I didn’t care for other boys. Not the way I cared for him. But I never said that, either. Even if it meant the girls had boyfriends when I didn’t. I stayed on the sidelines, watching as the girls around me lived out the stories we used to whisper about at sleepovers. They went on their first dates, had first boyfriends, shared first kisses. They blushed over notes passed in class, stayed up late dissecting every detail of their crush’s words. I remained untouched by it all, my heart collecting dust in the quiet spaces between what I wanted and what I allowed myself to have.

I watched Blake grow that year—like, actually grow.

By summer, he was a full head taller than me, his arms and legs stretching out like he was trying to catch up with the sky. It was annoying, mostly because he started using it to his advantage, holding things over my head, walking faster so I had to practically jog to keep up. I hated it. He was so smug about it.

“I feel like a leprechaun next to you,” I grumbled one day as we sat on the hood of Dad’s truck, watching the sunset.

“Maybe you are one,” he mused. “Do you have hairy feet?”

Before I even had the chance to think of a comeback, my foot shot out, connecting with his shin. I kicked him hard enough to make him grunt, but he just laughed, rubbing his leg.

Then came the big shift: Blake started high school. It wasn’t a huge surprise—he’d been counting down the days since summer—but it was a change. I could tell because he started coming home later, his backpack heavier, his head filled with things he wouldn’t share. Then, just like that, it was fall. The air turned crisp, and the leaves started changing. The days started to feel shorter, but the nights felt longer, filled with the smell of pumpkin spice, cinnamon, and fallen leaves. With October came the excitement of Halloween. Tiffany was insistent on us dressing up as the Spice Girls—we’d been playing Wannabe nonstop since it dropped earlier in the summer.

October was also the month Blake turned sixteen.

He didn’t make a big deal of it, but we did. I noticed the way he stood a little taller that day, how he seemed to take up more space in the room. It wasn’t just his height. His entire demeanor had shifted—he wasn’t the awkward, gangly kid anymore. The lanky limbs were slowly starting to fill out, becoming more defined.

He was starting to look different, in ways I couldn’t quite put into words. There was a new, quiet confidence about him.