I wrinkle my nose like I smell something bad. “So? Who cares? My mom said some boys like girls, and some like boys. Some even like both.” I shrug. “I don’t know if I like girls, but I definitely like you.”

His cheeks burn red again and he flits his gaze away. He mumbles under his breath.

“What was that?” I say, grinning. I know what he said, but I need to hear it again. Louder. Clearer. I wish he’d scream it for the world to hear.

He scowls. I don’t fool him. But still, he repeats clearly this time, “I like you too.”

“Good,” I chirp.

He huffs a quiet laugh.

Not letting go of him, I drop our clasped hands between us. “Happy Birthday, Grumpy Bear.”

His mouth twitches, and then he’s smiling too.

I’ve probably seen him smile a thousand times now, but there’s something about this one that just...

Slices me right open.

If I thought my heart was burning before, it’s nothing compared to the blaze in my chest now as I watch his dimples pop out. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes crease at the corners. It’s like that quiet, scowling boy I first met all those months ago never existed. Like that sad boy from earlier is completely washed away.

And I just—

“Come on,” he says, squeezing my hand. As if he was just waiting for permission, he’s now taking the lead. He flashes me a secret smile over his shoulder as I let him drag me back toward the park.

We spend the last half hour of our afternoon together that day doing what we usually do. He challenges me to a monkey bar race, while I challenge him to a swing jumping contest. We sit in the grass and eat cookies, laughing at one another as we get chocolate crumbs everywhere.

I flick one off his nose and he shoves me away. We’re wrestling and laughing—laughing so hard I think I might throw up from the ache twisting in my chest.

I didn’t know pain could feel so good.

Panting, we find ourselves spread out on our backs, our fingers tangled in the grass. Dirt and sweat caking our skin as we stare up at the clear blue sky. Breathless smiles painted lightly over our faces.

His pinkie twists with mine. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

He turns his head my way, so I do the same. His eyes glint gold from the sun as they sweep slowly over my face.

“Being here.”

A ball forms in my throat. “Where the heck else would I be, weirdo?”

He laughs—giggles really.

I squeeze his hand, sobering. “Will and Way. We’re a team. Always.”

A single nod.

A firm squeeze of my pinky.

Then a whisper, a promise—

“Always.”

12

12

Waylon McAllister

I wake up choking on a gasp.