‘There’s Christmas.’

I scoffed. ‘Yeah, really looking forward to that. I don’t know. Everything’s just …’ I blew a raspberry. ‘Dead.’ June didn’t speak so I kept talking. ‘Dad, uh, and me, every year as soon as it got warm, we’d start going to the River Styx every weekend. Just to go hiking. We did pretty much the same trail every time and, I don’t know, it never got boring, for some reason. That was our absolute favourite thing to do.’ The past tense strangled me. ‘And it’s just so depressing to think of it all frozen over now. I’d hate to … I don’t know. Honestly I’m not sure I’ll ever even go there again.’

‘You should go back, Whitaker. It might be good for you. If you were to, like, actually see it again – I’d bet it’s prettier than you think. Anyways. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make some new memories there, either. Reclaim the place. You know?’

I looked at her, traced the soft outline of her face with my eyes: the curve of her nose, her chin, her cupid’s bow. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

It was becoming increasingly apparent that I did, in fact, like June Copeland in a way that was more than platonic.

I’d smile whenever I saw her, the action as reflexive as kicking when your knee’s tapped. It was more embarrassing than anything; we wouldn’t even be talking about anything funny and I’d have to try to keep a straight face.

In algebra, I started dashing a short line through the middle of my sevens, the way I’d seen she’d done it in some worksheets she left in the back seat.

I was thrilled and surprised in equal measure at the ease with which I could say things to her, strange or otherwise. I told her everything. Well, most things. I told her how I was feeling on my bad days. I left out the parts where I thought maybe Dad was murdered, where I spent most of my free time watching people die.

Of course, I couldn’t act on my feelings towards her. Of course I couldn’t. Even if she realized on her own (because I liked to act as if it wasn’t obvious), my life could have been made even worse than it already was. I’d have to move schools, maybe. Change my name. Local girl’s dad croaks – is still horny for June Copeland. Despite the likelihood of her being straight. Despite her being taken. So I kept it quiet, kept it selfish, and just absentmindedly basked in her presence, bathed in it, lived in it. I was happy just being with her, living on the same planet, breathing the same air.

But there was always an element of uncertainty. The understanding that there had to be something else to all this.