The cast list for the spring musical goes up. The King and I. She gets I.
He watches her back away from the choir room door, fingers templed at her lips. He feels only triumph. He is Winter; that’s what love means.
They drift in silence to a practice cube. He’s never kissed her in school.
McCormick waits, motionless, for an auratic flicker to draw him closer.
“This is just going to be my time. I can’t deal with you until the show is over.”
Pierced, he calculates the months with no Winter. It makes her angry that he stays.