“Well, I’m asking.” He looked so nervous, all of a sudden. As if he wasn’t sure I’d say yes.

“Okay,” I said, and he instantly beamed.

“Yeah?”

“Sure.” I nodded. “When?”

“Tonight?”

“As in Monday?” I raised a single brow.

He chuckled.

“Hi, Tommy,” a voice said, coming from behind me.

I instantly froze. I knew that voice; I’d grown up around it. When I turned around, there he was, looking quite serious. Black eyes, short and curly black hair, thick, bushy eyebrows, and hazel eyes. He wore a T-shirt that was also very familiar, mainly because I was the one who’d given it to him three Christmases ago—Bowie as Major Tom.

“H-hey,” I stuttered.

I think. I was so shocked I worried I’d only verbalized it in my head.

“This is Ethan.” I raised my hand and sort of pointed. “Ethan, this is—”

“Jonas,” he said, smiling. “Best friend.”

I’m pretty sure Ethan looked less confused than me.

“Congratulations on the win yesterday,” Jonas said.

“That’s where I know you from!” Ethan said, pointing. “You were awesome on the two-hundred-yard relay. Totally saved the Seals.”

“We would’ve gotten the one hundred if it weren’t for you and your captain.”

“Dean’s pretty fast this season,” Ethan said proudly.

I just kept watching as the two of them interacted. I’d like to say I paid attention, that there was some sort of thinking process going on inside my head, but there simply wasn’t. I was drawing the biggest blank of my existence. At some point, I even stopped hearing what they were chatting about. All I saw were lips moving, and everything seeming hazy.

“I gotta go. I have practice,” Ethan said. “It was nice meeting you though.”

“You too, Ethan.”

“So, Thomas? Seven o’clock?” Ethan turned to me.

“Seven,” I repeated, nodding and earning an attempted wink.

I watched as he walked away.

“You’re swimming again?” Jonas asked, sounding insulted.

“What? No!” I assured him. “He’s just a friend.”

“I see.”

I shook my head, trying to unscramble all these thoughts to have some sort of conversation. It made no sense to me, seeing Jonas at Grant. It seemed so foreign for some odd reason.

“Jonas, what are you—”

“—doing here? Well, I think it’s pretty obvious. I’m ambushing you.”

“I—”

“Summer mentioned how she saw you at The Den last week. She said you seemed fine,” he added, air-quoting the last word.

“Y-yeah, we bumped—”

“I told her she was mistaken,” he interrupted me again. “I mean, she had to be. I said, ‘Summer, you’re nuts. He can’t be fine. If he were fine, I’d know. He’d tell me. I am his best friend, after all.’”

“Jonas—”