“Dean.” I dig my elbow into his ribs.

Dean wraps his arms tight around me. “How could anything with us be terrible? You’re too easy to mess with, you know that?”

“Well, thank you for clearing that up.” I dig my elbow into him again. I know there’s a lot more we should say.

“I don’t take it back, though. I love you,” Dean says. “I always have.”

There’s a silence that sits between us. I want Dean’s words to swallow up the pain that’s been suffocating me. His eyes look heavy because I don’t make him feel better. It breaks me seeing him like this.

My throat burns from holding in the words Dean loves me. I knew it. But I’d been in such denial that Dean would always have a bigger piece of his heart for our friendship. That it was so big, there would be no more room for anything else. All of this runs around in my head while Dean waits for me to say something.

“I…I love you, too. It’s so hard with everything going on. If we didn’t have the attack at the house, would you feel the same? What about your mom?”

“If you’d be with me, I’d choose you, Tracy. I’d always choose you over her, over anyone.”

“I’m not asking you to choose.” I pause to breathe in again. “I want to know you won’t change your mind.”

Another silence takes us over. I wish we didn’t start talking about it at all, just moved on. Because this is so much harder.

“If we were together, would you tell your mom?”

Dean pauses before saying, “Probably.”

“Two important questions: (a) Will she ground you forever? And (b) Will she kick Steve out of the loft?”

“I don’t know what she’d do.” Dean breathes out. “But I don’t know if I could hold it in. I shouldn’t have to lie. It’s not how I’m built.”

I don’t respond. The world will always try to push us apart. It already feels like it’s happening. Because I don’t feel that pull to Dean the way I feel like I should. It’s a bond through friendship, maybe nothing more.

Dean’s mom calls for him. I follow him inside, and he motions for me to wait in his dad’s study. Mr. Evans’ll be closing up the shop tonight.

I notice there are open boxes all over the desk.

My curiosity building—Mr. Evans is always tidy—I peek inside.

A gasp catches in my throat.

I tear through the box in disbelief. Stuck, shaking my head and mouthing, No, no, no, as I try to convince myself the image isn’t real.

I think I might be sick.

SECRETS DON’T STAY

HIDDEN FOREVER