#mindreader

The hallway became less and less crowded as students found where they needed to be, so it was fairly easy for her to figure out which empty lecture room the boy had dashed into. Silently, she slid through the door and allowed it to close behind her.

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting to see, but him lying on the floor and trembling was not one of them. He had his hand clutched to his chest as if he couldn’t breathe. His thoughts were going haywire, obviously in a panic and unable to pinpoint a single thought. All Rory could pick up on clearly was him repeating, control it control it control it.

Rory took a careful step forward, opening her mouth to make her presence known, when the words died in her throat. The boy suddenly lurched, his body jerking like it had hit something invisible. His shoulders broadened first, then his arms lengthened too fast, elbows knocking into desks. The room seemed to shrink around him as he grew, his head nearly brushing the fluorescent lights. He slammed his palms against opposite walls, fingers splayed, bracing himself, trying to stop this sudden growth-spurt.

“Stop, stop, stop,” he gasped, his voice shaking, as if saying it out loud might make his body listen. Every panicked breath seemed to only make him bigger, heavier, more trapped. Desks scraped and toppled beneath him as he shifted, the sound sharp and violent in the confined space. Rory could feel the terror rolling off him in waves.

He bent awkwardly at the waist, hunching his shoulders, trying to fold himself smaller even though it didn’t work. Rory felt surrounded by his labored breaths. His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clenched, his mind running at a million miles per hour. She wanted to run but her body felt frozen in place, too scared to move or draw attention to herself.

The boy’s gargantuan hands reached to his head and removed his beanie, revealing a mess of brown hair. He was clenching it as if it were a lifeline, his knuckles turning white against the black fabric. He tried to shift into a more comfortable position, quickly becoming too big for the room. The sudden movement of his over-sized body jumpstarted Rory’s heart, and she fell over as an arm moved her way. Her back hit the cool tiled floor and an umph escaped her lips.

The boy’s eyes cracked open, pupils settling on her miniscule form. Shock and utter fear took over his features.

(No, no, no, no, no, no.)

Panic began to roar behind his eyes.

Rory back peddled on the floor, scrambling for purchase but unable to tear her eyes away from him. He shifted, overly large limbs stretching further across the room. Rory finally found it in herself to get up and run toward the door, but his leg was draped in front of it, acting as a barricade. She was trapped.

“Um,” Rory tried, but she found her voice failing her. What could she say?

He studied her still, his heart pounding in his chest. Rory felt his panic welling in her throat thanks to her stupid abilities, but she couldn’t tell where her fear ended and his began. They both stared at each other in anxiety-riddled silence.

“What—? What are you doing in here?” The boy finally asked, his voice so strained and choked that it sounded like he was about to cry.

Rory involuntarily flinched; his voice so much louder than she was prepared for. Her actions made him freeze, and he thought: I’m scaring her. Oh God, this is bad—

A wave of embarrassment and disgust and fear washed over him and the realization that he had reached only encouraged his growth spurt. His head banged against the ceiling and he was forced to tuck his legs in tighter to himself, further swallowing Rory into the room.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, trying his best to keep his voice as quiet as possible to not scare her again. “I—I’m not sure—”

A tear rolled down his cheek and he quickly moved to wipe it away. He’s so embarrassed to be trapped in this room, but what’s worse is that there’s a stranger trapped in here with him, watching his pathetic breakdown. He tried to block out the panic, tried to pretend that everything was fine, but his heart was pounding against his ribcage in such a ferocious way that he’s near certain she can hear it. The thought made the room close in further, and he wrenched his eyes shut, turning over on his side so that he could lay on the floor and pray he doesn’t get any bigger.

“I’m sorry,” he tried again, hating the sound of his voice and the loudness of it all.

Rory swallowed hard, her heart hammering. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to scream, to do something, but the noise in his head was louder than her fear.

She saw. She’s going to run. She’s going to tell someone.

“I—” Rory tried again, forcing air into her lungs. “I wasn’t—I just—”

She’s going to run. She’s going to tell someone. They’ll come. They’ll see. They’ll hurt me.

“No,” he said suddenly, louder than before, and Rory flinched despite herself. He winced when he saw it. “No—don’t—don’t go.” His massive hand shifted, fingers scraping against the floor as if he might reach for her, then stopping short like the thought horrified him. “Don’t move.”

“Okay.” Rory’s voice was barely above a whisper. She stayed exactly where she was.

She didn’t trust herself to move slowly, and she definitely didn’t trust herself to move fast.

The boy was still in a panic, but he was coming down from the high of his growth spurt. He was still massive, and Rory was certain that neither of them knew how long it would take him to return to normal, but at the very least his erratic breathing was slowing.

What do I do? What do I do? She’s—She saw me. This is so bad. I can’t keep her here, but I can’t let her leave either.

His eyes flicked to her feet, then back to her face, like he was checking for a lie. His leg shifted—just a fraction—but it stayed in front of the door.

“Why did you follow me in here?”

Rory hesitated. She thought about telling him about her abilities, but she worried how this giant would react knowing that she was inside his head. She couldn’t risk telling him now, not when she was so vulnerable. “You ran past me in the hallway,” she told him. “I thought you were having some kind of medical thing.”

He stared at her. Then he let out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” he said. “Sure. A medical thing.”

Rory recognized the tremor in his voice. The uncertainty of who could be trusted with a secret so massive. It was why she hadn’t revealed her own secret to anyone before Bennett, and why she wasn’t revealing it now.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he said, drawing her from her thoughts. “Not about me.”

“I won’t,” Rory said quickly, the words tumbling out of her. “I swear. I won’t.”

He shook his head, hair falling into his eyes. “I don’t know that. I don’t know if I can trust you.”

“What do you want me to do?”

The question seemed to land wrong. He blinked, like he hadn’t expected her to offer anything at all.

“I want you to stay,” he said after a moment. “Until I calm down.”

“Stay here?”

“Yes.” His leg pressed more firmly against the door, sealing it. “If you leave while I’m like this, you’ll panic. If you panic, you talk. I can’t—” He broke off, breathing hard. “I can’t risk that.”

“Okay,” Rory said. She tried to make her voice light, nonthreatening. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Sit. Slowly. Where I can see you.”

Rory didn’t argue. She moved carefully, lowering herself to the floor with her hands visible, knees drawn in close.

They stared at each other through a long, brittle silence. Rory was pressed into the narrow pocket of space his body allowed, tucked close to his chest where the heat of him radiated through the air. One massive thigh was wedged behind her like a barrier, pinning her between his body and the wall. He lay on his side, curled as tightly as his size allowed, knees drawn up and shoulders hunched forward in a futile attempt to take up less space. His arms were folded beneath his head, not relaxed so much as restrained there, like he didn’t trust them not to move on their own. Even like that, he filled the room.

His hazel eyes never left her. They were too alert, unblinking, tracking every shallow breath she took, every minute shift of her weight, as if he were afraid that the second he looked away she would bolt. The position was intimate in a way that felt accidental and deeply uncomfortable, proximity forced by circumstance rather than choice. Rory could feel how carefully he was holding himself still, how much effort it took for someone his size not to crush the fragile space between them.

“I’m Dalton,” he said at last.

Rory blinked, surprised. “Rory.”

He nodded once. “Rory,” he repeated. “I’ll—I’ll let you go once I’m small again. It’s just—I can explain everything better then. You’re—you’re too scared, right now. You won’t listen unless I’m small.”

“I’m not scared.”

Rory surprised herself with the admission, but she found it to be true. She couldn’t sense any malice coming from Dalton and she could detect no lies in his words. She was nervous, yes. But he was scared and he was desperate, and he had no intention of hurting her. She knew this to be fact.

“You’re not?”

Sure, her heart was still pounding in her chest, but she wasn’t scared. Just… apprehensive.

“No. I’m not.”

Dalton started to shift, the smallest of movements as he fought to be comfortable in the cramped room. A turned over desk dug into his back and it hurt, but he couldn’t move his arms. And even if he could, he wasn’t sure if he could reach behind him to reach it. He scooted his body forward—just a little bit—to get away from the pain in his back. And then his eyes fell on Rory, who was too close to him, too vulnerable, and he stopped.

“How are you not afraid?” he whispered. She was so close to him now that he was going cross-eyed just by looking at her. He couldn’t stop blinking, trying to get his eyes to focus on her miniscule form.

“I don’t know,” she told him honestly. “I’m just not. Nervous, maybe. But I’m not scared.”

“You should be.”

Rory could not explain the feeling that tapped at her spine. Whatever Dalton was feeling, was not something she was familiar with. It rested between dread and anger, and it tasted bitter on her tongue. “Do you want me to be scared?”

No, was his first thought. But his mind wandered through scenarios of what would happen when they made it out of this room. Scenarios where they both went back to existing but Rory now knew of his biggest secret. Rory could tell that he was uncomfortable with the idea. That he hated knowing that there was someone out there who knew what he was. That scared him. “No,” he said finally.

He shifted again, trying to inch his way away from the pain in his back. But he couldn’t move far enough, and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Rory asked gently.

His eyes settled on her for a moment before he started blinking. “Help with what?”

“You seem… uncomfortable.”

Dalton couldn’t help but laugh: a small exhale from his nose. “Uncomfortable,” he repeated. “That’s a word for it.”

They stared at each other for a moment before he said, “No. There’s nothing you can do to help.”

Rory, determined, responded with, “Well, if you tell me what’s wrong, maybe we can figure something out.”

“What’s wrong? What isn’t wrong?” Dalton exhaled again, this time out of frustration. “I’m huge. I’m trapped in a lecture room. I’m trapped with you in here. I don’t know what’s going to happen when this is over with. I don’t know when this will be over with, and you being in here certainly doesn’t help. I’m scared. I’m upset. And there’s a desk digging into my back that hurts like hell.”

Rory was quiet for a beat, fidgeting with the sleeve of her shirt. “What do you do to return back to normal?”

“I have to calm down, mostly.” And that isn’t happening any time soon. Not with you in here.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Rory pulled her knees to her chest, eyes searching for something to focus on that wasn’t him. “I’m really sorry I’ve put us in this position. I… I didn’t know.”

He sighed. “It’s okay.”

They sat in the awkward quiet for a moment longer. Finally, Rory stood. Her actions caused Dalton to jolt, eyes locking in on her standing before him. “What are you doing?”

“I can’t speed up the process of you getting back to normal,” Rory told him. “And I don’t know what will happen after this. But what I can do, is move that desk that’s bothering you.”

Dalton didn’t voice that he would be more comfortable if she was able to do that, but he did say, “And how do you plan on doing that?”

His body took up the entirety of the room from east to west. There was no such thing as walking around him. She would have to go over. Rory’s eyes moved upwards, to the small gap that separated Dalton from the ceiling. “Could you pick me up?”

“No.” The thought alone was enough to send him into a spiral. “I don’t want to pick you up. I—I don’t know my own strength, and you’re so, you’re so fragile, and—” His heartrate had picked up, and he scrunched his eyes closed as he began to grow even bigger. His shoulder brushed the ceiling and he adjusted himself, folding in on himself even more. Dalton’s teeth were clenched together, and it took everything in him to focus and control the growth spurt.

“Hey, hey, hey! Don’t worry! You don’t have to pick me up!” Rory quickly assured, holding her hands up in a non-threatening gesture. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

She looked up at the gap by his waist, and though it was much smaller now, she could still fit. Dalton had his face buried in his arms now. He was less laid on his side and more awkwardly twisted.

(Stop freaking out, stop it stop it stop it. It’s okay. It’s okay. She won’t get hurt. You’re not going to hurt her. It’s okay. Calm down.)

Rory could guess that this was going to be a bad idea, but she knew that he was uncomfortable still—even more so than before—and she wanted to do all she could to make him at ease.

She has been doing a shit job at it so far, but she could start doing better after she did what she was about to do.

“Don’t move,” she told him, walking over to his midsection. “I’m going to climb over.”

Before Dalton could voice that he thought that was an absolutely terrible idea, Rory was already clutching the oversized fabric of his shirt and pulling herself upwards. He was stiff-still, not even daring to breathe.

Rory pulled herself up hand over hand, feet balancing in the wrinkles and folds of his clothes. The climb was… higher than she realized. And man, was she out of shape. She ignored the fact that she could feel every little movement of his body, and that if she listened closely, she could hear his heart hammering.

She was nearly at the top, the ceiling growing closer and closer to her head. Rory grabbed a fistful of fabric, and yanked on it, dragging herself forwards, but the fabric began to slide, cascading down his body and stretching out due to her weight. Rory was falling. She scrambled for purchase but the fabric wasn’t enough to support her. She didn’t know if she could fall from this high without hurting herself.

Her legs hit something solid, and she sunk down into it. It was warm, not uncomfortably so, but warm enough to know that it was unnatural.

“Shit. Are—are you okay?”

It was fingers. She was sitting on his fingers.

(Oh God, oh my God. This is not happening.)

“I’m all good,” she responded, shooting him a thumbs up. She looked over at him, seeing that he had his arm propped up on his elbow, reaching awkwardly around his other arm to hold her close to his stomach. His head was barely being held up off the floor, and his shoulder pressed into the ceiling tiles from the position.

“Why would you do that?” he asked her, clearly berating her for her decision to climb him.

“I’m trying to help,” she responded, ignoring the impossibleness of the entire situation to look back to where she had just fallen from. “Can you lift me a little higher up?”

“No?! You’re not doing that again. My heart can’t take it.” I’m going to be sick.

“We’re so close, though! I’m trying to help you, Dalton.”

“You can help by getting back on the ground.”

His hand began to lower, so slowly and so carefully. Rory almost thought he was trembling.

She leapt from his hand.

“Rory!”

She grasped the fabric of his shirt and she heaved herself upwards, determined to make it to the top of this mountain.

“Oh my God.” Dalton’s hand was pressed against his stomach again, just below Rory. “Why are you so determined to give me a heart attack?”

“I’m climbing over!” Rory responded, wriggling herself so that she could squish between him and the ceiling. “Think skinny thoughts, Dalton!”

(This is so bad, this is so dangerous, she’s going to get hurt and there’s nothing I can do about it because she’s insane—oh my God! —It’s like a bug is crawling all over me! She feels like a cockroach.)

Rory felt the curve of his waist start to dip towards his back. She began her descent.

Dalton was still as she climbed down and his thoughts were a worried mess. When Rory was safely on the other side and her feet were on solid ground, Dalton released the breath he was holding.

“See?” Rory said, calling up to him. “That wasn’t so bad!”

“That was terrible, actually,” Dalton responded. “I hated every second of it.”

Rory didn’t respond, her focus now turned to finding this desk that was causing him so much pain. She found it awkwardly wedged beneath him, its legs sticking out and the surface swallowed by the fabric of his clothes. She tugged on it, causing Dalton to stiffen once again. “Be careful,” he said, voice low.

(I can’t see her. If I don’t know where she is I can’t tell if she’s safe. This is so dangerous.)

“It’s okay,” Rory told him, brushing off his anxious thoughts that tickled her neck. “Can you lean forward a little at all?”

He did as she instructed, ever so slightly shifting his weight so that she could pry the desk out from under him. When it was free, Dalton physically relaxed. “Thank you,” he said as she dragged the desk to the far wall.

When the moment was over, Dalton’s mind began to wander again. (What now? I can’t see her anymore. There’s no way she’s climbing back over again so she’s in front of me. Shit, is there an exit behind me? Could she leave? What if she sneaks out now that I can’t see her? I couldn’t do anything about it. Has she noticed? What if—?)

“There’s no exit,” Rory interrupted him before he could continue this downward spiral. “I wasn’t gonna leave. I just wanted to help you out.”

“How did—?”

“There’s enough room for you to roll over if you wanted to. Not your legs, though. But if you wanted to turn over on your back, you could.”

Dalton mulled the idea over. “Where are you?”

“I’m against the wall. And I moved all the stuff out of your way. There’s room.”

“You stay against the wall, okay? I don’t want to hurt you.”

Ever so slowly, Dalton’s torso began to turn until his back was pressed against the floor. He rested his hands on his stomach, elbows almost brushing against the walls. His knees were still tucked awkwardly to his left. He turned his head to the right, looking over at Rory who stood against the wall. He exhaled. “This is better.”

“Good.” She sat down on one of the desks that were pressed against the wall.

They fell into an awkward silence again, but Dalton’s mind was still reeling.

(She was in my hand, she was in my hand, oh my God, I held her.)

“So…” Rory tried, words falling short on her tongue. “What’s your major?”

Dalton exhaled through his nose. “Art,” he said, “with a concentration in painting and drawing. You?”

“Psychology.”

“What are you doing in the arts building, then? The science building is, like, on the other side of campus.”

“I was meeting with a friend.”

Rory wondered if Bennett would come looking for her, or if he would assume she ditched him.

“Are they an art major?”

Rory paused. “I have no idea what his major is.”

The attempt at normal conversation fizzled out, the room filled again with the low hum of the lights and the soft, uneven sound of his breathing. Rory could feel a shift in him. Not another spike of panic, but the restless edge of it.

“I think,” Dalton said slowly, staring up at the ceiling, “I might be able to shrink a little.”

Rory straightened. “A little?”

“Don’t get excited,” he said quickly. “It’s not fast, and it doesn’t really listen to me unless I’m calm.” He let out a humorless breath. “Which I’m not great at.”

“That’s okay.”

Silence settled again. Dalton shut his eyes, hands curling into the floor. His breathing was still uneven, but he was trying to slow it, forcing air in through his nose, out through his mouth. Rory stayed still, afraid even shifting her weight might break whatever fragile focus he’s found.

It took Rory a few seconds to realize what was happening. There was no sudden release, no dramatic snap back to normal. But the ceiling stopped pressing down on him, the walls crept farther away. Dalton’s body seemed to fold inward on itself, muscle and bone drawing tighter.

Every instinct in him screamed not to move, not to breathe too deeply, not to do anything that might reverse it. His hands dug into the floor, fingers trembling as he forced himself to stay still. Then, carefully, he stretched one leg a fraction, rolling his shoulder just enough to confirm the space was real. When nothing pressed back, he let out a shaky breath and slowly extended the rest of himself, spine uncurling inch by inch.

It wasn’t smooth. Every few seconds he had to stop, breath hitching as a tremor ran through him, the fear of growing again clawing up his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, counted his breaths under his breath, grounding himself in the feel of the floor, the air, the fact that the walls were farther away.

By the time he finally went still, he was hunched and exhausted, sweat dampening his hairline, chest rising and falling hard but steady. He was still too big for the room, but he was contained.

Dalton took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay, that’s—okay.”

Rory hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath until it rushed out of her all at once. The tight, aching knot in her chest loosened, just enough for her to breathe again.

“I think I can sit up,” he said after a while.

“Slow,” Rory said.

“Yeah. Slow.”

He pushed himself upright inch by inch, his head barely brushing the ceiling. There was enough room for him to stretch out his legs now, though not quite enough for him to sit up straight without bumping the ceiling. When he finally sat hunched against the wall, his hands shaking, Rory said, “You’re doing great.”

He shot her a look. “Don’t say that like I’m a child.”

Rory bit back a smile. “Sorry.”

They stared at one another; Rory perched on the desk and Dalton still towering over her. He had to be at least ten feet tall right now, maybe closer to fifteen or even twenty. Shit, if he’s that tall now, when he’s not even half of what he was a moment ago, how big was he? Thirty feet? Forty? Fifty?

His hands were limp in his lap, shaking only enough for Rory to notice because of his size. “Does it hurt?” she asked him.

“Only when I try to force it,” he responded.

Rory nodded, like that made sense. “So… it’s more about not fighting it.”

“More like convincing my body it’s not about to die.”

Another stretch of silence followed heavier this time. Dalton leaned his head back against the wall, staring down at his hands like they belonged to someone else. He flexed his fingers slowly, watching them obey.

“Why are you so normal about all of this?” he asked suddenly.

Rory blinked. “What?”

“You. This.” He gestured vaguely to him and the room. “You didn’t—”

He stopped the thought from leaving his mouth, but his mind finished for him: scream.

“You climbed me,” he continued. “And you were in my hand. You jumped from my hand as well, like an idiot. And you’re still here even though I’m not blocking the door, anymore.”

Rory’s eyes fell to the door across the room. It was no longer being barricaded by Dalton’s foot, but it was still dwarfed by his size.

“I just—”

Whatever Dalton was going to say was cut off by Rory’s realization—oh shit! The door! —and she leapt from the desk and scurried to lock it before anyone could walk in on them. Dalton’s panicked thoughts caught up to her before she could even reach the door, and she skidded to a halt as one of his massive hands slammed against the door’s surface, securing it shut.

(No no no no no! Where is she going?!)

Rory jolted at the hand now in front of her, the sound of it hitting the wood like a gunshot in the quiet room. She stumbled back, heart fighting to break out of her ribcage, and she backed right into a familiar warmth that closed around her torso and lifted her from the ground.

“I’m sorry!” Dalton was whisper-shouting as she struggled in his grip. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! You can’t leave, yet. I told you that you can’t leave.”

Rory froze in his grasp.

Dalton’s hand was wrapped around her middle, careful but firm, his thumb braced against her spine like he was afraid the pressure might snap her in half. She could feel the tremor running through him, the way his fingers flexed and then stilled, flexed and then stilled, like he was actively reminding himself not to squeeze.

“I wasn’t leaving,” she said quickly. Her words came out breathless, more from surprise than fear. “I was locking the door.”

“What?” he asked.

“The door,” she repeated, slower. “I didn’t think you’d want someone walking in on… this.”

His thoughts slammed into her all at once, sharp and hot and mortified. Oh. Oh, fuck. I’m an idiot. I grabbed her and—I grabbed her—

He loosened his grip immediately, lowering her back to the floor with exaggerated care. The second her feet touched down, he pulled his hand back to his chest, curling his fingers inward.

“I—sorry,” he said. “I panicked. I thought you were—”

“I know,” Rory said. She took a step back, giving him space even though there wasn’t much of it to give. “I should’ve said something first.”

“I didn’t hurt you?” he asked.

“No, you didn’t.”

He let out a breath that shook his entire frame and dragged a hand down his face. “Jesus.”

They stood there a moment, the air thick and buzzing. Dalton slowly reached over to the door to lock it, but realized his fingers were too big as he fumbled with the lock. Rory stopped him, placing a gentle hand on his skin and guiding his hand away from the door. “Let me,” she murmured, locking it for him.

When it clicked into place, his shoulders sagged a fraction. His knees were drawn up awkwardly, arms braced on either side of him. “Can you just sit, please?” Dalton asked her, quietly. “Just sit quietly until I’m small enough to get out of here?”

She didn’t respond, but she returned to her perch on one of the desks.

Dalton focused on his breathing. In through his nose. Out through his mouth. He counted under his breath, jaw clenched, shoulders rising and falling with deliberate slowness. Every now and then his fingers twitched, like his body wanted to bolt even while his mind tried to leash it.

Minutes passed. Maybe more. He began to shrink down so gradually that Rory almost missed it.

“Okay,” he murmured again. “Okay.”

By the time he was normal again, truly normal, he looked wrecked. Dalton leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands dangling uselessly between them. His hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, his chest quickly rising and falling.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Rory broke the silence: “Do you want some water?”

He blinked, looking up at her for the first time. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah. That’d be great.”

She grabbed a bottle from her bag and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed this time, and neither of them flinched. He drained half of it in one go, then pressed the cool plastic to his forehead with a groan.

“God,” he muttered. “I hate that.”

Rory tilted her head. “This happens often?”

He hesitated long enough that she knew she’d hit something sensitive. “Sometimes,” he said finally. “Not like… not usually that bad. Crowds make it worse. Feeling trapped. You know. All the fun stuff.”

She nodded.

“I didn’t mean for you to get dragged into it,” he added. “I really didn’t.”

“I chased you,” Rory said. “That’s on me.”

“You’re not going to report this. Or tell anyone. Right?”

“No,” she said without hesitation.

“I’m not dangerous. I—I have a condition.”

“I’m not going to tell,” Rory said.

“I don’t need you to understand,” he continued. “Or fix anything. I just need this to stay quiet.”

“It will.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.”

Dalton studied her for a second longer, then exhaled. “Okay.”

Outside the room, footsteps passed in the hallway. Both of them went still, listening, until the sound faded. “Guess we should wait a bit longer,” Dalton said. “Just to be sure.”

Rory nodded. “Yeah, we can do that. We should put the room back together while we’re at it.”

Dalton looked around at the destroyed lecture room. Seeing all of the desks turned over from a normal height really put the damage into perspective. “Dang, yeah.”

He stood for the first time since they’d been in that room and handed Rory her water bottle back. He was taller than her still, but it was a more welcome height difference. Rory smiled at him.

“Thank you,” he said, awkward and sincere all at once.

“You’re welcome.”

They stayed there together, in the quiet, until the room finally felt like just a room again.

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