I study his relaxed profile for a few seconds, then turn to look out the window again. The bus pulls away from the high school, the familiar brick façade fading from sight as we turn onto the main road headed toward the highway.

I want to ask Holden what he’s doing next to me. I want to ask him what this means. I want to ask him why he kissed me in eighth grade and hasn’t acknowledged it in the four years since.

Back then, I did nothing to drive him away. I never told him I had a crush on him. But Monday night, I was very clear about asking him not to talk to me again. I overreacted, as I just admitted, and I regretted the harsh words, but I didn’t give any indication of that to him. We haven’t spoken since. But he’s still here, next to me.

My phone buzzes in my lap. It’s a text from Sydney asking how it’s going. With not one but four question marks. I laugh under my breath before responding, letting her know we left the high school’s parking lot about thirty seconds ago.

This will be the first Friday night we haven’t spent together in a long time. But I associate the day of the week with Holden more than her.

I see Sydney almost every day. Aside from occasional glimpses at school, the nights Holden makes it home before I’ve fallen asleep used to be my one guarantee of time with him. My weekly hit and also my chance to show him I was just fine without his friendship.

And I am. I have Sydney, and there are plenty of girls at school I’m friendly with. That friendliness just rarely translates outside of school hours. Maybe it would if I did things that scared me more frequently.

But I miss him.

I was reminded of just how much on Monday night, when we were going to play basketball together. And when we watched the documentary.

Sydney hates sports and prefers watching comedies over anything educational. I’ve missed playing basketball and staying up late watching television shows with him. Things that I haven’t done with anyone else since middle school. The reminder was a large part of why his question about basketball upset me so much. It dredged up all the resentment from the past years of nothing but some small talk.

I’m not sure I’m brave enough to ask him what happened. I was a confused thirteen-year-old harboring a crush and couldn’t figure out if it was reciprocated or not. He kissed me and I thought it was. But then any confirmation was swiftly shut down when weeks, months, years of mostly silence followed.