I open the door and see Elijah standing there, gripping the door frame with one hand. “Hey,” he says, shoving a hand into his pocket.

“Hey. I didn’t see you after the weight room.”

“Just came back here when I was done.” He shrugs, looking at the floor.

“Aren’t you going to get ready for the dance?”

“I don’t think I’m going to go,” he says, setting his jaw.

“How come?” I sit back down on my bed and go back to trying to tight-roll my jeans. I feel like I’m cutting my circulation off in my ankles. How did kids in the ’80s even do this every day?

“I’m still not feeling that great.” He shrugs. He looks like he wants to come into the room, but he hesitates at the door, biting his lip. I see his fingers grip the door frame tighter. I look at him there, in a Crenshaw football T-shirt and gym shorts, his socks slouched around his ankles.

I can’t pinpoint how I know, but I know he’s lying. I study his face, pinched and sad-looking as he stands in my doorway. “I can let you borrow something to wear if you want,” I tell him, even though we are nowhere near the same size. Elijah’s shoulders are much broader than mine. “Do you have any pants with you?”

“Just the khakis I wore last night,” he says, letting go of the door frame and hesitantly coming into my room.

“Those will work. Let’s just find you a shirt, then. I think we wear the same size shoes, too.” I open my closet and pull out a bright green polo shirt that’s always been too big for me to wear. “Try this on.” I throw the shirt to him.

He yanks off his T-shirt and I watch his abs tense. I catch his eye, and the corner of his mouth turns up. “Thanks for this,” he says.

He pulls the polo over his head, and it’s pretty snug around his chest. His biceps are stretching the fabric a little bit, too. “How does it look?” he asks, looking down at the shirt and smoothing it over his stomach.

“Here, let me just,” I stand in front of him and pop the collar of the shirt up. “Much more ’80s,” I say, straightening the shoulders. A piece of Elijah’s hair falls from behind his ear. I tuck it back into place without thinking.

“Oh,” he says, his cheeks turning pink. He says it so softly, it’s almost more of a sweet sigh.

Oh. My hand lingers near his collar, a warm feeling spreading through my gut and up my spine. I meet his eyes. His lips part and he looks back at me. “Thank you,” he says.

I clear my throat. “I’ll find you some shoes.” I turn quickly back to the closet.