A hand squeezed Eliza’s with warm damp fingers and soft sobs punctuated the air like tiny exclamation marks jotted across the page. Eliza helplessly sat in place and let Mickey tightly hold her hand and cry to herself. Admittedly, she didn’t entirely know what to do.

Eliza considered herself a thoughtful, patient, and insightful person. However, public displays of emotions were not in her wheelhouse. She distinctly remembered the first time she ever saw her father cry when she was seventeen. She accidentally found him shining his shoes in the hallway closet with tears streaming down his face. He had sniffled and said “too much dust in the air” and then tried to laugh through it as if nothing was wrong. They never talked about it again.

And Eliza was certain she had never seen her mother cry at all.

She went over possible phrases in her head: it’s going to be okay. You’re doing your best. I believe in you. There, there. None of them sounded that good to her so all Eliza managed to do was sit stiffly beside Mickey as she released another little sniffle.

“I’m sorry,” Mickey finally said and tried to mop up her face again. “I shouldn’t… yeah.”

“No.” Eliza just shook her head, “thank you.” She said out loud and then winced at herself. Of all the phrases she could have chosen that one probably wasn't the best.

Mickey looked up in confusion, her eyes a brilliant red and nose almost the same color. “You’re… welcome?”

“It’s just,” Eliza stammered, “Um, I’ve never been good at being honest. So thank you. For sharing.”

Mickey gave a strained chuckled, “I’d like to say I do it on purpose, but honestly I just don’t know how to keep shit to myself.”

Eliza squeezed her hand tighter as if that connection between them could build bridges and raze cities and communicate everything Eliza couldn’t say. “I like it.” She drew in a deep breath, “I think people who are honest are…” Eliza hesitated, brave? Interesting? Very hot sexy girl, even when she’s crying, oh God, how is she so hot? “Amazing.” She sighed the word like a holy thing. “You are, that is. You’ve obviously worked really hard to get where you are today.”

Mickey gave a hiccup of a laugh and scooted slightly closer. “Did you not hear my speech about sucking at just, so many things? I mean, really sucking. And I appreciate it, but I’m not,” she shrugged uncomfortably, “I’m not much.”

Something about the way she said it tore at Eliza’s heart and dug its little teeth in. She gave a shaky smile, “Agree to disagree.”

Mickey looked through her wet eyelashes and reached over with her free hand to push a chunk of Eliza’s hair back. “I’ll take it. Even if it’s not the truth.” She grinned and it was full of star systems and planetary movements dazzling and pulling you into their orbits. “I mean, I won’t say no to a compliment from a pretty girl.”

Eliza held her breath and she knew there was no way she heard that wrong. Alarm bells went off in her head, her chest ached, and the world pin-pricked down into that moment and that moment alone.

She wanted to call her a liar. She wanted to tell her to not mess with her. But Mickey was looking at her, and maybe, if nothing else, she was honest. And it destroyed something in Eliza until she was nothing but dust.

“Oh.”

Mickey tipped her chin up dangerously and it was just like all those nights ago on their couch when they were slightly buzzed and watching TV. Quiet and tense, but Mickey’s gaze was lidded and potent and something hung between them about to fall from the branch and burst.

Eliza parted her lips and every nerve in her body lit up. Mickey held her gaze and there was a dare between them. They drew slightly closer at an agonizingly slow pace.

Ding-dong!

The girls jumped apart like cats with water poured over them.

“Shit!” Eliza swore as she remembered the goddamn pizza they ordered. “Shit, I’ll be right back, stay, stay right there.” She wanted to tell her to hold that thought and pose and exact feeling, but Mickey jumped to her feet.

“God, I feel like a mess, I need to go blow my nose.” She retreated to her bedroom as Eliza answered the door.

The delivery guy was a kid named Jake with goofy fly-away blonde hair, handsome straight teeth, and teenage acne dotting his hairline. For a moment Eliza hated teenage boys named Jake that delivered pizza.

“Here you go,” he handed over the warm box. Eliza tried not to glare. “Uh,” he shifted in place, “enjoy. And have a good night?”

“You too,” she said, but what she really meant was ‘why don’t you go on a perilous 20 years journey back to your wife while she has to fend off suitors that take advantage of her hospitality, ya dunce.’ It didn’t make her feel any better and she tipped him extra to make up for her own personal temper tantrum.

When Eliza turned around Mickey was back and looking fresher and more alert. She leaned on the counter with an absent, loose-jointed swagger. Something about her had returned, but something felt like it was lost as well.

Eliza internally sighed as she put down the pizza and got out plates. Mickey thanked her for the food and they began to eat in silence-- lost to their own thoughts and personal considerations.

The food tasted like greasy cheese and regrets. “By the way,” Mickey said through her mouthful as they finished, “I was just reading your note cards and I gotta say you have the most adorable handwriting I’ve ever seen. Like a schoolgirl who discovered bubble letters for the first time.”

Eliza rolled her eyes, “did you read the actual words as well?”

“I mean, yes,” she said cheekily, “but I was also distracted by the fact you dot your eyes with entire little circles.”

“Lots of people write like that.” Eliza felt like an exposed nerve as they bickered as if nothing had just happened.

“Nuh-uh,” Mickey cooed, “it’s like a third-grader trying to impress a crush. It’s so cute!” Eliza almost choked on her pizza crust and Mickey got out a flash card. “Look at this, it’s like letters on a barbie princess cake, I could eat it up.”

Eliza studied Mickey for another moment: her pale freckles, and dark eyes, and steady brow. She wanted to eat that up too. Eliza drew in a deep breath and reminded herself that Mickey needed to concentrate. She needed to study. “Why don’t we try something new for review next?” She offered, “we could make a game of it.”

Mickey raised an eyebrow, “I feel a little patronized, but I’m listening.”

“It’ll be fun, there’s this game I used to play with my dad when he taught me my multiplication tables.”

“Okay, well now I feel double-patronized,” Mickey said with bemusement, “but I’m still thinking about your cute handwriting, so go on.”

“Just listen,” Eliza went over to their big blue recycling bin and emptied it. She brought it over to the corner, “I’ll write down questions, read it, and then ball up the piece of paper. If you get the question right you can try and make a basket,” she pointed at their empty bin, “and if you get it wrong I get to try and make a basket.”

Mickey nodded, “Alright, you’re appealing to my competitive nature.”

“And whoever makes the most baskets by the end of the study guide wins,” Eliza beamed. “I never forgot my 7’s table after this.”

Mickey leaned on the counter and looked her over, “And what do I get if I win?” She hummed, “I only play for high stakes, Ms. Multiplication Tables.”

Eliza shrugged, “I dunno, I’ll take the trash out for a month?”

“Nah.” Mickey stood up and stretched. She sauntered over with a predatory angle to her movements, “how about,” she boldly widened her stance, “I take you out for dinner if I win? And if I pass this midterm,” she spoke with heady smoke in each vowel, “I’ll pay.”

Eliza gulped and her palms got moist. “Sure,” she said and pet her own hair down, “whatever you like.”

Mickey balled up a piece of paper and let it swish into the basket from across the room. “Let’s get studying.”

Eliza watched in a daze as they went over question after question, writing and rewriting them on pieces of scrap paper they tried to toss into the bin. Mickey was better at making baskets, but Eliza got more chances to make them.

They ended up being tied by the time they reached the last one Mickey had gotten wrong. Eliza felt close to drowning in it.

Eliza balled up the words “what is stereopsis? When does it develop?” and carefully lined up her shot. She bit her bottom lip and a prickle ran up and down her arms. Did Mickey really want to take her out to dinner? As friends? Roommates? Something more?

She extended her arm.

“Biff it!” Mickey cheered as Eliza let the paper ball fly.

She watched with a groan as it bounced off the wall and onto the carpet. Mickey practically cackled and stood up. “I guess that’s that.” Eliza could barely look at her. “Winner winner chicken dinner and all that.”

“If I were a lesser man I’d say you cheated.” She said and crossed her arms over her chest.

“I’m happy to do a rematch sometime,” Mickey cracked her back, “But I should actually sleep first so I can retain all this information,” she traipsed over to Eliza and leaned over her. "Thanks for tonight.”

Butterflies started to swarm in Eliza’s stomach as Mickey loomed over her with a type of velvet in her gaze. “Of course.” Eliza practically squeaked. "It was my pleasure."

Mickey reached over and patted Eliza’s shoulder. “Let me know what kind of restaurants you like,” she winked, “and I'll just have to pass this goddamn class after all.”

Mickey walked off to bed without a second thought and Eliza stared off into space with her stomach erupting into a whole atrium of butterflies this time. She collapsed backwards with a thump and looked at the ceiling with the reverence of monks discovering religion.

Her body sang with a quiet and flickering hope. She could go out to a restaurant with Mickey. 

She could dress up for Mickey. She could eat dessert with Mickey. They could laugh together. They could go home together. They could… do a lot of things together.

Eliza shuddered from her head to her toe. Was she allowed this? Was she allowed something like a date? Was she allowed to let herself have this? She prayed again and again in a language she felt didn’t belong to her, but she wanted to understand more than anything else in the world.