I nod and try to suppress the giant grin that threatens to pop onto my face. I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her close, and all of my body ignites and I’m not cold at all anymore. Not even a little bit.

The rain is coming down even harder now; the droplets shimmer in the streetlights as they fall to the ground. I’ve gone from babbling to mute; my brain short-circuited as soon as my skin connected with May’s. She’s quiet too, and I swear to god I can feel her heart beating through her skin. Her face is raised toward the night sky, her eyes closed. She is beautiful.

I take a breath and start to lean toward her. I’m not trying to kiss her; I just want to be closer to her. Her lips part and her tongue darts out of her mouth to catch drops of rain. She is peaceful for the first time tonight. I could stare at her forever.

The moment is interrupted by the sweep of headlights. A Toyota pulls over to the curb, and one of its windows rolls down. The driver calls, “You guys waiting for a Lyft? Last name McGintee?”

“Yes!” May darts away. I watch her go, trying to pull myself together before I follow her to the car.

—

The next morning, I wake early. Normally on Saturdays I sleep until at least ten, but this morning all I want to do is lie here in bed and think about last night. Some people (Conor) might call it obsessing, but I feel like hanging out with May shifted something inside me. I spent so long turning myself off in every way possible, letting people like Matt control me. I feel alive for the first time in months. I even got the courage to ask for her number before the Lyft dropped her off last night, and I’m way too proud of myself for it.

I pull my phone off my bedside table and see that it’s seven a.m. Before I can think better of it, before I can consider that it’s still practically the middle of the night, I type out a quick text to May and hit send.

What’re you up to later?

I refuse to think that she didn’t feel what I felt last night.

I don’t care if she thinks she’s broken.

I know she’s not.

Chapter Twenty-five

I wake up at the butt crack of dawn. I always do now. Sleep and I don’t get along, not anymore.

My nightmares last night weren’t as vivid as they are sometimes, plotwise. Instead they left a trail of colors in my mind—reds and reds and more reds.

And after the colors have started to fade, my first conscious thought of the morning enters my head: Jordan would have liked Zach.