"Wait for it," Josh says.

Lola stands straighter, excited. "No!"

"Yes," Cricket says.

I'm the last one in the dark, until suddenly it happens. St. Clair removes something from his pocket. And then he gets down on one knee.

Anna's entire body lights with shock and joy and love. She nods a vigorous yes. St. Clair places the ring on her finger. He stands, she throws her arms around him, and they kiss. He spins her in a circle. They kiss again. Deep, hungry, long. And then he turns to us and waves with the biggest smile I've ever seen clearly aware that we've been standing here the whole time.

Chapter thirty-one.

I've never witnessed a moment like this. I didn't even know that I was old enough for a moment like this. Friends are they friends? They feel like they might be friends to have included me here tonight getting engaged to be married. At nineteen!

Anna shows off her ring. It's small and simple and lovely. Her eyes suddenly shine, and she wheels around to face St. Clair. "So this is why you got a job."

He grins. "I wasn't about to buy you a ring with my father's money."

Josh bear-hugs St. Clair. "I'm only sorry you're off the market."

"Don't tell Anna, but I bought one for you, too," St. Clair says.

Lola throws her arms around Cricket. "I can't believe you didn't tell me this was gonna happen."

"I wanted to," he says. "But sometimes you think about things...out loud."

"I do not!"

"You do," Anna and St. Clair say together.

Lola grumbles, but she's smiling.

"Attention, attention," St. Clair says. "My fiancee and I-"

Everyone laughs at how strange and foreign the word sounds. It's like discovering a new language or being a part of a new culture. The culture of adults. And we don't yet know how it works, but it feels good so far.

St. Clair clears his throat. "My fiancee and I are headed out for a celebratory dessert. I'd ask you all to join us, but I don't want you there."

We laugh. Everyone hugs one another goodbye again, and this time, Anna and Meredith have the longest hug. Meredith whispers something to her, and Anna looks moved. She hugs Meredith again. And then Anna and St. Clair are bouncing off into the distance, weaving a path through the acc.u.mulating snow. He loudly hums a happy tune.

Lola glances at the full moon. "You know...it's not that late."

Cricket extends his arm. "Shall we stroll?"

She slips her arm through it and hugs him closer against her body. "I can't believe we're in Paris. Together."

"It was nice meeting you," Cricket says to me, and I feel sad that everyone is leaving. "See you in the morning?" he asks Josh.

Josh nods.

Lola and Cricket stroll away, a splash of brilliant colour in a white night. And now there are three. Josh's expression turns solemn. He places an arm around Meredith, and the gesture makes me recall that, once upon a time, she was in love with St. Clair.

"You okay, Mer?" he asks.

"I am," she says. "But thank you for asking."

Another hug, a long one filled with memories. She pulls away first. "Sorry," she says. "You'll have to forgive me. My day started early, and I'm beat. I'm gonna head back to the hostel." But Meredith is definitely not beat. She's bowing out to let us talk. She's choosing to be alone on a night that might be bittersweet for her to give us a chance at...I'm not sure what.

"It was nice seeing you again," I say. And I mean it. I'm grateful for this sacrifice.

"Don't get too sad. I'm sure we'll see each other again someday." And she winks before leaving. "See you tomorrow, Josh," she shouts.

Josh's hands are in his pockets, and his shoulders are up to his ears. "She's not my most subtle friend. Which is saying something. Sorry about that."

"It's okay. She's really nice."

"She is."

"All of your friends are nice."

He looks at me. "I'm glad you think so."

We're quiet. The snow falls softly against his dark hair.

"So," I say.

"So." He glances at his feet. "Can I walk you home?"

My body flushes. "Yes. Please. Thank you." I look away, embarra.s.sed.

Without needing to say it aloud, we choose a route towards the dorm that will have fewer people. We walk in silence. The flakes are getting fatter. The hush should feel peaceful, but the nervousness inside of me only grows.

He looks so beautiful in the lamplight. I think I was wrong about him. I hope I was wrong about him. I know I was wrong about myself. We don't say a word until we reach the dormitory. The first time we walked here together, it was ours. Now it's only mine. He's brave for coming back here again, and I can be brave, too.

"Would you..." I say.

Josh watches me. He waits for me to finish the question. He wants me to say it.

"Do you wanna come inside?" I ask. "And talk?"

It looks as if what he's about to say might kill him. "I wish that I could, but I don't think I'd be welcome in there."

Please don't reject me. "Since when do you care about the rules?"

"I don't want you to get in trouble."

"I don't care," I say.

"I do."

My heart twists harder, heavier. "Will you at least be around for breakfast? When does your train leave?"

"I'm not sure," he says.

I close my eyes. How could he not know the answer to that question? What kind of excuse is that?

"I want you to have this," he says.

I open my eyes again. He's struggling to remove a ma.n.u.script from his bag, and now I can see that it's the reason why it'd been so bulky. The papers take up the entire thing.

My heart breaks. This is why he wanted to meet me tonight.

Against my better judgment, I hold down the bottom of his bag so that he can pull it out. He clutches the ma.n.u.script against his chest before presenting it to me with shaking hands. I don't know if they shake from nervousness or from the weather.

I take it. There's a new t.i.tle. s.p.a.ces.

"You were right," he says. "About...a lot of stuff. I've been working really hard on it, and I'd love your opinion. On the changes."

Please don't make me read this again. "Um, okay."

He turns hopeful. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Sure." The weight of his work grows heavier in my arms. "Uh, when would you like this back?"

"Oh, no. That's yours. To keep."

Silence.

"Okay," I finally say.

He tucks his hands back inside his coat. "Will you call me as soon as you're done?"

I'm startled. "You want me to read it now?"

"Yeah. I mean, no. You don't have to. But I'm leaving tomorrow-"

"No, it's okay. I can read it now."

"Yeah?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"All right. So. You have my number."

This now ranks as the most awkward conversation that we've ever had. It's way worse than anything before we dated.

I nod. "Yep."

Josh leans in for a hug. He hesitates, just as I'm leaning in. So he leans in again. The ma.n.u.script sits cold and heavy between our bodies. And as he awkwardly pats me on the back, I realize that this is the last time that we will ever touch.

Chapter thirty-two.

I set the ma.n.u.script down on my bed. I'm exhausted.

I remove my wet shoes, my coat, my leggings.

I wash my face.

I brush my teeth.

The ma.n.u.script's paper eyes bore into the back of my head. I stare at it in the mirror's reflection above my sink. It seems both tragically dead and frighteningly alive. And I have no choice but to climb into bed with it. I fiddle with a stubborn wave of hair. I poke at the pores on my nose. I take a long time turning on my lamp.

I slip into bed. I'm listening for the snow, which is coming down harder, but I can't hear it. I can only see it streaming through the street light outside.

I pull the ma.n.u.script into my lap. I read.

It has a new beginning. It no longer starts with his first day as a wide-eyed, slack-jawed freshman. It starts with an older, wiser, and more embittered Josh. It's the summer before his senior year. He's sitting alone, drawing in a cafe.

And then...I'm there.

I appear like a dream, and Josh is whisked into a surreal, blissful night that makes him forget his troubles. It makes him feel hope for the first time in years. There's the page that I've seen before of him racing home to draw me, but then there's a new full-page ill.u.s.tration of me with the garden-rose halo. I glow on the page like something sacred. Josh is on his knees at the bottom of the ill.u.s.tration, looking up at me, weeping, his hands clasped. The word Salvation pours from his lips.

My own hands are trembling so hard that I can barely get to the next page.

FRESHMAN, it says. And the story I'm familiar with begins. Most of this section is the same. It's funny, it's sad, it's sweet. It's innocent. But there are some differences. He's added subtle brushstrokes to draw attention towards areas of the story that I know will have greater meaning later on. Things that he couldn't have known would be so important when he drew them years ago.

And then there's me. Again. He's chronologically added the panels of the first time we spoke, when he saw me reading the Sfar book in the cafeteria. He's even added a tiny heart above his head while he speaks. And then a broken one when he thinks that I don't like him.

I touch the broken heart with the tip of my finger.

The story turns familiar again, but this time the panels with Rashmi are less painful. The sadness I feel comes from remembering how much they hurt me the first time. He's trimmed down her scenes and the excessive one-page panels. She's still a large part of the story, as she should be, but the focus remains squarely on him. Also as it should be.

Last summer. Kismet. A callback panel signals a return to the beginning of the story, and then it cuts back to him discovering me with Kurt the following night.