“I’ll be back.” He glances around. His mother walks into their house, but leaves the car running. No one is out, not even Mrs. Washington. The neighborhood allows us a rare slice of privacy.

Ezra touches his forehead to mine and cups my neck.

The tears overflow, sliding down my cheeks and salting the corners of my mouth. I’m losing something. I’m losing him. I know it. Even though he says he’ll be back. I just know…

“Don’t go.” It’s a wet whisper that I can’t hold back. “Ezra, I have a bad feeling. Like I won’t ever see you again.”

Even saying it, the words corkscrew right through my heart.

“It’s only for the summer,” he says, pulling back and lifting my chin, giving me a smile I know is forced. “I’ll be back before school starts. You think I’d miss our freshman year in high school?”

I hesitate, but shake my head. “Ezra, kiss me.”

He searches my face for a second, looks around, up the street that’s never this quiet, this empty on a Saturday morning, and leans forward to press our lips together, slipping his tongue into my mouth. We’re still tentative, barely sure we’re doing it right, our lips and tongues clinging and wet and sweet. I thought it might have been the music or the decorations, the dance or the moment that made last night’s kiss magical, but it’s none of those things.

It’s us.

That magic is still there when the only music is the distant buzz of someone cutting their lawn one street over. Still there when the mood lighting is nothing more than sunshine.

“Ezra,” Mrs. Stern says.

We break our kiss and look up. She’s at the car, elbows leaned on the roof on the driver’s side. Her gaze flicks between us, her eyes sad and red-rimmed. “We have to go now, son.”

The lump in my throat swells, hot and huge, and I refuse to release his hand for a second. I throw my arms around him and bury my face in his neck. His skinny arms tighten around me, and I feel his tears on my neck, too.

Don’t go.

I want to make him stay, to beg him not to leave, to not ignore this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach, but Mrs. Stern honks the horn and climbs behind the steering wheel.

I love you, Ez.

It sounds ridiculous even in my own head, in my thoughts. We’re thirteen. What do we know about love? The kiss, these feelings are so new, I can’t make myself form the words, so I say the one word that will always mean the same thing to us no matter what.

“Pact,” I whisper.