“Hey, I tried it. You can’t be as bad as me.” Plus, I want to share him—God help me, I don’t, but I do—hoping it’ll be enough to smooth that off-chord that’s still reverberating around us.

Bree glances at Kincaid, who smiles, unbothered by any of it, sinking down into a crouch to watch. She takes it from my hand, a little rougher than necessary, applies foot to board, and pushes off, upright, steady as she goes.

Sixteen

WE CAN’T KISS goodbye. We can’t touch. I take one look back at him as I leave with Bree to follow the trails home, freaked over hurting him, not being able to make him understand without words.

But he’s coasting. Gaze on the burning strip of early sunset edging the trees, thoughts a million miles away. So maybe words aren’t something he needs from me.

A hard frost covers everything the next morning, turning the world into one of those panoramic sugar eggs, my leopard-prints crunching over the spiky crust coating the grass at the base of our steps.

A pumpkin is propped against my bedroom window.

An origami jack-o’-lantern, specifically, orange paper folded to create a stem, slanted eyes, zigzag mouth, the features carefully shaded with a black marker. Written on the back is Happy October in an almost unreadable scrawl. So Kincaid.

No frost on the paper—he was just here. I run to the parking lot and look down the hill, but he’s nowhere in sight, nothing but ugly houses all in a row and the usual gaggle of malcontents at the bus stop.

My first impulse is to tape the jack-o’-lantern inside my locker door, but I don’t want anyone asking questions I’m not ready to answer. Instead, I leave it in my coat pocket along with the cookie fortune, the beginnings of my own private Kincaid collection. Private (fortune favors) for now (the brave). Until I figure out how to tell Bree without destroying everything and losing her.

Maybe I won’t have to tell? Maybe it’ll become obvious on its own, that he and I are a thing now, no formal announcement necessary? Maybe she’ll get that it just happened, him liking me back. I launched myself into this yesterday, hurtling down a steep slope, hands in the air, headed for a drop-off, and so far, this is my best plan? To close my eyes and hope for the best? Maybe there’s a reason none of my friendships have lasted. Maybe I was never worthy of the Nica Plecks I’ve known, and somehow, they sensed it.