Every time Reynard Muldoon was deep in thought, it was as if the whole world would slow down for him.
The gentle tick-tock of the wall clock would suddenly become all too loud, drawing attention to each and every one of its individual ticks and tocks; the raindrops beating down outside would momentarily suspend themselves in the still air, drawn thin into glimmering crystals, the water droplets rolling down the glass of the windows paused in their tracks, defying gravity; and the other three members of the Mysterious Benedict Society would fall deathly silent, caught in a limbo between leaning forward into the circle eagerly and letting the boy have his personal space to think.
Beside Kate, Constance Contraire—consciously or unconsciously—moved to mimic Reynie's current pose: a hand against his chin, supporting his head that must be all-too-heavy from all the thoughts he stored inside, sitting criss-cross applesauce as his elbow dug into his calf, his back hunched. It was hardly a comfortable nor ergonomically healthy posture, Kate thought, but whatever helped geniuses get the job done.
(She wondered if Constance was reading Reynie's thoughts, but then decided against it—both of them had an unspoken agreement for Constance not to intrude unnecessarily into Reynie's thoughts, and even if she had, then this familiar suspense wouldn't be lingering here.)
She shifted uncomfortably in her sitting position, resisting the urge to stretch out her legs or stifle a yawn. Instead, she ventured to study Reynie's face instead, and instinctively, her eyes tracked over every observable detail, precise measurements running behind her eyes and through her head. Reynard Muldoon's face was perfectly average in every way, she remarked to herself, but every time he was deep in thought, it seemed inexplicably extraordinary, and it never failed to take her breath away every time.
Too late, she heard Constance clearing her throat loudly, and Kate was brought back to the present, where the same face stared back at her uncomprehendingly, Sticky frowning at her.
Chuckling sheepishly, she held her hands out in front of her and said, "Right. Sorry. Just measuring Reynie's face. Go on, Reynie. Don't let me bother you."
At Reynie raising his eyebrows, she huffed. "Oh, for crying out loud. Fine. It's fourteen point zero centimetres across for the breadth; twelve point two for the length. That's, by the way, narrower than Sticky, but shorter. Yes, I—"
An amused smile crept up Reynie's lips, while Sticky looked around for a reflective surface anxiously.
"Just get on with the riddle," said Kate irritably, and Reynie, still smiling, obliged. He was always like a magician performing a magic trick that no one could figure out, or a detective explaining how the murder pulled off the murder, and it reminded her years ago, when they were still children trying to outmanoeuvre Mr. Curtain and the Ten Men, when solving riddles meant their victory or their loss.
"But I have solved it."
The four of them stared at Reynie, and Kate didn't know whether she wanted to kiss him or punch him. It was most definitely the latter, she thought.
"Excuse me if I'm missing something, but, um, were you ever going to tell us?" she said, and Reynie turned on her so quickly she drew back a little.
"Are you joking? You asked me not to!"
Kate raised an eyebrow at his reaction. It was unlike Reynie to lose his composure like this. "I did?"
When it was revealed Constance had transmitted her thoughts to Reynie, or mental telepathy, as Sticky so aptly put it, Kate felt completely floored.
"I realise it's kind of a big deal," she heard herself blabber. "But, um, would anyone mind if I took a second to ask Reynie, just really quickly… I mean, I'm sorry, but it's driving me nuts not to know…"
"Love," Reynie said, swivelling his eyes toward her. Their eyes met, and Kate was taken aback by the look in his eyes. It was as if time slowed down just for the two of them. His voice was strangely soft, too, as he clarified, "The answer to the riddle is 'love'."
And just like that, time rushed back to the present with a stutter. Kate blinked, then sighed in relief. "'Love'?" she repeated, grinning foolishly. "Well, how about that! I wonder if…" She trailed off, recollecting herself. "We can talk about it later, of course. Er, anyway." She paused, not sure why she was pausing. "Thank you, Reynie."
She hadn't known why her face felt strangely warm back then, even as Reynie murmured a "no problem" and went back to staring at the ceiling with a lost expression on his face, but all she knew that the way Reynie had looked at her when he said love had stuck with her since that day, and she wasn't able to forget it, not even now.
Reynie left for university, just as Kate knew he would. He was never one to reject intellectual pursuit, and she suspected he wanted to get a feel of being normal for once. And that's why he only left for Cambridge at the ripe age of 18, wasn't it? Being a normal student, attending university at a normal age, doing what normal students would: attending classes, writing academic essays, exploring campus and beyond, hanging out with friends, falling in love. Kate wasn't exactly sure why the last one put a funny feeling in her chest and throat, but she had a pretty good idea why, and she didn't like it one bit.
"Oh my god, you're insufferable."
Leaning against the parapet, Kate turned her head slightly to see Constance Contraire walking out to join her on the balcony.
"It's nice to see you too, Connie-girl," she sniped. "And I could say the same about you, but I don't, because I'm nice."
Constance rolled her eyes."If you're so hung up about Reynie—which, by the way, I can't understand why; everyone has fallen in love with Reynie at least once before—why don't you just tell him before he leaves on Thursday? I thought we're over the whole but it'll ruin our friendship and break the Society thing."
Kate made a face. "I should've known you'd pry into our every thought." Constance scoffed.
"Please, you and Sticky make it so obvious, it doesn't take a telepath to figure it out. But you see, the difference is that Sticky has gotten over it, and you haven't." She stared up at her with such a mock-pitiful look Kate wanted to scrub it off her face with her bucket of soapy water and a sponge. "Grow up, Kate."
"Well, do you ever?" she countered.
"Either you grow up and get over it and move on," continued Constance as if she hadn't heard Kate at all, "or you grow up and tell him once and for all. Either way, you'll have to grow up."
Kate groaned, kicking the railing. It shook and shuddered and rattled in the still air. "I hate how much sense you make."
"See, I told you," said Constance. "I have been growing up. Unlike you." When Kate didn't say anything, she prodded, "You're the Great Kate Weather Machine. You're the bravest person I ever know. And you always act on instinct. So stop hesitating like an idiot and just follow your instincts. Tell him."
Kate whirled on Constance. "And then what?" Constance fell silent for a moment, so she took that moment to surge forward, "And then nothing. He goes to Cambridge, I return to my secret agent stuff, and nothing happens, except now there'll be this weird feeling between us and for what? For nothing!"
With a huff, she blew on her whistle, and Madge swooped down to perch on her outstretched gloved arm. Ruffling her feathers absentmindedly, Kate turned away from Constance.
"You feel strongly about it, naturally," said Constance in an unimpressed voice.
"What's your point, Connie-girl?" she asked.
"I'm sick and tired of watching you two dance around your feelings for years," snapped Constance. "Think of all your stupid annoying thoughts I had to hear! It really gives me a permanent headache. I thought you of all people would be upfront about this sort of thing, Kate, but obviously I was wrong."
"Well, it doesn't have to mean anything," argued Kate. "It doesn't have to amount to anything. It's just a feeling."
Constance growled. "Say it's just a feeling one more time and I'll clip you by the ear. It's never just a feeling, especially for telepaths." She threw up her hands. "Fine, whatever. Do what you want. At least by the end of this week all three of you people will be away and I will finally have some peace and silence."
She stalked back into the house. Kate watched her go for a few seconds before scoffing lightly.
Whatever Constance said, it was ultimately just a feeling. She just liked the way Reynie smiled when he came up with a clever plan—a small, sly smile so rare and unlike him it just captured her every time; the way he cared for every member of the Society on a deeper level than the other members did, and the way he looked at her. It was a simple feeling, and she liked the simplicity of it, the way it made her feel. (It was like riding atop Madge and soaring through the skies.)
It didn't have to be anything more.
"There you are," a voice behind her sounded, and Kate started, Madge taking off from the parapet at the unwanted disturbance. Reynie walked over to stand beside her, mimicking her as he placed his hands on the parapet and leaned forward against the familiar scenery of Stonetown. Kate gave him a silent, sidelong glance for a second before turning back to the clouds in the sky, the smoke from the chimneys spiralling up to join them. "I was wondering where you were. Then I saw Constance storm out from here, and I knew."
"Miss me already, Reynard Muldoon?" she remarked dryly.
To her surprise, Reynie's smile faltered.
"Maybe," he said.
She still remembered the riddle like it was yesterday.
The answer to this riddle has a hole in the middle,
And some have been known to fall in it.
In tennis it's nothing, but it can be received,
And sometimes a person may win it.
Though not seen or heard it may yet be perceived,
Like princes or bees it's in clover.
The answer to this riddle has a hole in the middle,
And without it one cannot start over.
And all Kate knew was that she had fallen in love with Reynie Muldoon, and for the first time in her life, she wasn't sure if her bucket could get her out of this hole.
Thursday arrived like the Salamander—quick and sneaking up on them, but dreaded and unwanted all the same. Outside the house, Kate revved up the estate car as Sticky helped to load Reynie's stuff into the boot, grunting and huffing with the effort.
She sighed, vaulting over the car door effortlessly to take the suitcase from Sticky's hands and shoving it into the back. "Easy, easy. There you go, champ."
Sticky glanced up at her with a weak smile. "Thanks, Kate. What would we do without you?"
"Right," repeated Kate. "What would you do without me?" She lifted her eyebrows, shrugging. "I don't know, Sticky. I think you're asking the wrong person."
Sticky frowned. "Is this about Reynie?"
"What's about me?"
The both of them turned to see Reynie stagger down the steps, holding a stuffed duffel bag—Kate's duffel bag—slung on his shoulder, and carrying a similarly stuffed haversack. Constance lagged behind with her permanent scowl, arms crossed firmly around her green plaid suit, clearly neglecting to help carry anything at all.
Their eyes met, blue against brown, and Kate sighed, walking over to take the duffel bag and haversack from Reynie. They felt heavy, much too heavy. "No, nothing much. It's just—"
"We were wondering what you would do without Kate's help," interjected Sticky. "You're going to be all alone at university after all, Reynie. You sure you can handle it?"
Irritation flickered across Reynie's features, a rare and unwelcome sight, and all three of them tensed. Then it was gone, quick as it came, but what replaced it was a blunted sadness that hurt Kate to see. "It's going to be hard without you three, but do you really think I can't handle university? Besides"—he looked up at them, and the raw earnesty in his eyes made Kate take a step back—"don't you remember how we came to the Monk Building and passed all these tests all by ourselves? We were alone then, and yet we were already resourceful. I'll do fine on my own, don't worry."
"Well," said Kate, a little stiffly. "If you say so, then. I mean. Of course you'll be fine on my own. What am I talking about?" What was she talking about? She hardly heard herself. She hardly recognised herself anymore.
"Can they go already?" complained Constance, breaking up the tension in usual Constance fashion. "The faster she drops off Reynie, the faster she can come back here." She said the name Reynie like she couldn't wait to roll the word off her tongue.
Sticky laughed nervously. "There's no need to be in such a hurry, Constance!"
"I won't miss you, for your information," Constance told Reynie resolutely. "Sticky and Kate will do the missing for me."
Kate laughed, slinging an arm around Constance's shoulders. "All right, Connie-girl. We will."
"Don't call me Connie-girl," grumbled Constance, but she didn't shrug Kate's arm off like she always did. Reynie looked over at her, and Kate felt her throat seize up.
"Well," he said, a small smile playing at his lips, "shall we set off?"
She swallowed the lump in her throat and smiled back at him.
"Let's do this."
She said it as if they were going on another one of their adventures. As if this was just another mission to thwart Mr Curtain and the Ten Men's plans before it was too late. And maybe it was, wasn't it? She wanted so badly to thwart Reynie's university plans, to make him stay. And yet, it was too late. It was far too late for that.
She'd wanted to sit in the backseat. "To secure the bags," she'd said as an excuse, but of course Reynie saw right through that. He always saw right through her.
He insisted she sat shotgun, just like the time when they went against the Ten Men for the last time. She slid in casually, and fixed her eyes on the road.
"Why not let me drive?" she said after a while. "I'm a far better driver than you are, Reynard Muldoon, and it's supposed to be your university debut. Let me do the honours of sending you off properly."
Reynie's fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and she tensed. He offered her a smile that obviously was meant to look breezy, but instead it came out sun-strained and contrived.
"You've driven us so many times, Kate," he said, half-tight, half-earnest. Kate didn't know what to make of it. "Let me drive, for the first—and last—time."
Throwing her head back, she let out a choked huff. Reynie was many things—absolutely brilliant at solving puzzles and riddles—but he definitely wasn't a good actor.
And because she was used to always speaking her mind, she said so. Reynie's expression was unreadable.
"Well, you're not a good actor either, Kate," he said.
They drove along in silence. Halfway, Kate muttered, reaching out to thumb the controls. A random radio station stuttered into existence and filled the car with an impassioned melody.
"Can't seem to hold you like I want to…"
Reynie's brow creased. At a traffic junction, he turned to gape at her in disbelief. "Who are you and what have you done with Kate Wetherall?"
Kate laughed. I don't know.
"I know, I know," she said. "We hate the radio. We don't watch TV. But hey, Mr. Curtain and his Messengers aren't working voodoo on the radio anymore, so—" She shrugged.
"There's a first time for everything," she finished, and left the rest unsaid. The first time and the last time.
"I think the radio is terrible regardless," said Reynie very seriously. Kate stifled a laugh. "I think we should turn off this dreadful din."
"It's not dreadful," said Kate. "It's just music. Don't you like music, Reynie?"
Reynie's lip twitched. "Not particularly."
"Oh, come on," she begged, grabbing his arm. "Just one song."
The traffic light turned green.
Kate let go of his arm. Pulled away. At the same time, Reynie blinked, then tore his gaze away from her. His eyes settled on the road again.
"All right, fine," he relented.
So the song spiralled on, and Kate let herself spiral, too.
"We're going down
And you can see it too
We're going down
And you know that we're doomed
My dear
We're slow dancing in a burning room…"
"Kate, wake up."
Bright. It was too bright.
She groaned. Above her, someone sighed.
"Kate."
She ignored the voice.
Silence—sweet, blissful silence. Then the voice said, suddenly, with a hurried urgency, "Madge is missing."
She shot up, eyes flying wide open. "What? Madge is missing? No—where did she go—"
She blinked. Looked down. She was still in the car. Then she snapped her head to the side, and sure enough, Reynie had a playful smile on his face, one that tugged at her chest.
Her face fell in dismay. "You." When he continued smiling, she began to shake her head. "You, you, you."
His smile widened, teasing. "What about me?"
"You are so lucky that Madge isn't here with me right now," she said, skirting around the elephant in the room. She was good at skirting around things, just like how she crossed the room of square—no, rectangular—tiles in the Monk Building when she first met Reynie and Sticky, and this time was no different. "She would give you a grand pecking."
Reynie laughed. "That was the only way to wake you up."
I can think of many other ways you can wake me up, Kate thought, then wanted to hit herself for that thought.
Instead, she shifted in her seat, looking out of the side window. "Why did you wake me up? Are we here already?" This didn't look like a university, but then again, Kate the Great Weather Machine did not concern herself with academia and the like.
"No, this is just a stop. I got us some coffee and bagels from the cafe outside." Reynie lifted a paper bag, rustling it slightly, and Kate got a whiff.
"Oh, heaven," she breathed. She grinned at him. "How thoughtful of you. Thank you, Reynie."
He handed her a paper cup. "You're welcome."
She reached out to take it, and their fingers brushed. She took the cup and withdrew her hand to her chest, feeling the warmth of the coffee through the cardboard holder, the lingering warmth of his fingers, and the quickening beat of her heart.
She downed her feelings with a gulp of coffee. It stung and burnt everywhere in her mouth and throat but she didn't care. Then she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep even though Reynie knew her all too well to know that she had boundless energy during car rides and that a single sip of caffeine kept her eyes wide open.
Too late, she realised that the radio had still been on when she woke up, and was still running now. Did Reynie leave it on? But suddenly there was a bone-deep weariness in her, despite all her energy and despite the caffeine, and all she wanted to do was sink down into slumber, where no feelings and no one could bother her.
Except that when she finally drifted through the gates to the dream realm, Reynie was there waiting for her.
The next time Reynie woke her up, they had already arrived at Cambridge. Kate found it strange, an entire city dedicated to students, and yet there were ordinary people living amongst the scholars, with kids trailing happily along the cobblestone pavements, their laughter ringing and mixing with the hustle and bustle of the city centre.
Cambridge was beautiful, Kate grudgingly admitted to herself as they lugged their bags across the street, with rustic, elegant castles and towers, sepia-toned in the afternoon sun, gargoyles thrown in stark relief as they stood on the columned roofs as watchful guardians. She itched to scale the sacred walls and join them, and something in her face must've shown it, because Reynie sighed and said, "Please don't climb the buildings."
"Why, that's like telling me not to live," she remarked with a wry smile, and he chuckled. The awkward atmosphere had faded away with the reverent awe and wonder that came with seeing Cambridge for the first time.
"To be fair," he said, "you're not the only one who's thought of scaling these walls." He told her about the stories and accounts he'd read about night climbing and the Night Climbers of Cambridge, who climbed the walls of the university at night as a sport and pastime. "At night," he said, "because obviously the university frowned upon their actions."
Kate scoffed, equally thrilled at the romanticism of night climbing and scornful of the university. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but you might just be convincing me to attend university," she said half-jokingly, but clearly something she said struck a nerve in Reynie, because he flinched a little and looked away.
"I mean," he said, somehow careful and reckless at the same time, "Why don't you want to?"
She frowned, an uncomfortable feeling creeping up her throat. Wasn't it obvious? "You know academics don't interest me. The thrill of the climb…" She clicked her tongue, and shot finger guns at him, feeling her lips curve up into a wild grin. "Now that calls to me."
When Reynie didn't say anything, she pushed on, adding, "And everyone always places so much importance on a piece of paper, like that somehow decides your worth and position in life." She chuckled nervously, gripping the handle of her bucket. "I don't like that. I want to prove that you can lead a fulfilling life without a degree."
Reynie was silent for a while. Then he sighed, and locked eyes with her. She tried to stay still under his warm, gentle gaze.
"You don't have to prove anything to anyone, Kate," he said, and Kate was stunned at the softness of his voice.
Her throat closed up.
"Yeah, I know," she managed. "Thanks."
"I know," he said suddenly. He grabbed her hand, and Kate jumped slightly, blinking at their interlocked fingers. "Follow me."
"What—where—" Kate began, then yelped when he pulled her along. "Reynie Muldoon, I can walk by myself just fine! Even better than you ever can, in fact—"
He broke off running, and Kate cursed, her legs picking up speed and surpassing him effortlessly until he was the one shouting at her to slow down. Their bags thumped noisily against their backs as they ran down the streets, shouting and laughing, their luggages bouncing off cobblestones in their wake like thunder, earning curious and nasty stares from the passersby in the streets. After a few seconds, Kate slowed down a little for Reynie.
"I once ran two and a half kilometres in less than eight minutes, didn't I?" she goaded him. "Back at the KEEP. You didn't believe I could do it. But I told you I could do it, didn't I? When I say something, I mean it."
The only answer she got was a series of huffs and puffs. If Kate didn't know better, she'd think he was trying to communicate via Morse code.
"You have no idea where you're going, do you," he squeezed out between pants. Kate grinned.
"You know me too well," she said breezily. "Fine. I'll let you lead the way. Just this once!"
Kate Wetherall never let anyone lead the way. She was her own person and she always relished in the feeling of sprinting the life out of her, of leaving everyone else in the dust, free and reinless. But for Reynie Muldoon—just for him—she might just reconsider.
They arrived at a grassy quad, but Reynie corrected her by saying they were called courts in Cambridge. The grass was too manicured for her liking, with uniform strips of light green and darker green blanketing the ground—save for a fairy ring marring the perfect plain.
"Trinity Great Court," supplied Reynie. "This is where Isaac Newton had his rooms."
She creased her eyebrows. "Who?"
Reynie stopped and stared at her. "Kate, you cannot be serious."
She huffed. "Oh, whatever, who cares about him? I'm sure you're smarter than him, anyway."
Reynie made a strange noise.
"What was that?" she demanded, then shook her head. "Oh wait, nevermind that. Would you tell me why you dragged us here?"
She surveyed the court. There was no one here. Then she looked up and found out why—in the near half-hour during which they'd been running, the sky had turned a dreary grey, like a damp blanket. (She sighed. She hated English weather.)
"I brought us here," said Reynie, "to talk."
It started to rain. Kate set down her bucket on the grass to collect rainwater, eyes never once leaving Reynie's face. He returned her gaze unsteadily.
"All right," she said, with somewhat of a false bravado, "talk, then."
Rain spliced her skin and soaked through her clothes, cold but freeing at the same time. Her bucket clicked and clanked with the sound of water hitting metal over and over again.
Reynie stayed silent for a few seconds, seeming to choose his words carefully before he spoke. "You're not happy with me going to university," he said.
"I'm not," she agreed.
"Why?"
She smiled sadly. "Can't you figure it out by yourself, Reynie? You always do."
He hesitated, eyes tracking her face, as if searching for a semblance of a clue written on her expression. "I could, but," he started, "this is one riddle I don't feel qualified to solve."
Kate felt something rise in her, hot and heavy—probably anger, but it was a kind of anger she'd never quite felt before. "Oh?" she said. "Well, then let me tell you the riddle myself."
She turned her head to the sky, letting the rain fall onto her face.
"They say life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass," she said, turning back to look at Reynie. "It's about learning to dance in the rain."
She held out a hand to him.
"May I have this dance?"
He stared at it. Then he took it, slowly, hesitantly. "You may," he murmured.
This time, he let her take the lead.
She pulled him close, feeling more daring than she wanted to be. There was nothing else to focus on except for Reynie's face now. Her eyes traced the familiar measurements. Her hand came around to rest on his shoulder blade, a lighter touch than she was used to. He draped his arm along her shoulder.
Their eyes met, and their hands clasped together.
"I don't know how to slow dance," admitted Reynie in a small voice. Kate laughed, too-high note ringing against the storm.
"Neither do I." They moved to the left, legs criss-crossing awkwardly, stumbling in sync as they lumbered together.
"The answer to this riddle has a hole in the middle," Kate murmured into his ear, and she felt him shiver against her.
The rain pressed on.
They moved to the right and danced in a circle, pivoting their bodies to the beat of the rain. Spinning him closer, she guided him into a dip. He stared up at her, eyes wide, throat bared, rain dripping from the tips of his bangs. She felt him tremble slightly under her hand that stayed at the small of his back.
"And some have been known to fall in it."
She twirled him around. They were closer now, so close Kate could count the dark eyelashes that framed his eyes if she wanted to, so close she was scared that they'd step on each other's toes and stumble and fall, but they moved in perfect harmony, as if their feet had found a common rhythm in the beating of their hearts. And what was the use of being scared of falling, when Kate had already fallen a long time ago?
"In tennis it's nothing, but it can be received," she recited. "And sometimes a person may win it." Although this wasn't one of those times, she thought bitterly to herself. But this moment was all she had left. For this short moment, she was his and he would be hers, and she could dip him, make him fall for her in this slow dance.
"Kate," murmured Reynie, barely audible above the roar of the rain. She loved the way he said her name. She wanted him to say it over and over again. But instead, she twirled him around and continued the riddle, her heart thudding in her ears.
"Though not seen or heard it may yet be perceived," she whispered. Wildly, she wondered if he had ever perceived it, just as Constance had. She didn't want to think about it. "Like princes or bees it's in clover."
He moved to wrap his arms around her neck. She slid hers around his waist. They moved closer, foreheads almost touching. Suddenly, she felt out of air.
The dance was almost over. She didn't want it to end. But she had to end it anyway.
She traced a finger along his jaw. "The answer to this riddle has a hole in the middle," she finished. "And without it one cannot start over."
The last note rang out in the air, vibrating still and strong before slowly fading into sweet silence. Around them, the rain lightened, showering them with a fine spray. They were completely soaked, pressed into the court and pressed against each other. She didn't want to look at Reynie's expression, but she did anyway.
She pulled away slightly, hand lingering on his cheek.
"Now, tell me, Reynie," she said, voice shaking. "What's the answer to this riddle—"
He kissed her.
One second, they were inches apart, suspended by a string. The next second, his lips were on hers, and Kate felt like she was drowning. Then his arms were around her waist, pulling her against him, his heart beating a rapid rhythm beneath her fingers, his mouth moving against hers in a tender slow dance. The rain was icy cold on her skin, but Kate felt like she was on fire—a fire in her gut and her skin smouldering under his touch.
They drew apart, breathing heavily. Reynie's eyes were unsteady, his hands trembling, but he held on to her as if she was the last thing left in the world.
"Love," he breathed. "The answer to the riddle is 'love'."
Then he kissed her again, and she laughed against his lips. They stayed like that until the clouds broke and the sun peeked through, shedding buttery yellow light across the court. Kate thought Reynie looked beautiful painted in gold, and it reminded her of the first time she had fallen for him, where he had looked just as breathtaking.
"You look terrible."
"Why, thank you, Connie-girl," said Kate brightly. Reynie laughed and reached over to brush off the mud caked on her forehead, and she leaned into the touch.
Constance scowled back at them through the pixelated screen. "Y'all are gross."
"What, no poem about how gross we are?" teased Reynie.
Constance's face turned murderous.
"Sticky," she roared, causing the boy beside her to jump and whimper. Then she stalked away, but not before sniping, "You two are going to be the most annoying couple ever."
She stomped off.
Sticky laughed nervously. "Sorry about that."
"It's Constance," said Kate simply. The three of them nodded solemnly at that.
Then Sticky cleared his throat, and took off his glasses to polish them. After a moment, he added, "I'm 99% confident that the long-distance relationship will work out. And I'm happy for you two."
Kate shot him a sharp look, but realised, after a moment of scrutiny, that he meant it.
"What's with the missing 1%?" she accused. Both of the boys ignored her.
"Thank you, Sticky," said Reynie graciously.
Sticky raised his eyebrows. "Kate, you and I are going to have a talk after you get back. And Reynie, you too."
She laughed. "What's with you?"
"It's the shovel talk," Reynie said very seriously.
"The what now?" She thought back to the shovel she sometimes carried in her bucket.
"Anyway," said Sticky quickly. "I'll leave you to it. Unpacking, I mean."
After Sticky said goodbye, she turned to Reynie. They had shuffled into his dormitory room, speckled with mud and grime and dripping wet, laughing and unable to take their eyes and hands off each other. It was a miracle that his roommate hadn't moved in yet.
"So," she said.
"So," said Reynie.
She motioned for him to continue.
"I didn't expect you to make the first step," he admitted.
She raised her eyebrows at that. "What can I say? I'm a girl of action. But touché. I was afraid. I was avoiding my feelings."
(Kate Wetherall, afraid? It pained her to even admit it, but it was more likely than you'd think. Especially when it came to Reynie Muldoon.)
"I was, too," he said. "I didn't feel… adequate, or worthy. Not for someone like you." When Kate's eyebrow twitched, he clarified, "Wall-scaling secret agent who's broken countless track records and won dozens of fights."
"Reynie, I'm offended. I am so much more than that description."
He laughed. But then he became serious. "I thought it would've been much easier and much less complicated, if I were just content with being friends."
"Being friends is easy," agreed Kate. He traced the lines of her palm.
"It is." He let out a breathy chuckle. "I thought I could just dance around my feelings forever." He met her eyes. Slow dancing in a burning room. "But I should've figured you wouldn't let that slide."
Kate shook her head. "If you hadn't taken the first step and brought us to Trinity Court, I wouldn't have had the courage to step forward too."
He squeezed her hand. "I'm glad."
They were quiet for a while. Then Kate asked, "How long?" How long have you liked me?
(She knew he didn't need to ask her about how long she had liked him. Clever as he is, he'd have figured it out the moment he solved that riddle out in the rain.)
"I'm not really sure," he said thoughtfully. "But if I had to guess, I think it's been lingering under the surface since the time we were in L.I.V.E."
Kate widened her eyes. "Seriously?" He flushed.
"I mean, I didn't realise it back then. I only really knew a few years back."
"A few years back," she repeated. "Wait, so—"
"Constance knew," finished Reynie for her. "She always knew."
Kate groaned and buried her face in her hands. "I can't believe Connie-girl knew everything and never said anything. I thought she would've blurted it out without hesitation!"
"So did I," agreed Reynie. "If this shows anything, it shows that she really has grown."
"She's not a little girl anymore," sighed Kate. "She's all grown up now."
(Later, she would thank Constance to the heavens. And also prod her for the kind of thoughts Reynie had about her. For scientific purposes.)
Reynie pressed a kiss to her temple, and she flushed. He met her eyes shyly.
"Thank you, Kate," he said softly. "For everything."
She smiled back at him.
"No, thank you."
(Later, she would have to leave, but this time, when she would say Have fun at university, she would mean it, and he would lean in without reservation and pull her into a tight hug before letting her go. And in the growing distance between them there is an invisible string tying them together, connecting Stonetown to Cambridge and heart to heart. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, and she cannot wait until the next time they are pulled together again, the next time they slow dance together, whispering the answer to the riddle into each other's skin until they are rendered fireproof by it.)