Lyle snatches it back. “Call me when you change your mind.” His expression darkens. “Oh, hey, Cameron. Surprised to see you here,” he says, his tone oozing sarcasm. Lyle doesn’t linger, though, slinking off toward whatever pack of girls he’s hanging out with this week.

We watch him leave in silence, the sunny California air charged between us. “Ready?” Cameron asks in a low voice that sends goosebumps across my skin. He’s changed, too, out of his Carter Nelson uniform, and his cheeks are ruddy.

“Sure,” I say, a little breathless. “Mom! I’m headed out for some dinner.”

She doesn’t even acknowledge I’ve said anything. At some point she’ll notice I’m missing, probably between her personal training session and her nightly massage, and she’ll text me.

Cameron holds out his hand—my lifeline clothed in cargo shorts and a shy smile. I grab ahold with all my might and he leads me away.

An hour later, after we’ve grabbed some food so we’re not technically lying, he’s pulling into a small, deserted grassy field, the sun sinking fast. “Dark Sky Reserve,” I read.

“Completely dark. No lights allowed. It’s where you come to go stargazing away from the city,” he explains.

“Won’t there be other people around?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing to see. No planets or comets tonight.”

A thrill rushes through me at his words. All alone. He reaches behind us and pulls out a backpack. “I brought us some drinks. And, um, other stuff.” He stops, sinking back into his seat, unsure. “Is this okay? I thought this might give us the most privacy, but if you don’t like it, I can get us a hotel room or something…”

I reach for his face, pulling him toward me and pressing a kiss to his lips. “It’s perfect.”

“Really?” He exhales in a gust, relieved. Gah. So cute. “Great.”

He comes around the car, opening my door and making me feel like I’m in the movie Sixteen Candles. I’m a dizzy Samantha and he’s the grown-up senior, Jake Ryan, with a car.

Except these butterflies beating around inside of me are so much more than a crush. They’re almost suffocating.

He reaches for my hand and leads me to a quilt. There’re a couple of pillows there, already. I wonder when he had the time to do this. The idea of him driving out here alone, setting this up, is so sweet.

The sun has quickly sunk low on the horizon, and I’m surprised at how dark it is out here. Living in L.A. means almost never seeing the stars. This view reminds me of back home in Michigan—an endless indigo expanse of glittering galaxies pressing down from above.