Chapter 32: The Tangerines
The weekend apartment sat wrapped in a heavy kind of quiet, the sort that made every small sound echo a little too clearly. Outside the window, the voices of the elderly neighbors drifted up from their usual spot beneath the sprawling sycamore tree—muffled laughter, the scrape of folding chairs on concrete, the occasional rasp of a lighter. Julian had grown used to their weekend ritual, the way the same group of retirees gathered to trade stories and neighborhood gossip like it was their own private radio show. Today their talk had turned, as it often did lately, to the woman who had recently moved into the building across the hall.
He caught fragments while he sat at the small table by the window, pencil hovering over half-finished homework. "That girl always seemed so polite… real pretty too, and she's clearly taken a shine to the Hayes kid." An old man's voice, thick with smoke. "Give it a few years and they'd make a nice match." Another neighbor cut in, skeptical. "He's still in school, for crying out loud. And come on, she's obviously from money—slumming it in a place like this? Doesn't add up." The debate rolled on, opinions clashing about class, timing, whether it was even appropriate. Julian's ears burned. He knew they were talking about Isabella. Knew they remembered her from years ago. The words settled in his stomach like stones—half-flattering, half-uncomfortable, reminding him how tightly their lives had become tangled in everyone else's eyes.
A soft knock at the door pulled him out of it. He set his pencil down, crossed the small living room, and opened the door to find Margaret Monroe standing there, cheeks pink from the cold, a plastic grocery bag swinging lightly from one hand and her school backpack slung over the other shoulder.
"Margaret?" Surprise lifted his voice. "What are you doing here?"
She smiled, the expression soft and perfectly composed, the same gentle curve of her lips that always made his pulse skip. "Homework alone is boring me to death. Thought I'd come over, we could knock out a few problems together… and I can help you brush up on your French if you want."
Julian stepped aside immediately, warmth blooming in his chest despite the awkward flutter of nerves. "Yeah, sure. Come on in. I was just getting started anyway."
He closed the door behind her, the click of the latch sounding louder than it should have in the quiet space. Having her here—actually here, in his apartment on a random weekend—felt like a small, stolen gift. Her presence cut through the dull gray of the day, the way her smile always did, even if it also made him hyper-aware of every clumsy movement he made.
"Shoes off?" he asked automatically.
"No need. I'll just walk right in." She slipped past him into the living room, eyes scanning the little table he had dragged over to the window. Textbooks and loose papers covered half of it, the winter light slanting through the glass in pale, cold beams. Outside, the sycamore stood bare, its branches like skeletal fingers against the overcast sky.
Julian quickly pulled out a second chair and cleared space for her, stacking his books to one side. "I was just finishing up some calculus. Go ahead and get settled."
She set her backpack down and placed the plastic bag on the table with a soft rustle. "Oh, right—before we start, I picked these up on the way. Sweet tangerines. Want one?"
Julian glanced at the bag, the bright orange fruits visible through the thin plastic. "Those aren't cheap, are they?"
"They were on sale at the little market by my place. No big deal." She plucked one out, her fingers deft as she peeled it in one smooth spiral. The sharp, sweet citrus scent bloomed instantly, bright and clean in the stale apartment air. She carefully stripped away the white pith, then held out a perfect segment, the juice glistening on her fingertips. "Here. Tell me if it's sweet enough."
"Thanks." He took it, the fruit cool against his palm for a split second before he popped it into his mouth. Flavor exploded—bright, sugary, perfectly ripe. "Wow. Yeah, it's really good. Super sweet."
Her smile deepened, eyes crinkling in a way that made his stomach flip. "Good. Then the whole bag is yours. Consider it a little gift."
He accepted the bag with another quiet thank-you, setting it aside while trying to ignore the way his heart was suddenly hammering. Having her this close, in his space, offering something so casual yet intimate—it stirred up everything he usually kept locked down tight. The crush he'd been nursing for months felt suddenly too big for his chest. He bent over his worksheet, pretending intense focus, but his mind kept drifting to the soft brush of her fingers, the lingering citrus on his tongue, the way she smelled faintly of vanilla shampoo and cold winter air.
They worked in near silence for a few minutes, pencils scratching, the occasional rustle of turning pages. Julian found himself unusually quiet, the easy rhythm he normally kept around her deserting him. Every time he glanced up, her profile—dark hair falling forward, the delicate line of her jaw—made his thoughts tangle. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words stuck. This was Margaret. The girl he liked so much it hurt. The girl he knew he could never actually have, not in any real way. Not when the future after SATs and college applications loomed like a wall they would both slam into separately.
"Julian…" Her voice broke the quiet so suddenly he startled.
He lifted his head, blinking. "Yeah? What's up?"
She set her pencil down, gaze steady. "Isabella… she lives right across the hall, doesn't she? In the unit opposite yours?"
"Yeah, that's her place." He rubbed the back of his neck, a little self-conscious. "She comes over a lot to cook for me. She's been really good to me, actually. Helps keep everything from falling apart."
Margaret's expression didn't change, but something flickered behind her eyes—there and gone. "That's… nice. You're really lucky, aren't you?"
"I guess so." He gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. "Maybe it's fate cutting me a break for once? I don't know. Having someone like her looking out for me… it's more than I expected."
She tilted her head, voice dropping softer. "And what about me? Am I part of that same lucky break?"
"You?" The question caught him off guard. "Yeah, of course. Why would you even ask that?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead she reached across the small table and cupped his face in both hands, her palms surprisingly warm against his cheeks. The touch was gentle, yet it pinned him in place. Her thumbs brushed lightly over his skin, tracing the line of his jaw, and Julian froze, breath catching.
"Margaret… what—"
"Tell me, Julian." Her voice stayed calm, almost sweet, but her eyes had darkened, pupils wide and fixed on him like he was the only thing in the room. "Do you want me to stay by your side? Always?"
His heart slammed against his ribs. The question hung between them, far heavier than the casual study session had any right to be. "After the SATs and college applications… we're probably both heading in different directions. You know that, right? Why ask something like this?"
"I'm not asking about what's practical." Her fingers tightened just a fraction, still tender but insistent. The citrus scent clung to her skin, mixing with the faint warmth of her breath. "I'm asking if you hope for it. Even if it's impossible. Do you want me there—forever?"
"Of course I do," he managed, voice cracking slightly. Heat flooded his face. "I mean… I want to stay close to all of you. You guys are the best part of my life right now."
"Not all of us." Her smile curved, slow and strangely beautiful, something almost dangerous flickering at the edges. "Just me."
"Well… yeah. You're one of my closest friends. Of course I want that."
For a long second she simply stared at him, her dark eyes swallowing every inch of his face. Julian could feel the intensity rolling off her in waves, a pressure that made the air feel thicker. His skin prickled where she touched him; an involuntary shiver ran down his spine. Part of him wanted to lean into it. Another part—the louder, more panicked part—screamed that something had shifted, that the gentle girl he knew was looking at him like she was deciding whether to keep him or consume him.
Then, as quickly as it had come, the moment broke.
"Sorry," she murmured, pulling her hands away. "I got a little carried away there." She settled back into her chair with a soft laugh, as if nothing had happened, and picked up her pencil again. "Let's just finish these problems."
Julian sat there dazed, the ghost of her touch still burning on his cheeks. He nodded automatically. "Yeah… okay."
The wind outside picked up, rattling the windowpane. Bare branches of the sycamore scraped against the glass, the sound dry and lonely. Cold white light spilled across the table, highlighting the half-peeled tangerine still sitting between them. Margaret turned a page in her notebook, calm and focused once more.
But Julian noticed the way her other hand stayed clenched in her lap, knuckles white. When she finally relaxed it a moment later, he caught the faint red crescents pressed into her palm—neat, angry little half-moons where her nails had dug in deep.