Levitating Again

"Are you mad at me?" I pass the note to Alastair in precalc, waiting nervously for his response.

"No, why would I be?" I turn to him, trying to read his facial expression, but he appears completely engrossed in the lecture, not giving away anything.

I chew my inner cheek, trying to decipher the weird mood he has been in since lunch.

"You just seemed kind of upset when you saw David and I together."

"Why would that upset me?"

Is he purposefully being obtuse? Is he lying again? "Because you like me?" I risk asking.

Alastair takes a long time to respond and every time he makes a notation in his notebook I think he is writing something back, but he is just copying problems from the blackboard. I try to listen as well—to distract myself from waiting on him—but not even math can hold my attention when Starlight is near. Despite hardly paying attention at all the past five days, I've been absorbing the material fairly well. We have finally moved on from imaginary numbers to complex planes, but math has always come easy to me, and the pacing of the class is still too slow to be challenging.

Finally, I get a response. "Witches don't believe in monogamy, so it's not like I'm jealous if that's what you're thinking."

What. The. Heck.

The world tilts a little and I suddenly have no idea what this all means to Alastair. A thousand questions pop into my head, none of which I'm sure I want answers to. He told me he didn't want to be friends with me, because he didn't want to get attached. He told me he had a crush on me, but he knew we could never be together. He stayed away from me in order to respect werewolf traditions. And then at lunch… I could have sworn he was jealous or at least didn't like seeing me with David. Or did I imagine it all? Surely he knows I can't be with him after I'm mated. Right?

...

I can't. Right?

A sudden headache slams into me and, when Alastair grips his head in his hands, I become acutely aware that he is listening to my thoughts. I catch his lavender eyes, glaring at him accusingly before he quickly looks away guiltily.

"Sorry," he mumbles too quietly for humans to hear.

I take a deep breath, and his lavender scent calms me. I remind myself that all this will change in two days and determine to put all my worries in a lock box until then. "Please stop with the mind games. I'm confused enough as it is."

He nods. "Sorry," he writes back. He nibbles on his lip for a moment before continuing. "I'm honestly not jealous or upset with you."

"Then what?" When he doesn't respond immediately, I sigh. So much for peeling back the onion. "You may not be upset with me, but you're clearly upset about something. Just be honest with me."

"Can't you just let this go?" he scratches back.

"No."

He shakes his head at that, huffing slightly.

"Is it something to do with David?" I try to probe.

"You don't have to worry about me coming in between you and David," he writes quickly. "On Sunday, if you don't ever want to speak to me again, I won't bother you."

Pain twists in my heart at his response. "I could never not want to talk with you." It's impulsive of me to tell him that, because I'm not 100% sure how the mating bond will affect me, but I'm doing what I want right now; consequences be damned.

"Please stop," he writes.

I give him a confused frown.

"Giving me hope. I already told you I don't want to get attached."

Oh.

It suddenly hits me that I haven't really been considering his feelings in all this. Following him around like a stray puppy, pushing all my feelings on him, pressuring him to eat lunch with the pack. I never wanted to hurt him, but maybe it really would be easier for him if we weren't friends.

"I'm sorry," I write. It pains me, but I force myself to add: "If you don't want to go to the game with me tomorrow, I understand."

After reading my response, his dark violet gaze flicks to mine. He searches my eyes with a worried look, but his eyes never lighten with magic. He isn't reading my mind, but can he still feel how much I'm hurting? How desperately I just want him to say, "to hell with it, let's just do what we want"?

But, I realize, that's extremely selfish of me, and I don't want to be selfish with him. The opposite, in fact. I want him to smile freely and laugh so the whole world can hear. To know he doesn't have to take on all his responsibilities alone or hide what he's really feeling all the time.

The intensity of my thoughts and feelings dissolves my pain, leaving me bare and vulnerable. In this moment of clarity, stripped of selfishness, anxiety, and heartbreak, I realize I don't just want to do whatever I want.

I want to do what I want and what is good.

I take in a deep breath of lavender, closing my eyes and allowing his rainy scent to wash everything else away as I mull over my realization.

Sometimes doing what is good means putting aside my own wants for someone else's needs, but I think I tend to take this too far. I guess that's why I'm such a people pleaser—always trying to appease my boyfriend and my mom and to meet the whole pack's expectations—but what if the people I'm trying to please want things that aren't good, for me or for them?

Star has already proven himself to be good-hearted, so I'm not worried about him asking me to do something wrong, per se, but will he ask me to give up what I want for what he needs, just like David?

I'm so lost in thought, I don't immediately notice Star trying to get my attention. He is biting his lip nervously, tugging on my sleeve. "Do you want me to come?" his note says.

I think about my response for only a moment. "Honestly, I just want you to be happy."

A slight blush graces his beautiful terracotta skin. He eagerly writes a response. "I don't know if I can ever be happy about going to a football game."

Then tension between us melts as I stifle a laugh, constricting my air. My chest only tightens further at his next words: "But if you're there, I think I could make an exception."

My spirits lift. My heart sores. Maybe, just maybe, despite his fears, what he needs is also exactly what I want. Just one day. One day to pretend. One day to ignore worry and guilt. One day to be happy. A silent, unspoken agreement passes between us.

"Pick you up at 5?" I ask.

"It's a date," he writes, smirking, before adding a tiny carrot in between the words "it's" and "a" with a "not" above it.

I smile at his cheeky flirtations. Light and unburdened, I'm levitating once again.