She bites her lips, shutting her eyes as she starts undoing the grey bands wrapped around her feet. There are spots of red, and he wonders briefly if she’s bleeding.

“Are you okay?”

“My feet hurt.” She looks up at him again, sliding a pair of thick socks on. “You’re not off the hook yet. What do you want from me?”

“You know what I want.” She tugs her boots onto her feet, shaking her head.

“I don’t know why you want to know me so badly. I’m pretty boring.” She shrugs, tying the laces quickly. “I mean, really, Rhett. I’m don’t understand why you want this.”

“Because I do.”

“What do you think people will say?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Hm,” she sighs, pensive.

“You don’t have to stop practicing because I’m here, you know.”

“You’re distracting me.” She stands up with her bag, and then walks out of the studio with him, shutting off the lights. “I can’t practice around other people.” She sighs quietly, glancing at the floor. “It scares me a little.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t be.” She gives him a small smile and he could melt. This girl will be the death of him.

“Are you doing anything today?” he asks, curious. He isn’t quite sure where he’s going with this, but it wouldn’t hurt to know.

“Why?” She seems wary.

“We could do something,” he suggests, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“I’m not that kind of girl,” she says pointedly, heading towards the stairs.

“I know. I meant, like, I don’t know, maybe we could go to a show or a movie or something. Whatever you want, Nova.” She’s quiet for a second, then sighs, looking up at him.

“Fine.”

She wants to freshen up before they go anywhere.

They’re outside and it’s starting to rain.

“Since you want to know me so badly, you’re coming with me,” she tells him, sniffling, wiping her nose with her sleeve. He’s about to ask where, dumbstruck, but he can’t exactly, because she’s not there anymore.

She doesn’t wait for him (she doesn’t really wait for anybody, in her defense), just keeps walking. He stares at her retreating figure until he realizes she meant that she actually wants him to follow her, and scrambles through the crowd to catch up. She hops down the subway stairs, squeezing through all the people effortlessly, whereas he stumbles and is pushed around by disgruntled people.

She’s sitting on a bench when he finds her. Her coat and sweater are open, revealing a loose t-shirt. Her chest moves up and down as she regains her breath, smiling. She’s eating candy and laughing at him. She shoves the candy in her bag without offering him any, wriggling her eyebrows at him.

“Tired yet?”

“Nope,” he says breathlessly.

“Good, ’cause we’re just getting started.” She simply smiles and springs back up when she hears the rumbling of the train. He follows suit, though not nearly as energetic as she is. She squeezes into the crowded train, trying to find a seat. They can’t find any empty seats, so they hold on to one of the bars in the middle of the car tightly. Nova keeps laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“You look so uncomfortable.”

“I’m not.” It’s a lie. He is. It’s cramped and too hot and loud and smells funny and it’s just weird and he hated the subway, he’s always hated the subway, but if she likes it, he’ll try to like it too.

“Liar.” She holds on effortlessly with one hand, reaching into her pocket to answer her phone. “It’s okay if you’re not, you know.” She answers it, looking in the other direction. “Hey, Lisa. I’m on the train—no, no, I just—look, can I call you back?” She hangs up. “It was my sister,” she explains, laughing a little. Her smile is pretty and he wants to see more of it.

It’s on this train ride that he finally figures out what he’s been feeling for the last few days.

He likes her.

It would make sense, after all, if he did. It would explain the staring and the pining and the flushing and the anxiety and the nervousness and the clammy hands and the fluttering feeling when she smiles at him or when she laughs or when she does that lip biting thing that’s just a habit and he’s pretty sure isn’t meant to be flirty at all which just makes it that much better and that tight feeling in his chest and—

“Earth to Rhett,” she says, waving her hand in his face. He looks at her, startled out of his thoughts. “We’re getting off on the next stop.”

He wonders why she doesn’t join the track team. She just runs too fast. She sneaks through crowds and past people quickly, whereas he just bumbles and can only do his best on keeping a distant eye on her while mumbling quiet excuse-moi’s and pardon-me’s under his breath. He doesn’t catch up until she’s sitting on a bench again waiting for her next train.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” he mumbles, breathless.

“It’s okay if you can’t do it.” She nudges him, smiling again.

“I can do it.”

“Yeah, sure you can.”



They take the train, get off, get on a bus, get off that, and then take another train. Now, they’re… here… whatever this is. This part of town is desolate. He knows it exists, he just doesn’t know anybody who actually lives here. Now he does. They walk in silence, snow crunching underneath their feet. Nova is silent. The buildings look tall and lonely, some with boarded up windows and cracked glass, some with steam and some that look like they haven’t been cleaned in months.

People stare through their curtains and blinds at them.

It’s because of Rhett.

It’s because he’s a white kid in a black neighborhood walking with a black girl.

It’s awkward.

He gets a taste of what Nova feels every day and understands why she’s so hostile sometimes. It starts driving you crazy. Nova shivers, sniffling a little. He looks at her and asks her if she’s cold.

“It’s raining, Rhett. What do you think?” He puts his coat on her shoulders and she looks at him plainly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” Her face flushes.

A little.

He hasn’t felt this accomplished in a while.

They reach Nova’s building. It’s much like the others, but it feels different because it’s Nova’s. It looks a little cleaner, at least. The inside isn’t cold nor warm, just kind of there. There’s loud music coming from one of the apartments. There’s yelling. There’s silence.

It’s different. The stairs here groan under their feet, the walls have peeling, torn wallpaper, and the carpet is running so thin he can almost see the rough wood beneath.

Finally, they stop in front of her apartment door. She fumbles with her keys for a couple of seconds but the lock gives way eventually. The apartment is a little warmer than the hallway. She shuts the door behind them with a small sigh.

“This is it,” she informs him. It’s small. The walls are beige. The window has blinds with thin lace curtains. There’s one couch, one armchair, and a couple of crates around the sparsely decorated living room. There aren’t any pictures on the walls. It’s warm.

Nova takes off the coat and calls out for Lisa.

Lisa pokes her head out of the kitchen doorway, raising an eyebrow. She looks like a thinner, sicklier version of Nova, with wilder hair and bigger eyes. Everything about Lisa is sharp and prominent, whereas Nova is soft and subtle.

“Who’s your friend?”

“Rhett.” She looks Lisa. “That’s Lisa. I’ll be back in like, three seconds,” she says, leaving him there. She disappears down the hallway, turning into the room on the left.

“You her boyfriend or somethin’?” she asks, narrowing her eyes.

“No.” Does this mean she doesn’t have a boyfriend after all? He wants to smile but he doesn’t because he’s nervous. He doesn’t know why. He just is, especially when it comes to her.

“Why are you so nervous?” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a cigarette and a lighter. She smokes it slowly. “Sit.” She points to the couch and he does, twiddling his thumbs anxiously. “Hungry?”

“No.”

“Thirsty?”

“No. Thank you, though.”

She does the “Hm” thing like Nova does, turning around briskly. She’s pottering around the kitchen. Meanwhile, he’s looking around the living room, hoping that Nova will come out soon. There aren’t any pictures on the wall or anything, and it’s a little strange, but this whole thing is strange, so he won’t question it. While he looks around, someone comes through the door, slamming it behind them loudly. Rhett jolts up a little, looking to his right. The man is tall and bulky and has a scowl on his bearded face.

“Lisa?” He doesn’t even notice Rhett. “Ay, Lisa!” he exclaims, sauntering into the kitchen. Lisa squeals and laughs. He guessed that the man was her boyfriend or whatever.

“Cut it out, Dante,” she laughs. “Did you say hi to Nova’s friend?”

“Little thing has friends?” Lisa clicks her tongue at him, sounding annoyed. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, she has friends. Go say hello. Don’t be rude.”

Dante pokes his head in the living room. He looks surprised.

“Hey there,” he says stiffly.

“Hi,” Rhett says.

The man goes back into the kitchen. They speak in hushed whispers.

“But he’s white.”

“He’s her friend, Dante, you just—”

“But he’s white, Lisa!”

“Lord, I swear, one of these days, I’m gonna—”

The door opens quietly and Nova walks out, wearing a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, and her boots. Dante and Lisa walk into the living room as she does.

“What?” she asks, frowning at him. She rolls her eyes, shaking her head. He murmurs something softly. “What?”

“You know what. Stop being ridiculous.”

“I’ll do as I please when I please with whom I please.” She walks over to Rhett. “I’m going out.” She takes him by the hand and pulls him up, grabbing her bag with the other hand. “Bye.”

“Have fun!” Lisa calls out down the hallway.

She’s still holding his hand.