“Hey, you,” Gene says, opening his front door and grinning. His hair is actually combed and he’s wearing a pink bow tie, which he adjusts with a totally adorable look on his face. Our eyes connect, triggering the smile response, the heart response, the thought response, and every other human response.

“You’re wearing a suit!” I say, and the light from the house makes him glow like the best boyfriend I’ve ever had. (Read: He’s the only boyfriend I’ve ever had.)

“Not a full suit,” he says, pointing to the blue jeans he always changes into after school. “Just a fairly decent shirt and this great polka-dot thing I found in my mom’s closet.” He steps closer to me, and his head shades me from the blinding porch light. There are thousands of winter moths flying around it, just trying to catch a hot break. He crosses his arms. “Damn, it’s cold.”

“I’ll warm you up.” I wrap my arms around his neck, sandwiching myself between him and the half-open door. It’s taking all my energy not to be like, OMGWHATSMYSURPRISE?!

“So is this some sort of preview for prom?” I ask casually, sniffing at his bow tie. I get a little too into it, and a snort escapes my nostrils. The whole thing ends up being a bit more animalistic than I intended.

He laughs and links his fingers in mine. “Prom is like three months away. Everyone needs to chill.” Uh-oh. I don’t like the sound of that. I don’t like the sound of that one bit. “Doug has a whole chart of people he could ask and where he wants to order his suit from,” Gene continues, blowing into his hands, “and I just think we all gotta relax about it. It’s not supposed to be stressful. It’s supposed to be sawweeeet.”

“For sure,” I say, though I’m much less sure than for implies. “So about that surprise.” I peer into his house. His moms are joking around in the kitchen, touching each other in a way that’s cute for parents, like my parents used to when they’d make breakfast for dinner. I look away. “Your house always smells like lasagna or some cousin of linguini and red sauce, so I’m guessing the surprise doesn’t have to do with the moms’ cooking.”

“Okay, about the surprise,” Gene says. He ducks into the house and comes back with a big envelope. He drum rolls against the rich red door, and the golden numbers rattle in their screws. “I got in.”

He beams and holds the envelope so close to my face that my nose comes up against its manila wall. It’s a better college than State. And a lot farther away.

“W-wow,” I stammer. “That’s so huge, congrats!”

It’s a fight to keep the smile on my face from turning into a grimace of panic. I really have to get those college applications in. “I’m so happy for you,” I add. My cheeks hurt from smiling. I wish I could take the envelope out of my face, but what if it’s too heavy for my hands to hold? Do you ever get the feeling you can’t handle the weight of something, no matter how much it actually weighs?