My name gets called, and I scramble to grab the present, and I already know Devin knows I got em because mine is the last gift, and I feel like a loser as I pass it to em and say, “Happy Christmas in July or whatever.”

My heart aches, my chest rolling, but once the gift is out of my hands, a bit of relief rushes me. My fate is sealed.

Devin smirks, grabbing the bag from me and saying, “That’s merry Christmas in July to you.” E flashes me the cutest smile ever. “And thank you.”

I nod, but God, my heart is having a field day in my chest.

Everyone’s already moving on from the gift exchange as Devin pulls the tissue paper out of the bag. I’m kind of annoyed that they’re all moving on when Devin hasn’t even gotten to open the gift yet, but I’m glad their eyes are off us, like this moment is just ours to share. Finally, Devin grabs the gift, yanking it out and unfolding it to reveal a black T-shirt with the words Got Milk? on it.

Eir eyes widen. “Is this a milk T-shirt?”

And my first instinct is to stammer out, “I was just thinking about what you said, you know, about the milk and—”

And I feel like the world’s biggest dork for taking Brian’s advice and going for an inside joke. But after days of looking for the perfect present, I’d all but given up until I’d stumbled upon the T-shirt, and then all I could think about was em saying that e was two percent boy.

Devin laughs and says, “It’s amazing! I love it!”

I smile. “Really?”

“Yeah, it’s the best present I’ve ever gotten.”

I roll my eyes. “Okay, you don’t have to pretend to like it that much.”

E bumps my shoulder. “No, really, I mean it. I love personal gifts, and this is just so thoughtful. I love it.”

My heart flutters, and e’s giving me that dimpled smile, and God, I want to kiss em, but I turn my face away instead.

Then Devin says, “I got something for you too.”

My eyes shoot up, face warm. “Wait, what?”

“I mean, I know I’m not your Secret Santa or anything, but you’ve been the most amazing friend this summer, and I really wanted to give you something,” e says.

I nod, but e’s already reaching for a small package and passing it to me. It’s wrapped in little penguin wrapping paper, their big blue eyes staring up at me as I tear the little fuckers apart.

And my fingers freeze. It’s a notebook. Well, I guess it’s more like a journal. It’s got a cloth cover and college-ruled pages, and little doodle-like art on the corner of each page—coffee cups, kayaks, sparklers, boba tea.