“Of me?”

I should’ve chosen a different notebook. This one would only freak her out. “There’re not all of you.”

“Don’t dodge.” There was an intensity to her words.

“Yes.”

She held it up. “This is in Mrs. Turner’s class?”

I didn’t need to look. Although I’d drawn it to preserve those memories, her face flashed behind my eyelids whenever I closed my eyes. I nodded, tipping the top edge back toward her and glancing over my shoulder like someone had focused on us with a telephoto lens.

With my stomach churning, I sat on the bed beside her. This time the creak was more of a groan.

Her knee brushed against mine. “You never look like you’re drawing in class.”

“This sketchbook has never left my bedroom.”

“But you’re showing me.” Her eyes glistened, a sheen coating them.

“I needed you to know.” A faint sheen of sweat broke out all over my body.

Her throat tightened and her fingers shook. “To know what?”

“How you’re all I can think about.” I squeezed my thighs right above my knees, trying to channel this nervousness, bracing myself for a hit-to-the-chest feeling.

“You’ve been on my mind a lot too. All my songs are about you now.” She ducked her head and tucked the strands that had fallen free from her ponytail behind her ear, showing off the curve of her jaw and the shell of her ear.

My fingers itched to grab any scrap of paper and capture all her lines and curves against the backdrop of the light streaming in through my window.

“It seems like we’re both dealing with the same problem.”

The corner of her mouth quirked up and she shot me a sidelong glance. “And what’s that?”

“Needing to know this is real. I need this to be real. And I feel like if someone other than us doesn’t know, I might forget what it’s like to touch you and worry I made it all up. And all I’ll have left are my sketches and the fear that this was never real.”

She dropped the notebook to the bed and turned, angling herself toward me. Her hand cupped my jaw. “No matter what happens this will always be real. California is on the other side of the country, but you don’t know where you’ll end up for college yet, right? And even if you end up on the East Coast, it’s not like we’re living in the 1800s and I’ll only be able to write you letters.” She put on a Southern Belle accent. “My dearest Dare, your most welcome letter has arrived by the postman today.”

“My Dearest Bay, my train journey has speedily taken me as far as Philadelphia. It has only taken three weeks.”

“Oh Beauregard.” She slapped the back of her hand over her forehead, and laughter overtook us both. “Email, video chat. I’ve been saving up for a car. We can figure it out.”

“Are you serious?”

Hesitation flickered in her eyes. “If you want to.” She tried to slip her hand from resting on my leg.