“Wait!” I called, stepping outside after her. The door swung closed behind me as she turned around, confusion written all over her face.

“Um,” I said, raising my voice a little to be heard over the rain. “I don’t have an umbrella. Obviously,” I added, gesturing to my still-soaked form. “Any chance you could walk me to the bus stop?” I tried to put on my best rakish smile, the one that Aaron’s used on so many girls that I’m hoping is genetic but that I’ve never figured out how to deploy.

The confusion on Emily’s face transformed into something like curiosity and soon a small smile was mirroring my own.

“Sure,” she said after what felt like a thousand years. I could feel my smile grow bigger as she extended her arm, just slightly, in a silent invitation.

We walked in an awkward three-legged-race kind of gait—moving side by side, drifting over the wet pavement under the same small umbrella, but still complete strangers, afraid to get too close, even if looping arms would have made it easier to stay in lockstep.

I thought I should say something—say thank you again, ask her if she was taking the bus too or if she drove here, if she’s now going way out of her way to help me—but the smack-smack-smack of the rainfall on the tight vinyl above us gave me the perfect excuse to stay silent. I focused in on her cast instead. With how close I was, I could see that it was covered in doodles and signatures, the hallmark of a person with dozens of friends. While that’s a completely foreign experience to me—having people like you and seek out your company—I could understand why so many people gravitated toward Emily. Even standing shoulder to shoulder with her, I wanted to get closer, to lean in as much as I possibly could until her face was the only thing in my field of vision.

“How’s, uh, college going?” I asked finally, wincing at the triteness of the question.

“It’s going okay,” she said. “I’m just a sophomore so, you know, not too much crazy pressure yet.”

“Oh right,” I said again and COME ON ROSE YOU HAVE OTHER WORDS IN YOUR VOCABULARY, SHE’S A WRITER AND YOU’RE SPEAKING IN MONOSYLLABLES god I’m such an idiot.

Thankfully, I was saved from further humiliation by the fact that we arrived at the bus stop.

“This is me,” I said, jerking my head to the stop. “Thanks for the escort.”

“No problem.” She smiled and my legs turned to jelly. “It’s kind of weird, right?”

“What do you mean?” My heart stopped in that moment. I knew I hadn’t made the best first—or second—impression, but it seemed unnecessarily harsh to call me weird.

“Running into each other again,” she explained. “Of all the gin joints…”