I don’t want to think about that tonight. The worrying gets to me enough when Gabriel isn’t here; I don’t want anxiety to ruin the time when he is.

I look up and he’s hanging upside down off my bed, watching me with a ridiculous smile on his face.

Worth stopping the world for, he says.

And then:

• We kiss in my bedroom

• Kiss in the living room

• He runs his hands under my shirt in the kitchen

• I return the favor in the hallway

When he runs his hand up and down my thigh, time does this weird erratic thing that makes me feel like Dr. Who, whizzing around in a British police box. It’s been seconds. It’s been years. I’m dizzy like I’ve been dancing under strobes for too long. Like I’ve been holding my breath and no longer need oxygen. Like I’ve learned to breathe nothing except Gabriel.

Let’s go out and get some air, Gabriel says.

I’m sure the look on my face translates into, What the hell are you talking about? What have I done wrong? Why am I the only one who doesn’t want to stop?

Obviously Gabriel still needs oxygen, and that kind of sucks.

I nod, though, because he’s smiling his crooked smile and because I don’t want him to think I only want to mess around and not actually spend time with him.

I don’t want him to think of me like that.

Even if I am.

Like that.

A little.

I splash some water on my face, and we go out to get some stuff for dinner. I could heat up Mom’s lasagna, but I want something different. Something sexier. Something my mom hasn’t had her hands on.

It’s five blocks to Zabar’s, a supermarket that my parents can’t even afford to shop in. We careen through the aisles. Cheese. Pâté. A box of black-and-white cookies. Gabriel buys a six-pack of wine coolers. I buy half a pound of Jordan almonds for no other reason than that there’s something I find kind of sexy about letting the colored sugar dissolve in my mouth. I can barely handle the idea of it dissolving in his.

Just thinking about it makes me stumble up the curb at Broadway, untying the lace on my right shoe. I stare at it, my hands filled with bags.

Wait, Gabriel says. He puts his packages down on the street and kneels, retying the laces. Before he stands, he looks up at me and smiles.

I’m sure I’m blushing in a million shades of red, but all I can think is yes.

We spread the groceries out on the table. Bumping into each, apologizing awkwardly, then doing it again.

And we talk.

Becky is going to ask me what we talked about, so I try to commit the topics to memory.

Gabriel took his sister to the Bronx Zoo. The polar bear was her favorite.

He asks me to tell him about Connor. I try, but fail to describe the contradictions that are my brother.