To which my head of course says, “Stop being a fucking sap, life isn’t a story; even if he does like you, it’ll be a mess because you’re not someone who can be normal about this—”

And just as my head is about to talk me out of feeling excited, hopeful, all a-whirl with infatuation, I hear rapid footsteps behind me and I spin around so fast I nearly trip over my own Twizzler legs.

Caleb comes to an abrupt halt as I turn. He’s out of breath, like he’s run here (oh my god, did he run here?), red-nosed and completely fucking beautiful.

“Hi,” he breathes, sticking his hands into his letterman jacket, eyes searching my face. His expression is unreadable and I want to trace the lines on his forehead with my frozen fingertips.

“Hey,” I say, my voice faraway-sounding to my own ears. My head has officially exited the proceedings. My heart is demanding I listen to it, pounding against my rib cage and being lifted up by butterflies fluttering madly under my diaphragm.

We stand like that, ten feet apart, our breath curling like smoke between us, and stare at each other. What’s supposed to happen now? What do I say? Am I supposed to do something? The problem with my head taking a much-needed vacation is that I’m stuck with a heart that wants so much and no executive functioning left to act for it.

“How was therapy?” I ask, like that’s exactly how I’ve been planning to start this conversation. I’m treating this like any other day in the park—like we’re at school on our lunch break. But this is different. I know that and I have no idea how to behave.

All I know is that Caleb is looking at me with those gorgeous green eyes and I’m so in love that I momentarily forget my own name.

“Oh, who the fuck cares?” He laughs, and then he’s walking toward me. I see it all in slow motion and I’m moving in slow motion too, unable to react to anything that’s happening. Caleb is smiling, a spark lighting up his eyes, which haven’t stopped moving around my face as he takes two long strides to me. It’s like he’s trying to memorize what I look like—trying to capture my face in his mind’s eye. Like I’m something important, something worth remembering.

In a millisecond, he’s right in front of me, his hands coming out of his jacket pockets and rising to my face. I feel his cold palms on my cheeks and I should flinch at the sudden burst of ice but he’s leaning toward me and then—

And then.