by Emily Evans
This moment was important. My heart felt it. I hoped his did, too. I looked into his eyes. He looked into mine. We had our connection back. He gave me a quick melting kiss and then we turned to go back down the path. A duo was on the road coming our way. Westminster had come to us. Peppa and Vihaan. Wythe stepped farther away from me, which I hated. But discretion was the better part of finishing this internship. On the plus side, if they’d chosen Stonehenge, too, it was further evidence that we’d guessed the clue correctly.
Peppa reached forward and held out her hand to Wythe. He shook it, but in that restrained British way, as if startled by the touching and not terribly eager for it. “We missed you at the pub yesterday,” Peppa said.
I smiled at her. “Must have been a miscommunication.”
Peppa didn’t like that, and her expression was one that I hated seeing in other women. A ‘girls competing over a guy’ kind of expression. So stupid. He liked you or he didn’t. Yearning, bitchy looks wouldn’t alter it. Or maybe this was about the internship.
“I’m Vihaan.” Vihaan looked at me under his heavy eyelids. It was an attempted come-on. After what he’d done to Wythe, did he think I’d be interested in him? Annoyance flickered through me. Selling his classmate out. Not cool. Not at all like what I’d done. The thought of my own mistake made guilt churn in my stomach.
Peppa looked at the rings in the distance. “What was your answer? Have you sent in your ultimate guess? Vihaan and I are almost ready.”
I didn’t believe her. “We’ll never tell.” I used it as an excuse to wave and keep walking.
***
Back in the town car, the privacy glass gave us the illusion of being alone together. Me and Wythe. I planned to pretty much stare at him the whole drive back. He was good-looking, fit, intelligent… Stop drooling over him. The flush of chemistry that rolled over me made me suck in a breath. I had to get out of here before I jumped him and kissed him. I turned my attention to the countryside and my phone, splitting the time. The car had reached the road along the Thames now. It calmed and disappointed me at the same time. We were nearing Westminster. Our truce was almost over. The car went through the security gates. I could walk from here. I reached for the door handle.
“Wait,” Wythe said.
I dropped my hand and turned to him as if he were the sun and I was Venus.
“What’s that expression?” Wythe sounded intellectually curious.
The tone cooled me down.
He tilted his head at a confident angle. “Thinking about me?”
So much. Heat flushed my face. I had to shut that down or end up under his heel like the gum splotches that marred the sidewalks.
He touched my hand as if he’d hold it.
My breath caught.
He pulled away, got out of the car, leaving me sitting there like a puddle of goo. I’d felt something real between us… something I couldn’t name, but something real… something I couldn’t bring back.
***
I focused on class in a way I hadn’t before. If I could get this right for him, it would mean something to me. My thoughts came together the next day during the hour Wythe went jogging. I put on my running gear and went outside to the path that wove through the rose bushes. I took the path at a slow jog, looking out for him. Wythe was up ahead, bent forward, hands on his knees, the way runners caught their breath after they pushed themselves. Poised there, with the hedges behind him, hair sweat-dampened, he was an ad for British summers.
He turned his head toward me. “Hey.”
Even his freaking greetings pleased me. I was crazy. I went up to him. “Got some new ideas for class.”
“Go ahead.” He didn’t sound super intrigued.
I had to work harder. The trail crunched under our feet as we headed back to the security entrance. “Put them all together. King Richard and Salisbury led us to Stonehenge. Stonehenge led us to…”
“I got nothing.”
He wasn’t trying enough, and I wasn’t just giving it up. “What was Stonehenge’s purpose?”
“To give us an engineering puzzle. A history mystery.”
Better. “Sort of. The answer is we don’t know. Temple. Meeting Place. Court. Auditorium. We don’t know. So, King Richard. And something we don’t know… like…” I went with the big obvious in an English lit author puzzle. “Shakespeare.” I said the name with the reverence it deserved. “He’s a massive British mystery. Was the one guy really the author of all those works? Or, was he covering for someone else? Like the queen? It’s really fascinating, right?”
“Okay,” he said, but he didn’t seem that interested, just mildy amused by my enthusiasm. “Go on.”
“I thought Stratford, where he’s from, but time’s winding down. Sending us to the countryside to dig up more clues isn’t practical.” Though what was practical for the average Oxford student might differ from the average broke American teenager. Besides, this had kind of jumped out at me. “We know there’s a King Richard play. We know the Stonehenge rings are circular.” I made a circle with my fingers. “So circular Shakespeare and London… that can only be…”
He stared at me blankly.
He’d so fail without me. My mouth twitched. “Shakespeare’s Theatre—the Globe. We can go there.”
Wythe touched a finger to the side of his temple. “Got it. Let me hit the shower. Meet me at the front in twenty.”
“Make it thirty.” I wasn’t wearing gym clothes to the Globe.
***
We headed to the Globe, the famous re-creation of the theatre that had staged Shakespeare’s plays. I had on a sleeveless peach floral top, a floaty delicate one, with Capri jeans and sandals. I’d worn my hair down and applied light makeup. It was one of those looks that screamed casual but had taken me the full half hour to put together with me rushing.
Wythe didn’t say anything about my outfit, but he did give me more than one once-over, especially my hair. I had to stop with the ponytails. He tapped his fingertips together. “These clues aren’t that obscure, once you add someone who knows something about literature to the mix.” He’d given me a compliment.
I melted some at the evidence of his thawing. “I kind of think the professor wants many interpretations more than a definitive answer. To see how we think. If we think.”
“Yeah.” He purchased tickets, mentioning we were here for a class.
“Nice.” The female cashier unclipped her hair and fluffed it. “You can go in now. No need to queue.”
“What about the line?” I pointed at tourists on benches, obviously waiting, clearly ahead of us.
The cashier only had eyes for Wythe. “You have a special time. Better access.” She either recognized him as the PM’s son or she thought he was hot. She handed him two brochures that looked like scripts and listed the summer play production schedule. We went in. I’d been here as a kid with my family, but it awed me even more now. Wooden stadium seats faced the empty stage. Shakespeare. I’m not saying this place was a future English lit major’s dream come true. But it was close.
Wythe checked out the structure. “Green oak, thatched roof based on reeds they found during the excavation.”
“What’s your favorite Shakespeare quote? Let me guess.” I bounced up and down. Being here was such a thrill, it sent a rush through me. Being here with him made it even better. The breeze stirred over me. A quote that fit him, and this situation, was easy. “‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.’”
“So much literature.” He looked slightly hunted.
“Yep.” And it was awesome. This place was breathtaking. When I’d been here before, the rows had been packed with timed entrants. Right now, we were the only people here. That cashier had definitely given Wythe special treatment. I didn’t blame her.
“We’ll send your quote in.” Wythe went to the edge of the stage and gave me a boost before climbing up. He was either entitled or simply knew which rules were silly.
I still had to protest. “We’re not supposed to be…”
He winked, clearly in a fun mood, and that shut me up. “‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.’” He held out his hand.
Oh. Yes. I took his hand.
“Ready for your stage kiss?”
Chapter 18
Yeah. I was ready for my stage kiss. I tilted my head to make him work for it. “Send in our quote first, kind sir, because I doth think thou must earn it.”
Wythe grinned and typed it in as we stood there on the stage of stages, saying the words aloud at the same time. “‘All the world’s a stage…’” Wythe hit send and then pulled me to him the way actors had done on stage for centuries, with a dramatic swoop. And he kissed me. It differed from the mystical Stonehenge kiss with the cool breeze from the plains. This kiss had the energy of the theatre. The thrill of ghostly onlookers. The promise of praise. Then the kiss turned. We weren’t playing anymore. My brain grew fuzzy. And I felt the moment. It was him and me. Us. Warmth. Energy. Electricity. Fire.
Someone cleared her throat. This was no ghost of an audience long past. This was now.
Peppa and Vihaan. Peppa was glaring up at us with her hands crossed over her chest. Vihaan looked like he wanted to give us a thumbs-up. She’d busted us. She was the head intern. She knew about the “no touching” rule.
“It’s for the clue.” I brushed my hands over my shirt and jeans as if they were in disarray. “Romeo and Juliet.” I could have kicked myself. Excuses and fidgeting screamed guilt.
“She’s not interning right now, Peppa. Lose the look,” Wythe said.
Peppa shrugged. “I’m just upset you beat us here. That’s all.”
“Barely.” Vihaan glared beside her, hands splayed. “They are only moments ahead of us.” He cocked his head back, looking up at us. “Getting a bit close for comfort now, isn’t it?” He was talking about the competition, not my internship. They were weirdly right behind us on this quest. I guess the clue had been an easy one because we’d come up with the answer at almost the same time as them. The other teams would probably be barging in any moment. Were we slipping from our number one spot?
I wouldn’t let them know they’d worried me. “Close only counts in horseshoes,” I said, giving Vihaan one of Felicity’s favorite taunts. Vihaan’s blank expression implied horseshoes might not be such a known game over here.
Wythe and I needed to get away from them to brainstorm our next step. I backed up. A groove had been notched out of the stage floor. Stage actors needed a swift getaway. I lifted it and revealed stairs. I climbed in. The ladder chute smelled like costumes, hairspray, and makeup. We were in the actors’ area for sure. “Come on, Wythe.”
He was right behind me as I went down the black wooden stairs. But when I reached the last rung, the stairs just stopped, hanging well above the floor. A giant cushion underneath served as a landing. I crossed my fingers and let go.
Whoosh. The air left my body but in a rushed way, not a starved-of-oxygen way.
Wythe landed on my left.
I knew he would. He wasn’t the type of guy to crawl back up and circle around rather than take the plunge. He rolled beside me and turned on his side. The move rotated my body toward his. His gaze examined me in a deep pensive way.
I didn’t move. I was stuck there like an actress who’d forgotten her line. Like an ancient stargazer enamoured of the sky. Like an intern falling for the hot Prime Minister’s son.
He threaded his fingers through my hair, his expression curious and then almost sad. “There’s a maritime lecture Thursday afternoon in Greenwich. We should go.”
That was the last day I could get an intern point. “Would that get me a point?”
He looked at me like I’d said the wrong thing, rolled away, and got up.
I wanted to call him back. Instead, I watched him walk away. At that moment, I knew I’d rather have him here with me, even if it meant I failed the internship. The win against Felicity was no longer enough; I wanted more out of this summer.
***
I wasn’t ready yet to give up on the internship photo, and I had a plan. Tomorrow was Thursday, the last possible day for an internship point. If I solved the class puzzle, Wythe would be so grateful that he’d agree to an event tomorrow. I caught up to Wythe in the gym. I could have waited until he finished his workout, but why would I? Seeing his muscles bunch and release as he went through the machines was a treat. He knew I was watching, but he didn’t stop. Even in a white t-shirt and navy sweats, he looked great. I’d buy a gym membership from him. “Kira,” he said as he wiped his face with a towel when he’d finished on the bench press.
I liked his tone. It was as if the truce we’d created had held. Kira. I liked my name in his accent. I wanted to hear it again.
He arched his eyebrow when I said nothing. “Kira?” He stretched out his arms and legs and leaned forward.
I had to answer him. My excuse to be here was a new email from the professor. This class was the weirdest. Classes back home had rarely bucked the traditional lecture and multiple-choice test model. Sometimes. But rarely. “We got a new class email.” I waved my phone. “‘Your mission, should you choose to accept it, deliver this clue,’” I made quotes, “‘to the team you believe will come after you. Give them a relevant author name.’” The task was mean, like in those reality shows where they made the contestants name who should go home. I always thought those episodes were especially vicious. In our case, it was easy though. We hadn’t seen anyone else from class other than Vihaan and Peppa. They were the team in second place.
“Vihaan and Peppa,” Wythe said.
“Exactly. So, we need to give them an author name.”
“Any author?” Wythe raised his eyebrows. “That’s my level of literary gameplay. I can name an author.”
I didn’t think that was a good idea. And I wasn’t the kind of girl to go along with his suggestion just because he’d made it. Like, as if I were gushing, he’d adore me. “The professor mentioned ‘our mission’ as in Mission Impossible? Is that even British?”
Wythe tossed his workout towel into the bin and looked at me like I’d suggested he switch his major to literature and spend his days analyzing Chaucer. “A spy mission would be James Bond, of course. Quite British. Finally, one I like.”
Right. I Googled the author of the James Bond books. “Ian Fleming.”
“You had to Google that?”
I ignored his question. “What’s a good spy kind of way to do the information drop for Peppa?”
Wythe’s eyes glistened. “In an Aston Martin DB5. I’ll have a shower and ring to have one delivered.”
Such a guy answer. My funds didn’t run to car deliveries. “I was thinking more of an encrypted note.” I snickered. “You’ll have time to shower, because good luck to whoever has to drop us a clue. They’ll never get through security.”
“Kira.” Wythe shook his head and went to the door. “We’re in the lead. We won’t be getting a note.”
“Right.” I followed him and found his words oddly sobering and unfamiliar. I didn’t spend my days in the lead. I spent them playing catch up with Felicity. Always had. Every playground, every report card. Now that she wasn’t here, I was running my own race. That was… different.
“We’ll drop the clue to Peppa.” Wythe raised his finger at one of the hallway guards and asked him the location of Peppa’s room.
I was pleased that he didn’t know where her apartment was. So pleased that I decided to make the competition fair. I shot her a text message that we were on the way and asked if she could video-in her partner. It wasn’t exactly spy-drop sneaky, but I wasn’t a spy. We climbed the two sets of stairs. “Why does she live here? She’s not assigned to household. Heck. I don’t really need to be here.”
He shrugged. “Family connections.”
“Ah. How English.” Peppa’s door was not far down from mine. I could have lived without knowing that. “Wait, I
’ll get some paper.” I ran to my room and wrote out a hangman-style clue. To give Peppa a hint, I scribbled out the alphabet and marked through five of the letters. I took it back and showed Wythe.
He nodded and snapped a photo, shooting it off to the professor.
I knocked on Peppa’s door.
Peppa opened the door in a towel. A towel. Like the English girl on that dry shampoo commercial, the one who didn’t shampoo her hair in time for her date but was acting like she had. The towel was short, red, and tucked in at the front of her pale chest. I really didn’t appreciate it. In what way was that appropriate? Wythe blinked and backed up a step. Whatever that meant. In hindsight, we should have gone to Vihaan’s house. I handed over the paper, noticing that her hair, like her skin, was dry. “I guess you didn’t get my text that we were dropping by.” My tone was only a little sarcastic. If she was going to go I’m so shocked that you caught me in the shower, she could have at least sprinkled some water on her freckled shoulders. I spun away. Mission accomplished.
“Wait a moment,” Peppa said in a work tone.
I did not want to wait a moment, but I did it anyway.
“Vihaan and I discussed it. And we believe our team is really in the lead. So, you’re team two.”
That made me bristle even worse than the towel. We were number one.
Peppa held out a folded piece of pink paper. “Your next clue.”
I took it and strode off, waiting until we were out of Peppa’s sight before looking down. The paper said, Language is wine upon the lips.
Wythe Googled it while we walked down the stairs. “Virginia Woolf.”
I had a better Virginia Woolf quote. “My favorite is, ‘One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.’ Virginia Woolf.” I didn’t bother asking his favorite Virginia Woolf quote; I knew he wouldn’t have one.
“I could eat. Let me change. Meet you here in…?”