“And that I can’t lie to your family about who I am anymore, and you shouldn’t be lying to protect me,” I say, and she frowns.

Because that’s the thing. Thinking about love is one thing, but saying it out loud comes with responsibility—the responsibility to do right by the other person, no matter what. And doing right isn’t turning them into the person you’re so desperately trying not to be yourself. We have to tell the truth now, to her parents and mine. We have to believe that our love could survive it. There’s not a future any other way.

“Come on, let’s walk,” she says. We fall into an easy silence, our footsteps striking in perfect rhythm.

“Where are we going?”

“I told Frankie to grab pizza with us before I realized things were going to get so heavy. He’s waiting at the shop across the street.”

I shrug. “I think I’m just gonna head home. Allison’s visiting her parents in New York, and my dad’s not back from his work conference until tomorrow. Maybe you can come by later, if there’s time?” And this is not how I thought things would go after my first declaration of love.

“I’d rather you come with me.” She takes a half step away, and even though our arms are still linked, now we’re walking off rhythm.

“I can’t.” Just thinking of walking into the pizza place with all the noise and smells is setting me on edge.

“Because of Vera or because of your little freak-out?”

And it feels like someone just shoved toothpicks under my nails and ripped out my heart. I can handle everybody else acting like I’m crazy, but not her.

I drop her arm, blinking hard. “Don’t say it like that.”

She hesitates before pulling her hands into her coat sleeves. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

I walk a little faster, leaving her a few steps behind, and then hop on my board. “Tell Frankie I said hi.”

“Ridley,” she says, but I push off faster and don’t stick around. I can’t.

•  •  •

I’m lying in the tub, water only up to my chin this time because I’m being safer, more careful. The room is dark, another of my sadbaths, and it’s not that I’m even depressed—well, not more than usual—it’s just that I want to not think for a minute. I want my brain to be quiet. I want to sit in the dark and float and not worry about anything else.

Except now someone is ringing the doorbell, and it’s so goddamn loud I could cry.

I towel off and throw on some shorts, and whoever it is has taken to knocking now too. I grumble down the stairs. Maybe it’s Peak. I don’t know. That would be nice. She didn’t text, but.