In the distance, I could hear the rumble of pouring rain coming toward us like a stampeding herd of antelope.

“Let’s go!” he cried. Grabbing my hand, he began to run. We made it about ten feet before the water came down on us in sheets. We had fifty yards of ground to cover before making it to the house, and it felt like running through a dream world—everything was shiny, gleaming, flashing with light and punctuated by menacing rumbles of thunder. As we rushed into the back hall, and Barrett pulled the door shut, the sudden quiet seemed like something from another world.

We stared at each other, panting and out of breath, and then we both began to laugh—relieved laughter, triumphant laughter, we-made-it laughter.

“Wow,” he said, glancing at the small window on the back door. “I can’t believe we didn’t get struck.”

I nodded, feeling exhilarated by the thrill of sharing an exciting experience with another human being. I couldn’t think of anything to say, and I felt my mouth take the shape of a huge, goofy grin. Barrett grinned back.

As the seconds ticked by, the somberness of the house fell over us like a veil, and we peered out toward the main hall. Neither of us spoke, but we were both questioning whether Laura was out there, wandering the house. Had she checked our bedrooms and found us missing?

Then I wondered for the first time what she would think if she found us both gone, in the middle of the night. And what she would think if she found us together.

Before tonight, in my mind, Barrett had only existed in the context of his place in the Sutton family, so he had felt more like a brother than a boy. I’d never stopped to consider him for what he actually was, outside of picturing the girlfriends I’d imagined he’d left weeping in his past.

Now, suddenly, he was standing before me in three dimensions, more real to me than Laura and John, and a separate person from Agatha altogether.

And in that moment, it became crystal clear to me. He was a boy. And I was a girl.

Possibly to him, too, because when we had grabbed a few towels from the kitchen pantry—trying to mop up the puddles we’d made on the floor, and dry ourselves off as well as we could—he bumped lightly into me and then jumped back like he’d been burned, with a mumbled apology and a flush flooding his neck and cheeks.

I felt myself blush, too. something—maybe everything—had changed between us.