Free If Only by A. J. Pine Page A

pretty lost as to why you take issue either with my name or with one of my favorite movies.”
    His lightheartedness tears at me. Stupid kiss. Stupid train.
    “It’s my favorite movie, too.”
    Maybe it’s the promise I made to reinvent myself here. Maybe something about this place ignites a boldness in me I didn’t know existed. He’s right. This is the start of something—but not for the two of us. If I don’t admit it now, it will stand in the way of any chance of enjoyment with Griffin or anyone else, a what-if that won’t be answeredbecause our commitments clearly lie elsewhere.
    I stand up on the desk facing him. “After I say what I’m going to say, I don’t want you to respond. When I’m done, we both YAWP, just like in the movie, and that wipes the slate clean. We start fresh. Deal?”
    His eyes fall, telling me we are both about to give something up.
    “Okay.” He hesitates. “But I need you to know that while my situation with Hailey is complicated, what happened with us on the train wasn’t. It was simple, and right, and I’d do it again right here if I could. If you knew, Brooks. If you knew what you did for me back there—shit, if that door would have stayed jammed for the remainder of the trip, I wouldn’t have signaled for help once, not if it meant spending those hours with you.”
    “Noah, stop.” I don’t want to hear any more, don’t want to want him anymore.
    His eyes darken to match his pained expression, and I believe him. I can’t listen to any further explanation because whatever he admits about wanting to be with me yesterday doesn’t change that he’s with Hailey today.
    “I’m sorry,” he says, his two words extending beyond this moment in this room.
    “I wanted it, too,” I admit, still want it even now as my eyes fall from his to those lips, and I feel his mouth on mine again, smell the scent of fresh-cut grass, of clean laundry, of Noah. “I wanted that kiss. And I’m not sorry it happened because it was lovely. And you love literature, and Dead Poets Society , and salt-and-vinegar crisps.” I pause. “And you call me Brooks, the same thing my best friend calls me.”
    “Brooks,” he starts, “you don’t have to say all this.”
    The familiarity of his voice, of Brooks spilling off his lips, hollows out my insides, and I want to fill it with him the way I did on the train. But I don’t have that option.
    “Yes. I do.” After knowing him for only a day, I have to say it all, to put it out there in order to start again. A do-over. A mulligan.
    “We need to forget whatever made us do what we did yesterday. A clean slate then, remember?”
    He nods. “A clean slate.”
    His gaze fixes on mine. The sadness in his eyes tells me I’m not crazy, that we both felt something, and maybe we still do. But he doesn’t fight me on this, doesn’t try to change my mind, so I know whatever possibilities he thinks this year has to offer, they don’t involve him and me.
    Noah glances at the clock on the classroom wall. “I don’t think we won. The scavenger hunt, I mean. We’re at the two-hour mark.”
    I shrug, not wanting to admit I’m happy we didn’t rush, that we had this short time even if it means we go our separate ways from here.
    “On the count of three, we YAWP together. Then we start fresh.”
    He nods, and a weight presses down on my chest, one I’m about to release. I close my eyes and shake off any last what-ifs, because I didn’t travel thousands of miles to fall for someone I can’t have, someone I’ll say good-bye to in ten months anyway. This is more than a redo. It’s me, flipping the switch, turning off feelings I shouldn’t have.
    I count. “One. Two. Three.”
    A pause, and then together, “YAWP!”
    Our voices rip through the empty room.
    Switch—flipped.
    As if choreographed, we both step down from our perches in unison. I extend my hand in front of me.
    “Hi. I’m Jordan.”
    He takes my hand and shakes it slowly.
    “Hi,