I bite down on my lip, but it doesn’t keep my heart from leaking out of my eyeballs.

This boy.

“And I feel like you’re that person. You’re my person, Meg.”

My tears are in full force now. Micah wipes them, pulling me close. I tuck into the space between his chest and his neck and listen to his heart, trying to get a handle on my emotions.

“You’re my person, too.”

18

Micah

Days go by, and the leaves change and fall to the ground. The air crisps to frozen overnight, and it’s taking longer and longer to defrost each morning. Soon it won’t at all. The holidays will come and go, and I’m looking forward to seeing how Meg glows in the Christmas lights. Cash and I graduate from search and rescue in a week, after eighteen arduous months of training.

Time passes, and some things pass with it. But some things are permanent.

Meg is making her mark count. She told me about her fairy wing collection at home. Her “touch of whimsy,” she called it. I can imagine them perfectly. I also see why she left them behind. It’s sort of like me moving out of my parents’ house all those months ago. It was time to leave behind the room I grew up in. Time to put on my grown-up shoes.

Which brings us to the tattoo parlor this bitterly cold fall afternoon, along with James. When we walk in, the girl behind the counter smiles at me first. “Micah! Finally ready to commit?”

Meg whirls around to face me. “Commit to what?”

I shake my head and gesture to Meg. “I’m here as a support, actually.”

Meg gives me a look but pulls her sketch out of her bag. “I spoke with Joshua earlier this week. I have an appointment.”

“Right! Meg! I’m Alex. Welcome!” Alex pulls out a tablet preloaded with consent forms. “I’ll grab Joshua, but you can start on the paperwork. I’ll need a form of identification.” She turns to me and passes another tablet over. “In case you get brave. Your sketch is on file, Micah. Today’s the day, my friend.”

Alex walks away, and Meg points at my chest. “What?”

I stare at the tablet, not touching it. “I’ve been in here a time or five since I turned eighteen. Never pulled the trigger.”

“Micah! You never said anything. What are you getting?”

“I wanted to get a compass. One of those really intricate, old-fashioned-looking ones. On the inside of my forearm.” I trace the spot.

“Are you afraid of the pain?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

“Can I see the sketch?”

“Easy, Meg, if he doesn’t want to…” James says. “It’s forever,” he reminds me.