Month to month.
“We’ve got plenty of time,” Bridger says. “They’ll have to get their luggage from baggage claim. And even with Dex at the wheel, the drive takes at least an hour. We’ll be fine. Just breathe and?—”
“I’m ready to go again.” I grit my teeth. “Let’s finish this.”
Of course Dex’s apartment is in a building without an elevator. Because why would the universe miss an opportunity to remind me that nothing in my life is easy?
Least of all transitions.
So Bridger pulls and steers, while I shove the mattress forward again. Just small, incremental bursts. That’s how we get through the hard things.
“If I expire right here in the second-floor stairway,” I choke, “tell Sayla I love her. Probably even more than Dex does.”
“Will do.”
I glance up the stairs, and Bridger flashes another grin.
How is he not sweating?
“You were supposed to say don’t die,” I grunt.
“You can’t die,” he says. “I have zero vision for this surprise you’ve got planned over at their house.”
“Roses and candles and champagne aren’t complicated,” I pant. “Even someone with zero romance in their soul could manage.”
“I can be romantic,” he says. “When properly motivated.”
“Well, getmotivated,” I squawk, stumbling on the top step. My fingernail catches on the roped cording along the mattress, and I drop my side of the mattress. Again. “Ouch!”
“Was that you dying?”
“I thought I broke a nail.” I suck the tip of my finger, then shake it out. “Anyway, if I were dead, I wouldn’t be able to talk, Mr. AP Physiology teacher.”
Bridger chuckles like he’snotabout to keel over. “My offer still stands for you to sit in on a cadaver lab. Anytime.”
“Hard pass,” I huff, picking up my end again. “Teaching Shakespeare’s gory enough.”
By the time we maneuver the mattress around the final corner, I’m in a full-blown flop-sweat. Meanwhile, my moving buddy looks like a guy who spends the whole summer away from school.
Because he does.
Must be nice.
Don’t get me wrong. Bridger Adams is one of Stony Peak High School’s hardest-working teachers. And I know he uses his summers for important stuff. Like scientific research. Curriculum restructuring.
Helping his friends move.
But for someone like me, who teaches summer school just to make ends meet, lugging boxes around is as close as I get to a recharge. Oh, and fumbling a mattress into Dex’s bedroom.
Correction.Mybedroom.
“Done!” I drop the mattress extra dramatically. My heart hammers like I just ran a marathon. Also? I still really need to pee.
Unfortunately, after rushing to the bathroom, I realize Dex left no towels in here. So I quickly wash up and head back to the living room, drying my hands on my shorts.
Like a lady.
Unpacked boxes are scattered about the room, but most of my things are here now. I survey the scuffed hardwoodfloors and the narrow galley kitchen. The big leather couch Dexdidleave behind.