“You didn’t need to get me anything.” He smiles and a soft buzzer goes off. He’s not lying, but it’s a half-truth. He wasn’t expecting a present from me but he’s thrilled that I got him one. His pleased surprise is better than any football win or good grade.

“Whatever.” I shrug. “Your current ones look like they’ve seen better days so I just thought … It’s no big deal.” That, of course, is a lie, and we both know it.

He gingerly tears back the wrapping paper to reveal a pair of black, over-the-ear headphones.

“They’re not, like, the greatest quality or whatever,” I explain, “but they’re wireless and, I don’t know, it seemed like you could use a new pair.”

A foreign emotion is taking over my body—warm and golden, like the sun. But it’s not the sun-on-your-face sense of pride. It’s … softer. Fresher. Like I’m being held close by warm light.

Adam looks up at me, bright joy in his eyes. His mouth is twisting in the way that means he’s trying to hold back a smile, and my heart tries its best to expand outside of my chest.

“Thank you,” he breathes, his fingers curled protectively around the band of the headphones. “This is really, really nice.” The reverence lacing his voice clues me in to what the feeling is: gratitude. He’s grateful. And … hopeful. He hasn’t looked away from me, our hearts beating in time, and I swear we’re standing closer than we were a second ago. I see actual, literal sparks fly between us and it makes me flinch.

“Yeah, you’re welcome.” I shrug, trying to pretend like I don’t know that we both want to ignore the headphones between us and grab at each other. “What else did you get?”

I’m suddenly shy, wanting to slow this train down. If we start something and then he finds out that I’m a total freak, it will be so much worse when I do tell him.

Adam shows me what his parents got him for his birthday—a “new” old watch from his dad (passed down from his grandpa or something), a suit from his mom (“For college interviews,” he says, giving a truly epic eye roll), and a nice, probably really old leather-bound copy of Shakespeare’s collected works. Adam holds it like it’s fragile and priceless and I’m filled to the brim with joyful light. I ask him about his favorite play and he starts talking about Hamlet or Much Ado About Nothing or something and I should be paying attention but I’m distracted from the words themselves by the way his body leans against his desk, the minuscule smile on his face, the tentative happiness he feels at sharing this piece of himself.