“I, uh…” She stared at me for a good minute before continuing, suddenly resolute. “I’m making you boys mini-pizzas.”

“O-okay. Great.”

“Great,” she repeated.

When I got upstairs, Noah and Jonas were in Noah’s room playing PlayStation.

“There he is!” Jonas said excitedly.

“Did you tell Mom?” I ignored Jonas and turned to Noah, pointing my thumb over my shoulder at the door.

“Of course not. Why?”

“She’s acting weird.”

“Weird how?” Jonas asked.

“She’s making mini-pizzas.”

“Her mini-pizzas are awesome,” Jonas said, basically salivating.

“She kind of cried about it though.”

“What?” Noah laughed, his eyes fixed to the TV. “Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Maybe she’s just emotional,” Jonas suggested.

“Or maybe she saw you and your boyfriend outside,” Noah said.

Fuck. “You think?”

“I dunno.” Noah shrugged.

“Does it matter?” Jonas asked, turning to face me.

“Of course it doesn’t.”

It really didn’t.

“Maybe you just freaked her out because of that.” Jonas pointed at me.

“Because of what?”

“That—” He turned to Noah. “What do you call that?”

“A face?” Noah deadpanned.

Jonas chuckled. “Yes, but the look he has.”

“Oh! Stupid?”

“No.” Jonas laughed. “It’s like he’s lovesick or something.”

“I’m not lovesick,” I said defensively.

They both laughed.

“He’s not lovesick.” Noah turned to Jonas, who teasingly shook his head. “Of course not, why would he be?”

“I dunno why I bothered.” I rolled my eyes and went to my room.

*

As I left for school on Wednesday morning, I found Jonas waiting for me outside.

“Good morning!” He held two cups of coffee.

“Hey!” I said, a bit confused about what he was doing there.

“White chocolate mocha?” He handed me a cup.

“Sure,” I said, taking it and drinking a sip.

“Walk with me to school? For old times’ sake?”

“Of course.” I followed him as he started walking in the opposite direction as I usually did.

One thing Jonas never properly developed was a sense of direction. He could get lost in his own room, easily. We walked along in silence. There was nothing quite like New York City in the early hours of the morning—a peace to it that was extremely satisfying.

“So,” he said. “Ethan.”

“What about him?”

“That’s what I’m asking.”

“Oh, I—I don’t know, man.”

“Yeah, you do.” He looked at me with nothing but empathy, in true Jonas Miller fashion.

“At first, I thought it was nothing, you know? Just some dude who seemed to be bored with himself.”

Jonas said nothing. Again, typically so.

“Then, I thought it was just another mistake,” I continued after taking a moment. “Some regret, waiting to happen. But I…”