“I hope so,” she said. “I’m one more night away from going Shining on everyone.”

I totally understood. The tension between her and her parents had never been so intense, and I hated that for her. She didn’t deserve the reaction she’d gotten, so I had no qualms whatsoever about sneaking her out of the house.

It only took twenty minutes to convince her mom to let her go with me—and only me—to study at my house. Which we technically did—for about two seconds while we got ready for the party. I dressed in a pair of distressed jeans and my favorite sweater, and typed out a fast text to Dean, letting him know the plan.

Dean: Tanner is keeping me hostage for a project.

Dean: Fill you in later.

Dean: Once he lets me out I’ll meet you at the party, Pixie.

“Whoa,” Hannah said as I pocketed my cell.

“What’s up?”

“You’re in love!”

“What?” I laughed, but it was forced.

Hannah jumped up and down, throwing her arms around my neck. Then she smacked my arm. “How could you not tell me?”

I rubbed at the spot. “Omigod, Hannah! That hurt.”

“Whatever. Talk.”

I gaped at her for a second before shrugging. “I don’t know what we are yet! I’m…”

“Scared?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“Don’t be,” she said. “I see it. How it is between the two of you. It’s completely different than…” She stopped herself. “It’s different. You’re different. You’re more you than you have been in so, so long.”

She wasn’t wrong. The time Dean and I had spent together, the closeness I felt to him…

We’d breezed through Christmas and Valentine’s Day—a flurry of kisses, Code Club, and chatting until we feel asleep at our keyboards.

I had it so, so bad.

“I know,” I finally said. “I found a way to heal myself…somehow.” I wished I could tell her how the blog had helped me so much. My thoughts traveled to the one I’d posted before school—the boy’s story about being drunk at a party, his brother’s friend taking things too far, the shame he felt, the way he’d been blamed…it had hit so damn close to home. And yet, where there once was a gaping hole of hurt had sealed over with a layer of camaraderie and strength directly from connecting with people like him. People who wrote to me daily for help. “But,” I continued, “he knows everything and it hasn’t changed anything between us. He doesn’t see me as damaged.”

“You’re not,” Hannah said. “That jackass is.”

I huffed. “Yeah.”

Hannah clapped again. “Is Dean coming tonight?”

I nodded. “After he wraps up a project.”

“Yay!” She waggled her eyebrows. “It’s been months and I’ve never properly BFF grilled him.”