Ario texted this selfie weeks ago. Someone went into my phone and set this as my lock screen.

A chunky, black OtterBox protects Briggs’s other phone; in this lock screen picture, Molly smiles like I’ve never seen her smile before. Her freckled arms wrap around a tall dark-skinned girl. A girlfriend.

Molly and I have something in common after all.

CHAPTER FIVE

ARIO’S RECORDER

ONE WEEK AGO

A man’s dinner grows cold in the trunk of my car. But Mr. Hannigan won’t have to wait long for his mashed potatoes and rice pudding—I’m ahead of schedule. I purposely delivered the other Meals on Wheels early so I would have time to make this side trip to Ario’s. Both Ario and the Hannigans live one town over in White Eagle, which is still a fifteen-minute drive from my house. Illinois is made up of either Chicago, Chicago suburbs, or utter farmland desolation. Guess which section we live in? “My family is like the only Iranians for a hundred miles,” Ario always complains. That’s why after the summer, he’s going to college in the city, so at least that isolation won’t be a problem for him anymore. It’s what I tell myself to feel better about the likelihood that in two months, I’m going to lose him.

Mom allows me to take her car for Meals on Wheels but only for this. If I’m not dropping off pureed dinners to sick folks, I can’t drive. And if I’m not driving, I can’t make it to White Eagle. And if I can’t make it to White Eagle…I probably won’t have a boyfriend anymore.

Which Mom would love.

Stay present in the moment, Major. For the moment, you have him.

Ario kisses me in the entryway of his bright, newly renovated house. He’s nearly a foot taller than me, so I let myself be consumed in his furry arms, against his towering body. “How long do I have you?” he asks between loud, starving smacks.

“I have to be there by six,” I huff into his mouth. Mr. Hannigan isn’t expecting dinner until then, so I have an uninterrupted half hour with the spearmint of Ario’s lips.

“How long do I have you?” I want to tell Ario “forever,” but I’m not gonna risk admitting something that naïve. I have enough trouble as it is getting him to see me as someone other than a cute, inexperienced kid.

Ario strokes the bristling scruff on my cheeks (I should have shaved first). His fingers—nails painted glittery silver—slide beneath my knit cap and tug on my tangled hair (I should have gotten a haircut). I breathe in a rush of clean, ripened fruit (He put on cologne for me, but I’ve been wearing the same nasty gym shorts for days). Ario wouldn’t know that though; we’ve been kept apart for a week. Mom confiscated my phone, so I haven’t been able to text, call, send pics—nothing. If it weren’t for these weekend Meals on Wheels, I’d never see him. I’d lose him to somebody he goes to school with; a boy he can actually see regularly; a boy whose family doesn’t create nonstop bullshit.