26
DOUĂZECI ȘI ȘA SE
e sat, whispering in the darkened stairwell.
Liliana’s arm rested on my back. Her fingers grazed theW stray pieces of hair fringing beneath my hat. Her touch on my neck, it was driving me crazy. I wanted to exhale and relax into it. But as soon as I closed my eyes, the hatch of guilt turned and groaned. The conversation with Bunu felt lodged in the back of my throat.
I lifted the edge of Liliana’s purple scarf. It smelled like her.
“Alex asked Cici on a date,” I whispered.
“He said Cici asked him.”
“Really?”
“That’s what he wants me to believe,” said Liliana. “You know my brother’s hardly shy.”
“Cici came to me about it, said she would cancel if it felt weird.”
“What did you say?”
“That it felt weird.”
Liliana laughed.
“But I told her not to cancel. Are you okay with that?”
“Yeah. But it is kinda weird, isn’t it? Maybe we gave Alex the idea. He saw us at video night. He said we looked comfortable hanging out and asked what we were laughing about.”
“Hanging out,” I whispered. “Is that what we’re doing?”
She laid her head on my shoulder in response and slid her hand into mine.
I smiled. “Tell Alex we were laughing about Gumela. And how I liked you back then but was too scared to admit it.”
“You didn’t have to admit it,” she said quietly. “I knew.”
I nodded. She probably did. There were things I wanted to know about her. “Hey, if we lived in the West and you could choose any job you wanted, what would you do?” I asked.
“That’s easy,” she said. “I love books. I’d work in a library.”
“Yeah, you could sneak in outlawed books for me,” I told her.
“Speaking of librarians, did you hear? The school librarian told Luca she thinks I’m a bad influence.”
“You are,” she laughed. “Some are intrigued by the look of you, but they don’t know what to make of you.”
Could I blame them? Sometimes I didn’t know what to make of me either.
“So, mister bad influence, if you lived in the West and could choose any job you wanted, what would it be?” she asked.
Could I tell her? Should I tell her? I could barely confess it to myself.
“A writer,” I whispered.
She nodded. “That makes sense.”
“It does?”
“Of course. Writers are dangerous. And you’re a brooding, philosophical Virgo. You’re not a follower. Even your hair’s a revolution.”
“But what if I’m an awful writer?”
“What if I’m an awful librarian?”
I smiled and tugged her hand, pulling her toward me. “I think I might like you anyway,” I whispered.
I leaned in. Her face lifted to meet mine.
Footsteps.
Sounds echoed in the stairwell.
Liliana’s hand whisked from mine. We waited, heads down in the dark.
The steps paused. Someone had heard us.
Was the Secu agent in our building listening?
Who was on the stairs?