"Right，" I stammer. "Right. Fine. Yes. Okay. Yeah. Sorry—"
"I don't mean it like—"
"No， no，" I say， attempting to be breezy. Shanti， I tell myself. Take a three-part breath. Find distance. Clear it all out of your head. "No big thing. Doesn't matter."
"No， Merrow. It does—"
It's the first time he's said my name， and it sends a weird vibratory ring through me， like I'm a bell he's just struck. It's weird， because all he did was say my name， but it feels…odd. Tingly. Something like the pleasure-pain sensation of waking up your foot after it's gone to sleep on you.
"Doesn't matter，" I say through the smile that's now plastered on my face. Back when I had an Operation Trow， it was all about the smiles， I remind myself. Operation Trow is over now， of course， because I really need to stop being desperate and pathetic， but no need to stop smiling. In fact， smiling is the best way not to be desperate and pathetic. I'm sure I read that on a fortune cookie somewhere or something. "Really， really doesn't matter."
The bell rings. Trow leans over， closer to me， and I shrink back instinctively， because it is unforgivable to me that he should enter my personal space for the first time after brushing me off again.
"No，" he insists. "What I mean is—"
"Se?or Reading？ Se?orita Rodriguez-Chance？ Care to acknowledge the existence of homeroom？" Se?ora Trillo calls to us.
Homeroom is stupid and I have never once cared to acknowledge it， but today I am seized with the fierce conviction that homeroom is the most important class ever because it means that Trow has to stop talking to me.
Trow frowns and reluctantly takes his seat， reluctantly faces the front of the classroom. I refuse to look at the untidy mop of his wheat-blond hair the way I usually do. It's a stupid view and I don't want anything to do with it anymore. Stupid Trow Reading， who keeps turning around to hiss at me as if we have things to discuss when he has made it quite clear—twice—that we have nothing to discuss. I reinforce the fact that I have a test in history next Thursday by writing the word test in purple ink over and over again， until the letters actually cut through the paper， and I refuse to look up.
The bell rings， and I say to Trow again， "Doesn't matter，" and send him another bright-white smile， and then I dart away.
· · ·
Trow finds me while I'm not meditating at lunch. I mean， I should be meditating， but I am sitting there staring out the window and going over every interaction with Trow and being mortified by how much I've been throwing myself at him and how much he's been showing me he's not interested and how much I've been ignoring the signs. Me！ I read signs in everything！ I read signs in stars dancing through my eyelashes， in the spill of salt and pepper together when you shake them！ Worst. Julius Caesar. Ever.
The knock on the door startles me out of this reverie， and I am even more startled when I look up and Trow is there.
He looks uncertain. "Um，" he says. "Can I come in？"
And I feel my temper snap. Bad enough that he doesn't want anything to do with me， but now he insists on talking to me about how he doesn't want anything to do with me. Shanti can go to hell， because I am furious right now and not interested in finding peace to counter it.
"No，" I snap.
He looks surprised， as if he expected me to be all meek and devastated and mopey and invite him in. "What？"
"No." I uncross my legs from where I have been sitting on top of a random desk and march over to the classroom door and slam it in his face.
I enjoy the look of surprise on his face. Possibly I enjoy it too much. I may be feeling a bit smug as I turn away from him.
Then he opens the door back up， and I really can't believe his audacity. (Audacity is a good word and I've been meaning to use it more often， and I guess I should be glad Trow gave me the opportunity.)
"What can you possibly want？" I demand in disbelief， turning on him.
"To talk to you，" Trow retorts. "Which you're making amazingly difficult to do."
"Not true！" I shout. "We could have done a lot of talking over coffee！ I was making that super easy for you！"
"And now you're making it super difficult for me to talk to you about the coffee！" he shouts back.
"Because you didn't want to go to coffee！" I remind him angrily. "I asked you to go to coffee， and you said you couldn't go to coffee， and now you want to talk to me about how you don't want to go to coffee？ Sorry， I don't want to rehash how you don't want to hang out with me. I don't think we need to get into the specific reasons why you don't like me. I don't need any more details."
Trow blinks at me for a second， as if he cannot believe that my opinion is that I don't want to hear any more about his opinion of me. "You think that's what this is about？" he asks finally.
"You wanting to come in and talk to me about not wanting to go to coffee with me？" I don't understand what he's so confused about.
"I like you，" Trow says.
Yeah， I think. Sure. Easy enough for him to say because he can say it while saying the but after it. I like you， but… He's trying to let me down easier than he did this morning in homeroom， and that's nice of him， I guess， but I'm not in the mood to let him. I don't want his pity. I don't want him to think I'm some kind of excitable girl like a member of Sophie's pack who needs to be treated gently in case I go rabid and snap.
Well， I consider. Maybe I have gone a little bit rabid and snapped on him here.
I take a three-part breath， and when I open my eyes， Trow is looking at me warily， like he doesn't know what I'm going to do next. Good. I like to keep people guessing. Wouldn't do to be too written in the stars， would it？
"It's fine，" I say and try a smile on for size again. "It's fine. It was just a silly—I mean， never mind. We don't have to—"
Trow takes a few steps closer to me， close enough now that he is in my personal space entirely. He is taller than me， just slightly， and I have to lift my eyes a little to maintain eye contact with him. His eyes are hot and bright， and even though he isn't touching me at all， I feel like he could be. And I feel like he has sucked the air out of the space around us， like we are suddenly in a vacuum， floating up among the stars， and I couldn't try a three-part breath if I wanted to—I couldn't even inhale.
Trow says firmly， eyes blazing down at me， "No. I like you. I don't think I've ever met anyone even remotely like you."
And then what Trow Reading does is kiss me. Like， seriously. I am not even joking here. He just cups his hands around my face and presses his lips to mine， and he is the world's most excellent kisser， and he certainly kisses like he really， really likes me.
When he's done kissing me， I'm confused， and I don't think it's just because he's kissed me.
"But you don't want to go to yoga，" I say and then can't resist leaning up to press my lips back up against his.
"In fairness，" he says， his lips curling into one of his wry smiles against my lips， and how amazing is that， "that invitation caught me off guard."
"You don't want to go to coffee，" I say.
"I can't，" he says and shakes his head a little bit. "I'm not good at… My life is…"
I think of my two mothers， one a fortune-telling hippie and the other a straight-laced lawyer. "It can't be any crazier than my life，" I tell him.
He laughs a little bit without amusement. "You'd be surprised."
"Try me，" I challenge him.
He looks down at me for a second， his eyes searching all over my face， as if he's going to find the answer written there， as if my face contains the constellations， the dancing dust motes， salt and pepper， and cinnamon and sugar. "Maybe I will，" he says musingly.
I wait， barely breathing， but Trow doesn't tell me about his life. He takes a few steps away from me—a situation that I don't necessarily support—and perches on the teacher's desk and says， "So. Yoga， huh？ Tell me how that got started."
"My mom owns a yoga studio，" I reply and sit up on the desk next to him， feeling daring for doing it.
"That is very cool，" says Trow.
"And my other mom is a lawyer，" I say， figuring I should get all the confusing aspects of my life out of the way immediately.
"Two moms." Trow gives me a look that is caught between confusion and something else I can't quite place. "You have a profusion of moms."
"I'm just super lucky that way，" I say， and I say it lightly but actually I really mean it a lot.
Trow smiles again and says， "Which of them is the Rodriguez and which of them is the Chance？"
"The lawyer's the Rodriguez. The yoga teacher's the Chance. She likes to tell me that her name is the most appropriate name in this world， Chance." I can't believe (a) how much I'm talking， and (b) how coherently I'm talking. This is the easiest I've ever felt with Trow. I guess it did us good to get the first kiss out of the way quickly.
"It's a pretty great name，" Trow agrees with me.
"Reading's not so bad."
"It confuses everyone."
"Oh， and Trow doesn't？"
"You're one to talk， Merrow."
"So our moms both have strange taste in names." I shrug. "I like having an odd name. Don't you？"
"Not really." Trow says it thoughtfully. "I think I'd rather blend in. But I can see how you're made to stand out."
I'm a little bit embarrassed by that assessment. "Not really，" I say.
Trow lifts an eyebrow at me. "You expect me to believe that？ You've got rainbow hair. And you don't dress like anyone I've ever met. You're so you； it's fantastic. You're not like any other girl here."
"You say that like it's a good thing."
"Of course it's a good thing."
I look from Trow to the window. Outside， cars are passing. I automatically start counting red ones， in order to have something to think about that's not Trow and what I'm saying to Trow. "No one really seems to notice me."
"How can you say that？ How can anyone not notice you？ You're the only interesting thing in this entire school. Maybe in this entire state."
"Well，" I say， trying to maintain lightness as I look back at him， "there's no need to go that far. There's no need to be ridiculous."
Trow grins.
I hear myself saying， "I don't know why no one notices me. I feel like their eyes all pass right over me. Like I don't factor into the world for them. Or maybe I feel that way. I've just always felt like I don't belong here."
Trow looks at me for a second. And then he says， "You say that like it's a bad thing."
· · ·
That night， I am walking on air， and all the tension about the tarot cards seems very far away. I expect Mom or Mother to sense the change in my mood and ask questions， but they don't and I am relieved because I kind of don't want to answer these questions right now.
The next day， Trow brings coffee into homeroom， and he gets into trouble for it but not before he is able to give me one of those heart-stopping grins， and I face the facts： probably， regardless of what the tarot cards say or don't say， I am in love.