Talon came over after we got home from church, his backpack full of notes. He looked like he hadn't slept much the night before. The afternoon was beautiful and warm, so we sat on the back porch to study. Talon wore a bck sleeveless Daft Punk shirt. It took conscious effort to avoid staring at his shoulders and arms while he wrote in his notebook.

  He put down his pencil and chewed on his thumbnail. "I'm so nervous," he said.

  "I get it," I said. I understood the weight of passing this course, what it meant for him. "But remember that you have until Wednesday at one. Plenty of time."

  He smiled at me from under his hair. "Oh yeah?"

  "Oh yeah."

  He was quiet for a moment, bending and re-bending the corner of a notebook page. "But what if I don't pass?"

  At the high school level, it was my impression that students who received forty-five or forty-seven or close enough to fifty tended to be bumped up to a passing mark. Talon needed sixty-eight percent to pass biology, but if he scored slightly lower, I was confident Santos wouldn't fail him. I attempted to expin this without sounding patronizing.

  But Talon seemed thrilled by this news, not offended by any accidental condescension. "You think so?"

  "I'm pretty sure. Aim for sixty-eight," I said, "but if you don't quite reach that, they're not going to hold you back with, say, a forty-eight."

  He leaned back on his elbows and tilted his face towards the sunshine. My eyes went to his Adam's apple.

  "It's too nice to study," he said. "Why can't it be raining today?"

  The bright sun exposed the concealer on his neck, but his hickeys were still mostly masked. I tore my eyes away from his body. Mom opened the sliding porch door. On the small gss table between me and Talon, she pced a bowl of tortil chips and a smaller bowl of guacamole with tomatoes and freshly squeezed lime.

  "Wow," Talon said. "Thanks, Mrs. Cloud."

  "One more trip," she said.

  When she came back out, she held two full gsses of fresh iced tea, ice cubes clinking, slices of lemon wedged onto the rim. Mom eased into one of our Adirondack chairs, cheeks flushed from the heat. She folded down the colr of her pale blue linen top. Mom cimed she wanted to enjoy the fresh air, but I thought she just liked watching Talon eat. She likely noticed Talon had been looking too skinny, too.

  For another painful hour, Talon reviewed bio. I read Dune while he did so. Mom returned with rge bowls of fruit sad—kiwi, banana, three different kinds of berries, and orange, tossed in a brown sugar and lemon zest sauce and topped with pomegranate—and Talon gratefully inhaled the fruit, thanking my mom. I marked his test mock exam, my neck growing warm and sweaty as I bent over it.

  "Your mom's the best," Talon said, tilting the bowl and slurping down the merged juices. "She likes cooking, right? I'm not putting her out?"

  "She loves it," I said truthfully. I read Talon's penultimate answer and began tallying his final mark. "Almost finished."

  Tensely, Talon watched me calcute.

  "You're not going to believe it," I said.

  Talon sat back and held his breath.

  He'd scored a sixty-nine point seventy-two. As I knew any teacher would, I rounded up, circled his mark, and turned the page towards him.

  "Seventy percent?" Talon said, eyes wide. "Seventy? Are you sure it's not seventeen?"

  I ughed and shook my head. "You got seventy."

  Talon grabbed the test and scanned over it. "Wow."

  "Study break?" I said. "You earned it."

  "Please."

  Talon edged closer to me. He untangled his headphones from his cutoff shorts and passed me the right bud. Under the vivid blue sky, we listened to Priority Three's test album. We paused to dissect tracks three and four—of a thematic piece, we agreed. Talon knew more of the technical nguage to discuss the songs. I zoned out, watching his mouth as he spoke. We moved closer to one another as we listened, sun-warmed knees grazing. A breeze rustled our maple tree's leaves, and a grey squirrel darted from the trunk to the bottom of the fence. Before it settled, the wind pushed Talon's hair off his forehead. I imagined tracing his eyebrows with my fingers, pushing my hand through his hair, kissing his full lips. He hadn't brought up the Lily dilemma from the day before, nor our Denny's hangout. Following his lead, I didn't broach the subject, either.

  A plump honeybee nded in the remnants of Talon's fruit bowl, drawn in by the sweet scents. Empty handed, the bee flew upwards and nded on Talon's wrist and wiggled up his hand. We paused the album. Calmly, Talon turned his hand over; the bee righted herself and held on to his pointer finger, tiny feet exploring the rough, reddened skin surrounding his nail.

  "You're not scared?" I said.

  "Of the bee?"

  "Yeah."

  Talon shook his head. "I like bees." Idly, the bee crawled down from Talon's nail to his knuckle. "They remind me of my mom."

  "How so?"

  Talon watched the wiggling bee poke around his skin. "You probably don't remember this, but Mom loved to garden."

  "I remember," I said softly. "I remember her big sunhat. And those white flowers she pnted. Hydrangeas, right?"

  Talon met my eyes and smiled. "That's what I remember most, too. And just sitting beside her, in the dirt and grass and shade. The buzzing of the bees always calmed me because Mom didn't seem nervous around them."

  "That's a nice memory," I said. He looked away but I saw him swallow. "You'll have to teach me how to sit so still." Throughout my childhood, bees seemed to have a personal vendetta against me. I'd been stung countless times. Now my instinct was to shoo them away, a habit I couldn't break even though I knew it only angered them.

  "Just remember they don't want to hurt you," he said.

  A loud voice rang out from inside and the bee floated off.

  "Great to see you, Mrs. Cloud. Nice day, isn't it?" Marty said over his shoulder as he walked through the sliding door. My mom said something from inside, likely offering him food. "I'll take you up on that! Sounds delicious!" He lowered himself into a chair. "Hey, guys."

  We said hey. Talon shoved his headphones back in his pocket and tucked away his phone. Marty wore the blue cap he'd gotten in provincials st year, the one that said ALL-STARS in rge, stitched letters and below it: BC Volleyball Championships. Mom brought out a bowl of fruit sad for Marty. When Marty asked to study that morning, I invited all the guys over. But Casey was busy with Ana and Rob was covering a shift at Best Buy, so it was just us three.

  Marty crunched through pomegranate anils and nodded at our strewn papers. "What're you studying? More bio?"

  "Yeah," Talon said. "Turns out when you skip most of css, you miss most of the material, too." Talon sighed. "I don't know how you two are so good at this stuff."

  Marty ughed. "You can do it, dude. Stuff it into your brain and forget all about it by the end of the week."

  Proudly, I told Marty how much improvement Talon had already made in the st couple of weeks.

  "See?" Marty said. "You got this."

  When Talon got up to use the bathroom, Marty shoved his bowl aside and plunked down next to me.

  "I wanted to show you this Friday," Marty said. "But then you two fucked off. Anyways, look. I found this in my locker."

  He dug into his shorts and pulled out an expertly folded note on lined paper. I unfolded it. There was a message neatly written in sparkly teal gel pen, extra shiny in the sunshine:

  If you don't tell kat about mi-yeun, we will! cheater!

  p.s. she doesn't want to go to prom with you now so don't even try :(

  "What does this mean?" Marty said, panicked.

  I handed the note back to Marty. "Exactly what it says. You gotta tell Kat."

  Marty inhaled sharply. "No, no, no. Definitely not. That won't go over well."

  "But you didn't cheat," I said. "You told me you were off or whatever."

  Marty shook his hand in a sort of gesture. "Yeah, but, like I said, we're never really off."

  "I think the clock's ticking, man. It's up to you, but I'd want to get to Kat before they do."

  "Who even wrote this?" he said, annoyed. "They're probably just trying to scare me."

  He hastily crumpled the note back into his pocket when Talon got back. We pulled out the cornhole my dad brought for church barbeques and the three of us spent the next hour zily pying.

  Midway through a game, Marty tossed me his cap. "I can see you burning in real time, dude," he said.

  We abandoned studying altogether to enjoy the day, oscilting between pying and hanging out in the grass, cooling down in the tree's shade. We spoke excitedly about grad next week and our pns for the fall. Reinvigorated by his biology mark and what that meant for graduation, Talon enthusiastically joined our conversation. He and Marty even discussed hanging out in Vancouver together. The June heat made us pleasantly groggy.

  Shortly after four, Marty's phone pinged. He pulled down his sungsses to better read the screen. "Well, boys, that's my dad. He's about ten seconds away from bsting the horn, since he has the patience of a tornado. See you at school tomorrow."

  Talon said he was beat, too. I offered to walk him across the road.

  My chest momentarily tightened when I saw Stephen, hunched over in the back of his truck. He straightened and wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his hand. His eyes were gssy; there was an open Budweiser near his back wheel.

  "Talon, Ryan," Stephen said. He pced his hands on his hips and leaned back to stretch. When he did so, a couple inches of his hairy belly were visible. I averted my eyes. "Do you have fifteen?"

  If I said no, that meant more time that Talon was alone with him.

  "Yeah, Mr. Michaels," I said. "What do you need?"

  Stephen asked us to help him move some of his tools inside. He said the heat was getting to him, but I saw when we got inside that there were four empty bottles on the kitchen counter. I suspected those were from today. Stephen's truck was a mess. We opened the nearest bck toolbox and reorganized the wrenches, tucked away three utility knives (one with the bde still poking out), snapped shut pstic nail packaging. Canvas and leather gloves were strewn over everything, often not beside their pair. Clearly, Stephen threw in his tools after a job, pulled across the vinyl tonneau cover each night, and promptly forgot about rearranging the bed before his next appointment—or, more likely, purposefully avoided the task. Talon and I moved chisels and pliers. We shifted a dder to make more space. Carefully, we brought two handsaws inside and pced them on the kitchen table. I held up a strange looking tool, something between a calcutor and a thermometer. Talon expined that this was a voltage tester and, sighing, said that needed to be inside. As we climbed into the bed for a third time, the truck shifting with out weight, Talon told me I could go home. His eyes were glued to the spanner he was clicking back into pce. He seemed embarrassed.

  "It's no problem," I said. "I'm happy to help." We were nearly done, anyways. "Hey, I think you should talk to Dr. Santos tomorrow. Ask her for any advice she might have."

  "Two days before our final?" Talon shook his head. "Don't teachers hate that?"

  I thought of Dr. Santos's bubbly ugh, her sharp wit. "Santos likes questions," I said. "I think she marks generously if she knows you're trying. Expin that you've been studying like crazy."

  Talon pulled at the neckline of his tank; his skin was enticingly damp and sweaty there.

  "Maybe," he said.

  "Every little thing helps at this point."

  We brought in the st item that wouldn't fit neatly in the truck bed—a yellow cordless drill—and Talon poured us water. The gsses he used didn't look entirely clean, but I didn't mention it. Stephen slumped in the couch, next to a duct-taped patch on the middle cushion, a new beer in hand. The TV's volume was on low. Stephen's face was turned towards the episode (some reality show about truck drivers), but he seemed spaced out. Right now, he was lethargic and kind of dopey. But this was the same man who struck Talon in the mouth (for what? coming to my house?), who Talon feared would be deeply upset about hickeys. I remembered times throughout our childhood when Stephen changed, alive with anger, sharp-eyed and furious.

  Talon let me out and shut the door behind us. He squinted against the sun, which brought out the depth of his brown eyes and highlighted his dark shes.

  Obviously, we weren't going to kiss in such close proximity to my house. But I liked standing as close as possible, hoping our hands or bodies would touch. As if reading my mind, Talon brought a hand to my hip. He pushed his fingers through my belt loop. Even that made my heart pound. But he pulled away after only a few seconds.

  I nodded towards Talon's house.

  "He's kind of drunk," I said.

  Talon ughed, but it was joyless, more of a quick exhale. "He's always kind of drunk." He saw the look on my face and added, "He'll probably pass out in an hour or two."

  I wanted to extend the moment but couldn't think of a way.

  "You know, it's okay to ask for help," I said. "Even if you feel it's too te."

  "Santos, you mean?"

  I hesitated. "Yeah, her. But just—anything."

  Talon ran his fingers along mine. Maybe a small gesture to indicate he got my meaning. "Thanks, Ry."

  At home, I got to work cleaning the dishes from Mom's afternoon snacks, scrubbing the blender and soaking the guacamole bowl and composting lemon peel. I listened to the rest of the Priority Three album. When my phone vibrated, I took it out quickly. Maybe Talon understood. Maybe I'd gotten through to him. Maybe he was saying he'd changed his mind, that he'd stay with us after all.

  Lily: Work sucks

  Lily: I think on my death bed, I'll still be able to smell congealed burger grease :(

  Lily: Ok bad segue, but can you hang out after school tomorrow? I want to show you something

  Lily: A surprise!

  "Hi, honey," Mom said, brushing her hair off her face. Her cheeks were rosy. She'd likely just gotten up from an afternoon nap. "Thanks for cleaning. Is your father back? Rachel?"

  Dad was still at the church, as far as I was aware. Rachel hadn't come home from Sasha's yet.

  Mom nodded and bent over the top rack of the dishwasher. She handed me the dirty whisk. "Give this a wash. Let's practice that cake for Talon." She expined that after we tried it, she'd cut the cake into slices and bring it to the church for the congregation and Dad's clients throughout the week, effectively hiding our attempt should Talons top by.

  "This time," she added, "you'll shadow me. Next time, you'll make it yourself. I'll supervise and help you with any mistakes." Mom patted my back. "Food is even more special when it's all your own creation."

  The next morning, Dad slid a small piece of red velvet cake next to his toast and coffee. He gave Mom a sheepish smile. "'My son, eat honey, for it is good, and the drippings of the honeycomb are sweet to your taste.' Proverbs."

  "Well, who am I to deny God's wisdom?" Mom said cheerily, taking a piece for herself. "The rest I'm going to pack up and take to the church."

  "Hey, what about me?" Rachel said, eyeing the cake.

  Mom obliged and looked to me. "Ryan?"

  "Please," I said, shuffling my bowl of cereal. The cake was splendid, tested by us st night and confirmed again this morning. Tender and tangy with a subtle chocote fvor. In light of Talon's diet, Mom swapped out several ingredients, showing me how to make cream cheese out of cashews and miso, how to blend fx and water to create an egg-like consistency.

  "Holy cow," Rachel said, licking icing off her finger. "You're a genius, Mom."

  Mom took a bite of her own cake, nodding approvingly. "I was worried, but the texture's indistinguishable from the traditional version."

  Dad finished his slice and followed it with a swallow of coffee. "Ryan, we want to take you and Talon out for dinner this week before we leave. How's Thursday?"

  "What for?"

  "Graduation," he said.

  "But that's not until next week."

  Dad looked at me over his gsses, which had slid nearly to his nostrils. "Am I to believe we'll be seeing you two at all next week?"

  The seniors' school schedule next week was a dizzying jumble of activity. A locker cleanout one afternoon, graduation rehearsal in the gym, two assemblies (one about a post-prom dry event, another about prom safety and sexual safety, which seemed st minute to me but probably warranted), and a photographer coming in to take a css photo. Casey's parents had volunteered to host our grad barbeque. I conceded Dad's point, and we agreed on Thursday. I said I'd ask Talon.

  "Please invite Stephen as well," Mom said.

  I drooped my spoon so abruptly that Rachel jumped and gred at me. "Ah, I don't know," I said. "Isn't he working lots tely?"

  Dad frowned. "Just st week, Stephen was telling me that contracts have been difficult to come by over the spring. He's hoping for a busier summer. Did that change?"

  "Yeah," I said quickly. "I think that's what Talon said. Lots of new clients."

  Dad nodded but didn't look entirely convinced. "We've gotten Talon a small graduation gift," he said. "Or, rather, it's being held down at Best Buy."

  "We spoke to your friend Roberto about it," Mom said, "he told us these are a nice brand."

  Dad reached under the junk-filled Tupperware for a folded flyer—another sign of Dad's resistance to the world's increasing digitization—and he spread it out. One of them had circled a pair of matte bck wireless earbuds. Dad turned the glossy page towards me so I could see them better. Even on sale, they cost nearly a hundred dolrs.

  "These are expensive," I said.

  Mom waved her hand. "Don't worry about that. We're so proud of you but Talon, too." She cleared her throat and I didn't look up; I knew that sound meant she was holding back tears. "What a pleasure to watch him grow up. We know if Mia was here, well—we want to do this for him."

  "Stephen's budget's been tight," Dad said. "We're happy to get him these. If you think they're the right make?"

  "Headphones aren't cars, Dad," Rachel said.

  Talon had wanted headphones like these for a while but could never justify the price. Because he only worked seasonally at Record Revival and the occasional job with his father, he didn't like to spend his money. Now I could see with extra crity why that might be; he'd need funds to move down to Vancouver, to pay a deposit and first month's rent.

  "This is a really kind present," I said, touched. I folded the flyer and pushed it back towards Dad. "They're awesome. Rob's right, he's going to love them."

  School buzzed with unfamiliar Monday morning energy. By eight-thirty, it was another warm June day. Kids talked about heading to the beach after school. There was an undercurrent beneath this excitement—fear and low-level panic about upcoming finals—but mostly an eagerness to be finished with Six Mile Secondary. Graduation was end of next week, and prom the following. Murmurs about a senior prank floated above the usual hallway din. Someone suggested stealing a hen from a hobby farm twenty minutes outside of town—only stealing one but telling everyone there were two. Geoff Ambridge, one of six boys from a multigenerational agricultural family, offered up chickens from his own farm. Without fail, Geoff wore a bck Stetson to school every day. He was a stout, broad-shouldered guy who could pass for twenty-five. ("He failed five, six grades easy," Marty would say with conviction whenever his name came up). Geoff said he'd see what he could arrange. Strategies for sneaking booze into prom, some reliable and others outndish, were passed in whispers: fsks tucked into long socks, mickeys in garters, mini bottles squished between boobs.

  "No, I swear to God it works," a girl said, passing me at first break, hugging a binder tight to her chest. "You soak the tampon, right? Like you put it directly in the alcohol. Let's do tequi!"

  "That sounds less like getting drunk and more like giving yourself a horrendous yeast infection," her friend said. "Like, I'd rather just be sober."

  "But—"

  "Do you know how much Canesten costs?"

  I checked my phone when it vibrated and tilted the screen away from Talon. He leaned against his locker, engrossed in reviewing sheet music for next period.

  Lily: Won't be at school today!

  Lily: come over when you're finished css

  Right. The surprise.

  What did she want to show me? New, more revealing underwear? A bra? Or maybe some sex thing she'd read about or watched in porn or, far worse, learned about from Kat? Maybe she'd been working up the courage to tell me about some indulgent, complex fantasy she'd always had and was hoping we could act out. Lily had a list, after all, acts she wanted to accomplish before we headed off to university.

  Armingly, the day passed faster than seemed possible, each block whirring by against my will. At lunch, before we hopped in Rob's car to grab food, Talon lightly tapped my shoulder with his knuckles.

  "I asked her," he said.

  "Who?"

  "Santos. You're right. She wasn't mad. She said we could discuss the best way to study." He cmped his lock shut. "I got the sense she was even gonna give me a hint or two."

  He'd be meeting with Dr. Santos after school, which worked well with my conundrum. I could talk to Lily this afternoon, sort that out—sort us out—and tell Talon only when the situation was resolved.

  As I walked, I came up with a perfect, easy pn that I hoped would manage to avoid any hurt feelings. Come autumn, Lily and I would be about as far away as two people could be in North America, except if she jumped a few provinces and went to school in Newfoundnd. Us dating made zero sense. Why would we start a retionship a few months before leaving for our respective universities? After expining that—in as few sentences as possible, to keep it light and casual—I'd say, with that in mind, casually hooking up didn't seem right for me. Lame, maybe. But hard to argue against. I'd ask if she wanted to go to prom as friends.

  But when she opened the door, the surprise was immediately obvious.

  She pointed at her mouth, grinning widely, turning her head from left to right.

  "You got your braces off!" I said.

  "Right before lunch!" she said, still smiling. "I have to wear the retainer for a few weeks, but what do you think?"

  "They're perfect," I said.

  "Nice timing with prom, right? Come in."

  Like st time, Lily asked us to be quiet as we headed towards her room. On their countertop, a dozen pink roses were pushed into a stained gss vase. The flowers had been cut but remained in their pstic wrap; I spotted a Safeway sticker and 17.99 in bold typeface. Once settled in her room, Lily expined it was her parents' anniversary on Friday.

  "Dad was having a good pain day," she said. "So they went out. Mr. Mike's. Fancy, right?"

  "Oh, the fanciest." We shared a smile. "Those flowers are nice, though."

  Trying to create a bit of distance between us, I moved the spyed-open paperback from her desk chair (a Joan Didion book; I didn't see the title, only her name on the spine) and pced it next to her ptop so I had room to sit. I swivelled in Lily's pink and white chair and complimented her smile again. We made small, slightly awkward talk about when I got my own braces off at the end of grade nine. She wore a bck t-shirt tucked into a colorful pid skirt and her hair fell nicely around her shoulders. She looked particurly pretty today, which made me feel somehow worse about what I was about to say.

  "Want to see something else?" Lily said.

  She got up from where she'd been sitting against her headboard and perched on the edge of her bed. She opened her phone. What was she looking for? She tapped a few times and turned her phone towards me.

  On her screen was a carousel of photos. She flicked through: a compact but modern-looking building, all gss and interesting angles; a garden out front, mostly tulips in bold oranges and pinks; a clean, nearly empty room with two single beds and a pair of desks facing the window.

  "This is where I'll be living next year," she said.

  "That's your dorm?"

  She nodded. "Cute, right?" She pced her phone down on her bed. Despite her tone, she didn't look enthusiastic; her brows furrowed with stress.

  "Hey, Beaumont," I said gently. "You okay?"

  "Um," she said, looking down at her hands. "I'm rooming with a girl named Zoe."

  "Have you talked to her yet?"

  "No," she said softly. "Back in March, I filled out a roommate compatibility form. I finished it and then… I don't know. I realized I was answering for, like, my ideal self—I said I was super clean, but I'm not. Look at my room. I said I never smoke but I vape with Ana every now and then. I said I cook all my meals, but I barely know how to cook! I don't know why I said that! So now I'm matched with someone who is probably, like, a Type A clean freak and I'll have to pretend that's my personality and I feel like maybe—I should call this whole thing off."

  "What whole thing?"

  "Gong to university."

  "What? Beaumont," I said. I got up and sat next to her on her comforter. "So what? You exaggerated some personality traits. It's fine if you don't leave every room spotless. It's okay if you order takeout instead of cooking. What's the worst that could happen?"

  "The worst that could happen is that my new roommate totally resents me and every time I come home to study, I can't even focus, because Zoe is thinking, like, here she comes again, my lying, slobby roommate, so I'm forced to spend every waking hour at the campus library or café and spend money I don't have, burning through my loans and then getting bad grades and losing my schorship."

  "This seems unlikely," I said. "Plus, you can work on being cleaner. That's not a huge deal."

  Without warning, Lily's face crumpled. "Maybe it's not that. I can't leave my mom and dad, Ryan. My mom had a pn for her life. Now we just creep around the house and—" She breathed in, steadying herself, but tears still fell. "—and my dad doesn't want to a burden, obviously. And even that word—burden—seems wrong, it's just… it is a responsibility. Taking care of him. Now my mom's going to do it all by herself? You know what she wanted me to study at university?"

  "What?"

  "Accounting." Lily swallowed. "She's really good with numbers, and I guess she envisioned me as an accountant. Or working in insurance. But here I am, going to the University of Toronto for journalism."

  "Look, I think maybe you're focusing on the wrong things. Your mom definitely wants you to go," I said. "I mean, sure. Maybe her feelings are complicated. Maybe she's doubtful about your major. I guess I don't know. But I guarantee she wants you to attend. I know she's proud of you."

  Lily fiddled with the hem of her pid skirt. "My mom works in the deli at Superstore," she said quietly. "I just feel so guilty."

  Now Lily was full-on crying, holding her face in her hands.

  Tentatively, I put an arm around her shoulders. Most of me felt awful for her. I knew her family situation was complex, that it weighed heavily on her. Rob, too, was the first person in his family to even enroll in post-secondary school. He shared a simir mix of pride and guilt. I stroked Lily's arm, worrying, too, that physically comforting her could lead to other types of physical touches.

  Before I could stop myself, I blurted, "Hey, listen. My mom's a firm believer that most things can be fixed with ice cream. Want to head to my house? Our freezer's loaded with different fvors. She even has oat milk ice cream for Talon, so if you have an allergy or anything. It's actually pretty good."

  Lily dabbed at her eyes. I handed her a Kleenex from her bedside table. She blew her nose and took a deep breath.

  "Does your mom have chocote mint?"

  Mom and Dad stood up when Lily and I opened the front door. The house smelled like simmering chicken, paprika, and garlic.

  Mom smoothed her bangs and smiled at Lily. She had on her orange gingham dress, an outfit I knew she wore to avoid feeling self-conscious about her weight. "Hello, Lily," she said warmly. "It's so nice to meet you."

  Dad folded his readers and pced them on the kitchen table. "Perhaps we should say re-meet. Great to see you. How was school today?"

  He extended his hand and when Lily shook it, he cpped his others on top of her and smiled his counsellor smile—disarming and inviting.

  Rachel flew in from the living room, long ponytail swinging behind her. "I'm Rachel, Ryan's little sister." She forewent a shake and pulled Lily in for a hug.

  My parents beamed at Lily. I'd never had an official girlfriend before, and they likely assumed Lily and I were headed in that direction. Mom and Dad reacted simirly—poised but kind of eager and embarrassing—when I hung out with Hayley that one summer.

  "We're just grabbing ice cream and we'll be on our way," I said. I felt cmmy and exposed. "It's so hot today, and—"

  "How'd you curl your hair like that?" Rachel said. "It's so bouncy and pretty!"

  Lily thanked her. "I actually used socks," Lily said. "Overnight. I learned about it on TikTok."

  "Wow, it turned out so well," Rachel said. "So, no heat? Do you think it'd work on mine? It's so annoyingly straight."

  Lily took the end of Rachel's ponytail in her hands. "Oh, I think so! You have so much hair, so you'll probably need more socks."

  "Could you send me the video?"

  Lily grabbed her phone, and they started swapping social media accounts and chatting while they scrolled. Dad made some corny joke about socks and Lily ughed politely while Rachel groaned.

  I cleared my throat. "I think we'll just grab some ice cream and maybe sit outside?" I opened the freezer. "Lily, I know you mentioned chocote mint, which we have, but we also got—uh, let's see—vanil, strawberry swirl, and fudge brownie."

  "I'll stick with chocote mint, please," Lily said. She was using a different voice around my parents, how I imagined she sounded at the till at McDonald's. I probably sounded the same with the guys' parents.

  Mom gestured at the Instant Pot on the counter, the oiled skillet on the oven top. "Would you like to stay for dinner? We're having chicken quesadils."

  On our way to my pce, I'd specifically texted Rachel: Lily's coming over tell Mom and Dad not to freak out and don't invite her for dinner it doesn't need to be a whole thing.

  Over my shoulder, still half inside the freezer, I shot Rachel a glowering look. She raised her eyebrows and extended her hands in a gesture of mercy, telling me with her eyes that she'd tried to rey my message.

  "Oh no, we stopped by unannounced," Lily said. "I don't want to put you out."

  "Not at all," Mom said. "We'd be delighted if you joined us."

  Lily brightened. "I'd love to, thank you."

  Mom pulled on her apron and tied it beneath her hair. She resumed cutting purple cabbage, piling it neatly beside cintro.

  "Do you eat chicken? I know your generation is so much more, well, aware than we were, and so many of you have different diets than we did," Mom said. "Ryan's best friend doesn't do any animal products, so we always have an alternative on hand." Mom pced a hand on the pstic bag of tortils. "Or are you gluten free? Celiac? We might have corn tortils in the freezer. Ryan, can you check?"

  Lily shook her head, smiling. "I'm great with both chicken and gluten. Can I help at all?"

  I shut the freezer door in defeat.

  "You all sit and chat," Mom said breezily. "I've got this handled."

  We finally got our bowls of ice cream after dinner and sat outside on the porch, enjoying the cold dessert against the warm and humid evening air. I teased Lily for eating mint chip, which I argued was a bsphemous combination of fvors. She ribbed me back, telling me fudge brownie was such a guy fvor to pick. The only thing worse, she said, would be if I'd chosen vanil. I expined my actual favorite was salted caramel but that was also Talon's favorite, so we ran out fast. We moved the bowls from our thighs, where they were becoming too cold against our skin, to the porch. I couldn't bring myself to say anything to Lily about ending whatever it was we'd begun right then, not after eating with my family and everything.

  Dad let me take his car to drive Lily home. The drive was short. We compined about finals this week. Like mine, most of Lily's finals were clustered between Wednesday and Friday. I had my final paper due in English on Monday, and then I was free. Because of our study schedules, we agreed to hang out on the weekend. Selfishly, I was relieved. This dey meant I got a few extra days to mull over my speech.

  I walked Lily to her front door. It was shortly after eight and the sun was a vivid orange glow, skimming the tops of the mountains. Golden light hung in the air like low clouds.

  Lily turned to me before opening her door.

  "I really like your family," she said. "You must feel, like, really supported all the time."

  Lily's family life was, at best, tense and, at worst, custrophobic and anxiety-inducing. Talon's home was—my stomach clenched. Well. Yeah, in the face of what I now knew, my parents were amazing.

  "Yeah," I said, "I guess I do. Sorry that my dad asked you four million times if you and your family would like to come back to church."

  She shook her head. "That's his literal job. Plus, it was sweet that he remembered me and my parents from so long ago."

  "He's good like that."

  She gnced down at her bare knees. "I hope this outfit didn't seem scandalous to them."

  Her skirt wasn't that short. Maybe an inch or two above her knee. I'd seen girls at school in outfits that sat way higher on their thighs.

  "Nah. Dad's pretty strict with me and my sister, but he wouldn't judge you for something like that."

  There was a beat where we looked at each other.

  "Sorry about inviting you over just to end up crying," she said, ughing a bit. "Tonight really helped. Thanks, Ryan."

  I said it was nothing. "Your teeth look great, Beaumont," I said again.

  She smiled, showing them off. "Good night, prom date."

  This is the moment. Tell her now. Say you like her—really like her!—and that she's a fantastic person. Interesting and smart and, yeah, good-looking. But that this—us—should be more of a friend thing.

  "About that," I said carefully. "I—"

  I thought of Lily's earlier fear about lying on her roommate form. That gap between who you cimed to be and who you really were. I pictured, too, Lily crying on the edge of her bed. The stress of her upcoming move, of feeling like she was abandoning her parents and worrying her mom, the added complication of her father's fluctuating, unpredictable health. This conversation could wait a day or two, right? Give her a second to breathe.

  I smiled. "I can't wait. See you, prom date."