Neither of us says anything for a minute. I glance at my phone. We still have forty-five minutes until my parents come home. I think about Andrew and what a giant mistake he made by going to Lizzy’s party, but I also think his death has taught me that life is precious and that we need to make the most of the time we have here.

“Do you want to come inside?” I ask.

The moment the words come out of my mouth, I contemplate whether I should take them back. I feel like I’ve just asked Wes if he wants to rob a bank or go on a drug bender or bury a body in the woods. It’s been months since another human being aside from me and my moms has entered our apartment.

“I’ve been really quarantined,” Wes says. “Aside from a couple of trips to the grocery store. I swear, I haven’t been anywhere else.”

“I’ve been to the park a few times with my moms, and I picked up some food from Katie’s Diner a couple of days ago.”

It feels like we’re disclosing our sexual partners, but I suppose this is the world we live in now. If we want fewer than six feet between us, then we need to be honest about which public places we’ve frequented and which human beings we’ve seen.

“You can take my temperature if you want,” he offers.

As we walk into my apartment, I say a silent prayer that Raj is playing one of those video games that requires headphones and that he hasn’t been listening to our conversation. And that if he has been eavesdropping, he won’t sell me out to my moms. I feel like we are breaking every rule right now, but at the same time, I need a little affection in my life. The second the door closes behind us, I take off Wes’s mask, then take off my own. His face breaks into a huge grin, and it feels so nice to see him smile up close and not just from a distance or on a computer screen.

“I missed hanging out at your place,” he says. “I missed getting to see all your art.”

Gah. He always says the right thing. It must be a gift, I think.

“I missed having you here.”

I hurry to the bathroom and return with two thermometers. We keep enough space between us while we both take our temperatures. The intensity of his stare makes me look down at my feet. I don’t want him to see that I’m blushing.

Beep, beep, beep. My thermometer goes off first.

“Ninety-eight point seven,” I say. “No fever.”

It takes a few more seconds for his to beep. He takes it out, checks it, and looks up with a worried expression.

“One-oh-three,” he says.

“What?” Shit, I think. We’re both going to die.