I also don’t know if I have the mental bandwidth to talk about it, to put my feelings into words, to give this relationship between us the time it deserves. Not until the Golden Ivy film competition is submitted, at the very least.

“I left them behind with my shame,” Emmitt says as his fingers finally reach my forehead, skimming my hairline.

And then his mouth replaces his fingers, his lips brushing gently against my temple. My heart stutters, falling into sudden half beats. “Behave yourself,” I say, but make no effort to push him away.

He leans back anyway, his teeth flashing as he laughs in dark amusement. “If that’s what you would like. I’m helpless to your command.”

“Okay, Shakespeare,” I say, though my heart is still attempting to recover from the initial shock.

“Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight! For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night,” Emmitt says, sliding off the desk to dramatically bow before me. “O Mina, Mina—”

“Be quiet,” I say, smacking his arm. “You have Romeo and Juliet memorized?”

He shrugs, his eyes bright. “Mum thought it would help with memorizing scripts.”

The casual mention of his mother takes me aback, because I thought he’d be upset with her for longer, but he’s clearly moved past yesterday night. I shake my head, unable to deny my burgeoning delight. Emmitt has countless layers, not unlike a movie, and I’m slowly peeling them all back, revealing the bare soul underneath.

And it’s not just his face that’s beautiful.

I’ve always said I loved movies because of what they can hide, but the more I think about it, the more that doesn’t feel quite right. Do movies reframe the ordinary or was the ordinary always phenomenal?

“I’m taking away your rights,” I say, instead of pursuing that line of thinking.

The bell rings, startling me, and I glance to the side to find Rosie watching us, her expression even. I remember what she said earlier this week—you spend just as much time with Emmitt, and I never say anything.

A hot flash of guilt rushes through me, and I direct my gaze down to my desk. Emmitt doesn’t seem to mind, giving one of my pigtails a light tug, before he makes his way to the back of the room, where Grant is sitting.

I lift my head only when Miss Turano is speaking and try not to think too much about the fact Rosie hasn’t looked at me since Emmitt left.

I don’t succeed.

43

Before film club, Emmitt runs up to me at my locker, a grimace on his face. “I can’t come to film club today,” he says, hanging his head. “I’m sorry.”

I blink, considering the despondent curve of his shoulders. “What happened?”