“I was thinking about Tommy and Kayla. And all the people who break up and get back together and break up again. I don’t want us to be like that.”

“Are we…are we together? I know we kissed, but I wasn’t sure if—”

“I like you, Tru,” he says softly, his eyes lowered to the garage floor. “If you don’t feel the same way then—”

“I do.” I step closer and grab his other hand. “That’s how I feel.”

His smile comes on slowly, pinching at the corners like he’s trying to contain it. “Okay. Good.”

He sobers and glances up and pulls our hands between our chests. “I don’t ever want something stupid to ruin our friendship. People break up all the time, and it freaks me out that something might…change, and then we wouldn’t be friends.”

“Yeah. I get that.” I bite my lip and nod.

“So, pact.”

“Pact?” I laugh. “Like the pacts we made when we were kids? Like we wouldn’t ever summon the Candy Man? Or when we were seven, that I wouldn’t tell anyone where you buried that candy pop ring?”

“You take that information to the grave, Kimba Allen,” he says with false gravity. “You crossed your heart and everything.”

“I’ll never tell.” My chuckle settles into a smile. “So what’s this pact?”

His eyes trace my face, rest on my lips and send flutters through my belly. He holds his pinky finger out to me.

“Our pact is that we’ll always be friends,” he says, his voice quiet, sure. “That nothing will come between us, not even each other.”

Not even each other.

I’m not completely sure what that means, but I hook my finger with his. “Pact.”

“We should kiss on it,” he says, tugging me closer by my pinky.

I’m breathless, waiting for our lips to touch and for that feeling I had in the bathroom to take over my whole body again.

“Damn you, Ruth!” Mr. Stern’s angry voice travels from inside my house when our lips are separated by just a breath.

“Let me explain,” Ezra’s mother says, her words reaching us in the garage.

“You can’t explain this!” he shouts back. “We’re leaving, and that’s final.”

Leaving?

Our wide eyes connect, fear and panic rising inside me at the threat of Ezra’s leaving. We hear the front door open so violently it slams against the house. Hurried footfalls pound down the steps. Leaving my house, Mr. Stern almost walks right past the open garage, but double-takes when he sees us inside. Fury twists his features.

“Come on, Ezra,” he snaps. “We’re going home.”

“But, Dad, I—”

“Now, Ezra!” his father roars so loudly I’m sure Mrs. Washington got an earful while fake-watering her plants.