It’s just that Ridley’s been taking so many videos lately. He says it’s because he doesn’t want to forget anything, but I’m worried it’s something else. I can’t shake the feeling that he thinks we’re less than permanent now, which I guess, yeah, at almost seventeen and almost eighteen that’s realistic or whatever, but it feels like he just got here and now he’s getting ready to go.

“Because I love you,” he says, and his words come so easily, even though his eyes are like storms.

“I love you too.”

He backs up until he hits the bed and sits down to get the widest shot possible.

And it’s hard to think straight with him looking at me like this—his lips slightly parted, his eyes sort of sleepy and inviting. This feels more intimate, fully clothed and twelve feet across the room, than it did a few nights ago, when our kissing got a little extra handsy.

I blush and look down, and then I glare at my open door. My mom has been pointedly walking down the hallway every fifteen minutes or so, being completely non-stealthy about checking in on us. It turns out that time Vera took me to his house alone was not officially Mom sanctioned, and the “two yeses or one no” rule has officially been reimplemented for all decision-making as a result. Same with the “open door at all times” rule, and the “Ridley can only stay until seven on school nights” rule.

“Play me that song for your audition. The one you’re always talking about.”

“The Bach? It’s not a song. It’s a suite and it’s like a half hour long.” I laugh.

“Then just play the first part.”

“Why?” I don’t want to think about that now. I don’t want to think about the fact that even if everything goes right, I’m going to be spending the summer almost two hours away in a program so intense I’ll be lucky to have time to text. And he’ll be . . . I don’t even know, on the other side of the country possibly. Or hiding in my dorm if I’m lucky.

Ridley cocks his head. “You need to practice. I’m happy to just be in the background.”

“What if I don’t want you just in the background?”

“I don’t want to be a distraction. Don’t let me be one.”

“You’re not,” I say, because I want it so badly to be true.

“Come on.” He sighs, hitting record on his phone. “Will you please play the Bach? I don’t have it yet.”