“RIGHT. You didn’t say corsage … you meant boutonnieres … because you’re both going SOLO and why be left out of the fun? Right. Good point! Why shouldn’t singles get the whole package? It’s UNFAIR that only the couples get flowers! We should have made flowers for everyone! Just a sec!”

Chaz’s eyes are bright with amusement, and he cocks an eyebrow at me, curious as to how I know this tempest. She’s back before I can explain, matching boutonnieres in hand.

“That’s better! Boutonnieres for all!”

We thank her, Chaz copiously praising how nice his is (though, honestly, how interesting can it be: a white rose, green tape, and a hatpin). I impulsively hug Malee, and she holds it longer than I do, generating a shout from the van. “See you at the mall!” she says and gets in.

Even with the van door closed, I can hear an argument ensuing. I grab Chaz’s hand and pull him away, but not toward the cafeteria.

“Where are we going?” He looks genuinely surprised.

“In Connecticut,” I tease, “it is considered so basic to arrive right on time. Let’s give it a minute.”

“Okay …”

“Let’s go to our field,” I say that like it’s an established thing. He doesn’t argue, but he also doesn’t let me hold his hand.

The rec field is, predictably, empty. I climb the bleachers to the very top for the lake view. This is my favorite time of day. The sun leans so heavily toward earth that all the light is slant, casting elongated shadows that stretch and stretch and soon will steal away. Everything the light touches is rose gold, a beauty I know to be fleeting. Once the sun is down, darkness will mute everything. For now, the world shines.

“May I?” I ask, pulling the pin from the boutonniere I’m carrying and hold it up to his chest.

That smile! It’s a light of its own. “You may.”

Trying to pin it on without stabbing myself requires a little concentration, but I manage and then step back, waiting for him to do the same.

“May I?”

“You may.” My heart is beating faster as he fixes the rose to my lapel with the grace of an expert.

If I am going to kiss him, it has to be now. We have lighting worthy of Instagram. We’re not so late that anyone is going to miss us yet. And there isn’t a squad around to make it impossible.

And yet.

I suddenly am thinking about Cheng. Cheng, who hikes and plays lacrosse and dresses basic and is nothing like me. Cheng, who most likely will not be my forever guy (I mean, we’re in high school) but is my guy.

Cheng, who holds me so tight, like I am a treasure never to be lost.