They stare at each other, barely breathing, until Bryce breaks, rolling his eyes and stepping back. He opens his mouth, probably to deflect and say “Whatever” as always, but Caleb beats him to it.

“I mean it, Bryce.”

Caleb is unmoving and steely-eyed. Without saying another word, Bryce adjusts his backpack on his shoulder and walks away. He’s halfway down the hall before Caleb’s shoulders collapse and his fists unclench. I want to reach out for his hands—still white-knuckled and stiff—but he just glances at me from the corner of his eyes, mumbles, “Um, sorry,” and takes off in the opposite direction.

I think that’s the end of it. The vanquishing of my bully as the last act of affection Caleb will ever show me. I’m grateful, but seeing him fighting what must have been so much emotion makes me miss him like a physical ache.

I think that’s the end of it until, later that night, I get a text.

Hey. Can we talk?

“Mom? Dad? Can we talk?”

My parents look up from their reading—medical journals for both, like the consistent dweebs that they are—and squint into the setting sun to meet my eyes. They’re ensconced on the patio, trying to soak up the last moments of summer, and I can read the surprise on their faces. We haven’t exactly been talking very much this summer.

“Of course, sweetie, what is it?” my mom asks earnestly.

I sit down, leaning my elbows onto my knees, my hands clasped together like I’m delivering terrible news. They both lean forward as well, and the air instantly becomes tense.

“Caleb texted me,” I blurt. That wasn’t at all how I wanted to begin. I’d been aiming for Serious Adult Conversation here and ended up at Son Freaks Out About Ex-Maybe-Still-Current-Boyfriend Telling Him They Need to Talk After Saving Him from School Bully Like a Goddamn Hero.

“That’s … good,” my dad tries, and my mom nods in solidarity. They like Caleb. They’ve made a point of telling me so over and over again this summer, which, as you can guess, was actually the opposite of helpful.

“Yeah, maybe. But here’s the thing—no matter what he says or what he wants—” I swallow around the hope that’s been clogging my throat since the moment I heard my phone buzz “—I need you guys to be … cool about it.”

“We’ve always liked Caleb,” my mom says earnestly, and I roll my eyes, “and we’ll be happy as long as you’re happy. You know we don’t have any problem with you dating as long as we get to know the boy first.”