Page 49 of Eye of the Beholder

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Page 49 of Eye of the Beholder

He stands, dusting his hands off, and then holds one hand out to me. I take it, and he pulls me up.

But he pulls harder than he needs to, and I stumble forward. And then I’m suddenly standing very, very close to him. Chest-to-chest close. Tilt-my-head-and-we’re-kissing close. His back is to the lantern, his face indecipherable in the dark, but his body goes unnaturally still. I know mine does.

And time stops for one moment—a moment full of infinite possibilities where corn stalks and my racing heart and the starry sky above are our only witnesses. And I know, without knowing how I know, that we’re both thinking about the same thing. The same confusing, crazy thing.

And then we lurch apart, and the moment of infinite possibilities is gone.

“Um,” I say in my most eloquent speech yet to date. I point randomly over my shoulder. “We should—”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice cracking. “We should—yeah.” I can see in the light of the lantern that he’s not meeting my eyes, and I’m glad for it.

He turns abruptly and walks on ahead, and I follow. We round the corner, but no one is there; whoever I saw is gone now. We walk in silence for several minutes, and this silence is more uncomfortable than the last one. All I can think about is the feeling of standing so close to him, of how he smelled, of how—

I shake my head. He isn’t Jack. Yes, I can admit it; something about Cohen is alluring. I don’t know what it is, but it’s there. And I like him. He’s a surprisingly good friend. I expected him to balk at being seen with me, but he hasn’t. He’s supportive and honest and funny.

But he’s not Jack. Jack is classy and kind, and I’ve always been a tall-dark-and-handsome girl.

Well, not a tall, dark, and handsome girl. A girl who prefers tall, dark, and handsome men. I see how that was confusing.

Cohen is on one side of the path, and I’m on the other, as far apart as we can be. I don’t know when that happened, but it’s weird. And also comforting; I want to put some space between us. Just for now. Just for the moment, while my heart is still trying to do weird things and my stomach is tying itself in fluttery little knots.

I’ve been keeping my eyes on my feet for the last minute—something I’ve been trying to avoid doing lately—but I look up when I notice the path is starting to get lighter. Lights—we’re almost through the maze.

Thank goodness. I am swearing off corn mazes. Actually, I am swearing off mazes of any kind. No more mazes for this girl.

I hear Cohen breathe a sigh of relief too. “Finally,” he says, and I give a shaky laugh. We round one last bend and see the light at the end of the proverbial corn-maze-shaped tunnel, and it’s like something shifts between us. Walking toward the end of the maze, the silence between us isn’t weird anymore; it’s comfortable again. I’m bizarrely happy as we finally cross out of the maze. It feels like we’ve left whatever sort of tension was momentarily between us.

And I’m glad. I like Cohen. I don’t want things to be weird.

Jack, Virginia, Marie, and Grant are waiting for us next to a large lamp post, the kind used in parking lots. How did they get out of that maze before we did? Did we just take all the wrong turns? I sort of expected us to be the first out, mostly because all we did in that maze was try to escape it.

When I glance at Cohen, he looks surprised too. He meets my eyes and shrugs, and we look back at the group waiting for us. Virginia is still hanging off of Jack, but she’s looking at Cohen with interest. My gut gives a little squirm. Marie is staring at her fingernails, and Grant once again just looks confused at my presence.

You and me both, Grant.

“You get lost, man?” Jack says. He alone smiles at us, and I smile back.

“Yep,” Cohen says in what I somehow recognize as his voice of forced lightness. He uses it when he’s flustered or uncomfortable and wants to brush past it.

How do I even know that?

I guess we have grown up together, somewhat. We never really talked much, but we still spent time around each other.

Jack looks at me, extricates himself from Virginia, and comes to stand in front of me, his hands on his hips. He quirks a smile at me. “Are we going to get you to talk more tonight, Mina?”

I just stare at him, because I am a tongue-tied idiot. Is there some sort of clever response I can give? Should I be flirty? Do I knowhowto be flirty? I don’t know if that’s in my current repertoire—

Cohen gives me a completely non-subtle jab with his elbow, jerking me away from my slightly panicky, racing thoughts.

I just smile awkwardly at Jack and then nod.

The second he turns away from me, I turn and glare at Cohen.

“That was hard to watch,” he says, grinning. “You do know how to speak, don’t you?”

“Shut up, Superman,” I say. “Or I’ll shove you into another wall.”

Cohen just smirks.