Jaxon continues. ‘Not that that is so important, but you are, and inside too, not just outside. You’ve been so supportive with my dad and everything. You didn’t have to do all that, come with me to his house and then go looking for him, and to the police station. You’re just a kind person. And you do like me too?’

Suddenly he’s moving closer to me, his hand coming to the back of my neck. His eyes close, and I feel the brush of his lips on mine.

Soft and smooth.

For a fraction of a second, I lose myself to the sensation.

No. No. No.

‘Jaxon, I can’t.’ I step back.

‘Why?’ His face falls.

‘I have a boyfriend and—’

‘A boyfriend?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Seriously? Are you messing with me?’ His face scrunches into confusion.

‘His name’s Oliver. And I could never do anything to—’

‘You never said anything about a boyfriend,’ he interrupts.

‘I know, I’m sorry.’ I bite my lip, feeling terrible.

Redness is creeping up from his neck to his cheeks. ‘Why did you keep it from me? You literally haven’t spoken about him once, or even called him when I’ve been around, and I’ve been living with you and …’ He stops. ‘Right, I remember, there was that one call I asked you about and you said it was no one.’

‘I didn’t mean to keep it a secret. There’s been a lot going on …’

‘Nope. I’m not buying it, Sky. You had plenty of chances to mention it. I mean, I’ve heard about your aunt and her pregnancy, and your friend Lucy and how she likes some guy who likes rocks, your dog who spoons and snores, and even your pet chicken and her health issues—’

‘I’m really sorry.’

He gives an exasperated sigh and studies the floor.

‘I do like you too. But …’

‘But what?’ He looks at me.

‘Just not like that.’ My voice has gone horribly whiny. Like I’m pleading with him.

‘Dude,’ Trent shouts, peering out from behind the curtain, ‘you coming? There’s a guy from the Alaskan Gazette here wanting to talk to us.’

‘Coming,’ Jaxon yells back. He returns to studying the piece of gum, concentrating so hard he might end up with a PhD. Finally he looks at me, his face saying all the words he can’t—sad, embarrassed, disappointed— then he runs up the stage steps and disappears behind the curtain.

I can’t move. I watch the curtain for any movement, not sure if I should go back there to try and explain. To try and make him feel better. But there’s a journalist backstage, so that would be weird for everyone. I feel terrible, knowing I should have said something. Why did I wait? He must feel so embarrassed.