By the weekend, typical May weather had returned. The snow evaporated, trees with budding blooms were once again bare, and the sky was bright and cloudless. Because Sunday was going to reach a balmy twenty-one degrees, I texted Talon after church: take a walk to the creek?

  Let's do it, he wrote back.

  "Extremely important question for you," Rachel said, opening my door the rest of the way by backing into it with her butt.

  "What is it?" I said. "I'm heading out." I flicked through my hangers for a long-sleeved tee.

  "This will take five minutes of your precious time," Rachel said. "Or at least it better take five minutes because if it takes any less than that, I don't trust that you were really thinking about—"

  "What, Rach?" I grabbed a light purple shirt and pulled it over my head.

  Rachel rolled her eyes at me. "So snippy these days." She held up two dresses, one in each of her hands. "I need to know which one's better. These are what I found for prom."

  "Who are you going with?"

  Rachel sighed dramatically. "I mean, no one yet, but—"

  "Then why are you buying dresses?"

  "I thrifted these! I spent like thirty-eight dolrs total—the financial risk is minimal. Basically nonexistent."

  I ran a hand through my hair. Miraculously, it had fallen nicely when I got out of the shower with only slight additional styling. "Okay, okay," I said, "let's go."

  "There's this one—" she said, holding up a vender garment. "It's two pieces—like the tiniest bit of midriff, but—"

  "Dad will lose his mind."

  "It's so small. It's like an inch."

  "That's Satan's inch and you know that."

  Rachel ughed. "Ugh! I liked this one more. Okay, or this—" She threw the vender one on my bed and held up a mint green dress. Skinny shoulder straps, some ruffles across the neckline, and what looked to be pant legs. "It's a jumpsuit, technically. But the legs are so wide, it almost looks like a dress. And it's so flowy and fun."

  She looked so eager that I felt bad for being short with her. "Try it on. Super quick, though, I got to go."

  Rachel brightened and darted into my bathroom. When she came back out, she'd scooped her hair into an enormous bun on top of her head and held out her hands expectantly.

  "You look amazing," I said. "That's the one. I love it. And Mom and Dad will love it, too."

  "Really? You mean it?" She twirled.

  "Yeah, it's perfect," I said. "But can't you save it for your own prom?"

  "Ryan," she said, hands on her hip. "Operation Triple Prom!"

  "Yeah, yeah," I said. "Well, better get on the whole date situation, don't you think?"

  "Working on it."

  Downstairs, I told Mom and Dad I was hanging out with Talon for the afternoon. I figured Talon could use the fresh air and exercise, the distraction. Mom said he was invited for dinner, standing invitation—she was making spring rolls and could swap a few shrimps for marinated tofu. In my backpack, I packed two truly atrocious (but cheap) cans of cold brew, a couple apples, some chocote, and the remaining two cinnamon buns. I also brought fsh cards, index cards, some filble diagrams I'd printed, and another mock test. Either I could give the tter to Talon to take home or, if we went to Beans after, we could work on it there.

  When I crossed the road, I didn't have to knock because Talon was already sitting on his front steps. He wore a taupe t-shirt with some type of band logo, and I was pretty sure the words Mannequin Pussy were written in sideways block letters near the bottom; he looked great, but I made a mental note to ask him to change before dinner. Mom and Dad bristled when Rachel or I said "oh my God" instead of "oh my goodness," so they'd absolutely lose it at the word pussy.

  I smiled. "Ready?"

  He held up the rolled bnket we always took to the creek, a frayed green polyester one we'd gotten from his uncle's camping supplies close to a decade ago. "Ready."

  To get to Craigflower Creek, you had to cross the first bridge at the eastern entrance. The blue-green river rumbled on either side. Then—and we had discovered this entirely by accident—if you made a sharp left and climbed up a bushy, brambly hill, you'd eventually stumble upon this rge hidden clearing. Wild grasses and flowers, rgely untouched by people or animals. There was a small boulder center left of the clearing; we'd given many impassioned speeches atop it to loyal armies and entire kingdoms. When we were younger, we fit on its surface perfectly, but now we had to squeeze next to each other to share the space. We'd shown the other guys this spot a couple of times, but they never remembered how to get their on their own and besides, we liked to mostly keep it to ourselves.

  By the time we trekked in, we'd both worked up a light sweat. Talon unrolled the bnket, and we flopped down on it.

  "Why didn't I wear shorts?" Talon said. He pulled at the colr of his t-shirt.

  "I know," I said, rolling up my sleeves. "I'm regretting this shirt."

  We hadn't been here in a good year, maybe more. The first years we came out here, the whole pce transformed: the dense spruce trees looked like enormous soldiers ("or Ents," Talon would always say); flying birds overhead could be magical allies with important messages or maybe attacking enemies sent by a rival; every darting animal was an otherworldly spy or a crash-nded alien. Now, it was difficult to remember exactly how these objects morphed so concretely in my mind. My chest ached: mostly, everything appeared precisely as it was. Fragrant trees and long grass and geese and warm wind. But still, the remnants of magic remained, especially being here with Talon.

  "Want something to eat?" I said, pulling my backpack in front of me and in between my shoes.

  "Sure."

  He took the chocote and a cold brew; I grabbed the other and ate an apple. A bee buzzed near my ear and shot off towards a purple flower.

  "How has… everything been?" I said.

  Talon chewed on his bite of chocote. "We don't have to keep talking about it."

  I sighed. All these years we'd been coming here, and I didn't know. I felt fucking sick to my stomach about that. I traced my visits in our mind, looking for something, anything. A spot I fucked up. Talon trying to let me know and me failing to pick up on the signal. But it was impossible. If he'd tried to communicate about Stephen, it had been lost on me time and time again. How could I not know? How could he not tell me? And at the same time, there was this sense of knowing. Like how you could see something in your peripheral vision and be vaguely aware of it while looking somewhere else; if I really thought back, wasn't there a small, barely perceptible voice? Nothing concrete, but a guess, a hunch. I recalled the countless games we pyed, our discussions (often superficial but sometimes deep and affecting), the songs we listened to, books we devoured—all those moments took on a different meaning because to Talon they represented so much more. An escape, a reprieve, a timeout. A chance to breathe.

  "Okay," I said, "but you'll let me know if something—I don't know… if something changes?"

  He bit his thumbnail and nodded.

  I wrapped my apple core in the paper towel I'd brought and tucked it back into my backpack. We id down on the bnket, closing our eyes against the bright sun. The wind pushed through the spruce and pine. In the distance, two birds sang to one another, a pleasant call-and-response. Five or ten minutes passed while we half-dozed. A breaking stick caused me to open one eye. I leaned up on an elbow and looked around. We used to take any tiny noise like that and use it as an inciting incident for our make believe.

  "Hey, Tal," I said.

  He opened his eyes.

  "Remember pying Sam and Frodo?" I said.

  "How could I forget? We pyed that until we were way too old."

  "What do you mean? Fifteen is a perfectly respectable age to act out every moment from Lord of the Rings."

  He turned his head to peer at me, fighting back a smile. "Is it?"

  I lowered my voice. "Look, if I'm being honest? I'd py it right now."

  He ughed and covered his face and then slid his fingers down. "So would I."

  I grinned. I heard something again—maybe only the wind rustling the trees.

  "Mr. Frodo," I whispered. "Careful. That could be the—wait, what are the guys in the hoods called?"

  "Ringwraiths." He pyfully pushed my shoulder. "We've seen the movies a million times, how could you forget?"

  I pushed him back. "I'm sorry I can't remember every dorky monster name from every fantasy you like."

  He raised his eyebrows. "Monster? I mean, they're not really monsters. I guess symbolically. They're humans, destroyed by their ring lust. In between dead and alive—"

  "You nerd."

  "Me?" He pushed me again, and I stumbled on my elbow and fell onto my back on the bnket. He got up on his knees before hooking one leg over my pelvis and straddling me. One of his hands rested on my lower abdomen.

  My heart thudded painfully. (Don't think something dirty, I thought, please, body, just cooperate for once.) The weight of him on me, and particurly in that area, made my stomach flutter. I wanted to take a photo of him—he looked so handsome, backlit, his hair in his face—but also didn't want to ruin the moment.

  "I'm not the nerd," he said, "you're the one with ninety-seven percent in biology."

  "How'd you know?"

  He threw his head back and ughed. When he did this, his pelvis dug into mine. "I guessed! Do you really?"

  I grabbed his hips and pulled him sideways, bringing him down onto the bnket, and then took my turn straddling him. His cheeks went slightly pink. There was another crackle from the nearby woods. "Mr. Frodo," I said seriously, "we're going to have to make a run for it."

  "Sam," Talon said from below me, "we need to hide. We must protect the ring."

  I was reaching over to the grass to improvise a shoddy makeshift ring since we didn't have that old pstic band anymore, when something caught my eye.

  "Hold on," I said. "I think someone's actually here."

  I shifted so I was beside Talon instead of on top of him. He lifted himself up to his knees. In the distance, we saw the interlopers: a trio of kids poking their heads up out of the brush. Two girls and a boy. From where we sat, they looked to be maybe nine or ten. They stared at us, wide-eyed, and ducked back down.

  "Oh, shit," Talon said. "No one ever finds this spot."

  "I guess someone was bound to stumble across it one day," I said.

  Talon and I shared a look. There was a quick pained expression on his face—he held my gaze but his eyes were sad. This was followed by realization, then a small smile. I was experiencing what I assumed were simir emotions. We were graduating. I was moving to the states in three months. Talon said he wanted to live in Vancouver, to find bandmates, to try making music. This wasn't going to be ours anymore. Maybe it hadn't been for a while now, since he and I stopped talking before Christmas. Was it time to pass this spot on?

  "What should we do?" Talon whispered to me.

  "I think we tell them we won't come back," I whispered, "that it's all theirs."

  "That's what I was thinking."

  We gathered our stuff as promptly as possible so the kids didn't have a chance to run off. On our way out of the clearing, we passed by their hiding spot. Two cowered, watching us warily from behind a thick tree trunk. One of the girls fiercely held a long stick in her hand, jaw set defiantly.

  "We completed our st mission here," I said to them.

  "It belongs to you three now, if you want it," Talon said. "Do you accept?"

  The crouching girl stood up, using the stick as a staff. Her voice was high but powerful. "We accept."

  We saluted them. Before we'd gotten more than ten feet, the trio ran out into the clearing, hollering, ciming it as their own. Talon and I shared a grin. My stomach felt funny. Were we that small when we first came out here?

  We began our descent but didn't leave the park entirely. At the creek bed, we found a rge rock with a retively ft top to sit on. Talon grabbed a handful of smaller stones in one hand. We tried to out-do each other—Talon got about two-thirds across the water with his rocks; I made it nearly to the opposite bank—before he spoke.

  "Do you ever feel so mad that it's all you can think about?" he said.

  The only thing that brought me to that level was his father. "Sometimes," I said. "Is it, uh… your dad?"

  He tossed another rock. It spshed into the water. "My mom."

  "Really? Why?"

  "Not the cancer. I know that was out of her control. Obviously. That goes without saying." He brought his thumbnail up to his mouth, tore into the skin around his cuticle. His cheeks were flushed from the hike and the sun. "But—she left me without a backup pn. You think she didn't know he was, like, a—?"

  "I don't think she knew."

  He considered this. "No, I guess I don't either. But… no money?"

  The Michaels were working css at best. In fact, I accidentally found out my parents had given Stephen money after Mia's death. Two thousand dolrs, which I knew was a lot for them, especially at that point in our lives. When Stephen was unemployed off and on for around eighteen months, he relied on social assistance; Mom warned me not to call this welfare and not to bring it up with Talon. Stephen's stepbrother gave them some money, too, and Talon's uncle Oliver must have helped out with the three kids. Talon and his brothers rarely had new clothes. He and I started thrifting around thirteen years old but Six Mile River didn't have the best options. Only one shitty thrift store that rarely rotated their items; brand names seldom made their way to the racks. The Michaels ate a lot of boxed and canned food: Chef Boyardee, noodles and tomato sauce, sodium-heavy frozen dinners. Talon's rickety keyboard was old and cheap, passed down by Mia; his uncle gifted him his guitar. His backpack was from grade nine. Talon never compined about any of this, not directly, but I knew it wore on him.

  "I don't know if she had any money to leave behind," I said gently.

  He looked frustrated, with me or her or the situation, I didn't know. "Yeah, okay, sure. But—Griff didn't want me, either, so—" His voice cracked. "He's been busy, I know. He got his degree and met Hannah. But they could afford to fly to Engnd and—"

  But they'd went to Engnd to see Hannah's grandparents, who helped with the cost of flights. I remembered Griffin mentioning that st year when he was in town. I understood how it would seem to Talon, though.

  "And then Dean, he—" Talon's chest moved up and down. He needed a second to catch his breath. "After what happened… I know—I get that—he might hate me or my dad, or both, or—I get it."

  I frowned. "What do you mean? After what happened?"

  He shook his head. "It was—it was just when I was fourteen."

  "Why would he hate you?"

  He didn't answer. He pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his chin on them. "I guess I don't know who I'm even mad at." He closed his eyes. "Sorry."

  He'd listed Mia, Griffin, and Dean, but not his dad. I threw another rock and this one made it all the way across the water but because Talon's eyes were closed he didn't see.

  "Look," I said, nudging him. He opened his eyes. "A turtle."

  Talon brightened. A turtle was making his way slowly through the twigs and rocks and dirt near the bottom of the rock we sat on. He was so close we could make out the turtle's curious amber eyes, and the intricate whorls and indents of his yellow and green shell. I took a picture of him as he lumbered on, and then a picture of Talon, who looked gorgeous with his chin resting on his knees.

  On our way out, we paused on the bridge to lean on the railing. We watched the roaring water sweep past us.

  "Hey, Ry," Talon said. "Maybe when we're old. We can come back here for one final night or something."

  "Deal," I said. "When we're thirty."

  Talon made a fake barfing sound, and then smiled. "We've never camped out here."

  "You're right," I said. "We'll do it. For sure."

  Talon nodded and then turned to look at the eastern entrance. I followed his gaze.

  "I think those kids were worthy successors," I said. "They'll protect the kingdom."

  His smile reached his eyes this time. "Definitely. That little girl was the coolest."

  We made our way home, fully sweating now beneath the May sun. Talon used a kerchief to push his hair back off his forehead. I rolled my jeans up as high as they'd go. When we rounded our block, I told Talon to come for dinner, that Mom said she'd make a few rolls especially for him.

  "That's really nice of your mom," Talon said, "but I kind of want to be alone right now."

  "Will you be?"

  "Will I be what?"

  "Alone."

  Talon paused. "Well, practically alone."

  He looked good. His lip healed, he appeared to be showering daily. Trust him, I thought. We had a pn in pce. If he wanted some alone time, then so be it. At the same time, I wanted to hang out with him as much as possible. Sure, it was only May now but I had a feeling August would creep up quickly.

  "Okay," I said finally. "Text me tonight?"

  "Promise."

  I pulled my backpack around to my side and fished out the study materials I created. "And here. Study these tonight. Do the mock test. I'll grade it tomorrow. Don't worry! You'll pass it this time."

  Mom stood at the counter cooking when I got home, leaning against the edge with one hip, prepping the noodles and shrimp. Dad was holed up in his office researching flights for his annual conference in Winnipeg. Rachel was nowhere to be found, so I rinsed off in the shower. Afterwards, I checked my phone, secretly hoping for a text already from Talon. Instead, I discovered a bunch of missed texts from Lily. Shit.

  When I opened our messages, I saw that these weren't just any texts. She'd sent me a few bored messages from her McDonald's shift: I'm never eating here again, she wrote, I just saw some guy pick his nose as he's cooking a burger? And the amount of middle-aged dudes who hit on me through the drive-thru window is unhinged. Later, she sent me three photos. I sat up in bed, heart beginning to race. Nerves, maybe, because she'd sent some pretty explicit ones. The first was her chest in another flimsy bralette, only the bottom of her face visible—her lips and chin, then her neck, then breasts. The next was without the bralette on. And finally, a photo framing her lower stomach and thighs. In this one, she was edging her hand down the front of her pink underwear, a little violet bow near her knuckles.

  Quickly, I texted her to expin that I'd been out.

  Lily: Was starting to get slightly embarrassed!

  Feeling stupid and also slightly duplicitous, I sent a wow and then you look amazing. I gnced at my closed bedroom door. Why didn't I have a lock? Also, holy shit. Did she want a picture back?

  Lily: A photo of you would really help right now

  Lily: I've been thinking of kissing you

  What was I supposed to do? You couldn't send a dick pic—that was certified insanity, right? My chest? My arms? I needed to do some push ups; that always made them look a tiny bit bigger for an hour.

  Me: What would you like to see?

  Lily: you could take a picture of… you know

  She'd put the eggpnt emoji at the end of her sentence. Fuck.

  I had no idea how to approach the right angle: Pull it out of my pants? Get completely naked? Or shirt on, pants off? No, that was ridiculous and the furthest thing from sexy. Go in the shower and act as though it was impromptu, that I'd gotten aroused while thinking of her? But would the water have a fttering effect or would the reflection cause an illusion of shrinkage? And besides, she'd know it wasn't spontaneous—we were in the midst of texting.

  Okay, wait—I had an idea. I'd get hard and take a picture of it in my underwear. Maybe holding it a bit? Holding it a bit? I chastised myself. I was starting to sweat.

  I changed my underwear to my least beat-up pair and opened Lily's pictures again. She had great boobs, it was true. Marty would go apeshit for them. I could imagine him doing his stupid awooga sound and spping his thighs and all his exaggerated nonsense. But the truth was it was only slightly overstated—he really did feel that way.

  And I wanted to feel that way, too. To look at Lily and be overcome with lust. It's not like I was grossed out kissing her. Was that a good sign? She smelled great and had soft lips and the pressure of her hands on my chest was nice. But there wasn't that tightness in my chest, the desire to take off her clothes, the need for her to touch me. Her hand down her underwear was sexy, at least theoretically, but it felt more like most sex scenes in movies. The kind of thing I understood was titilting for much of the audience but just didn't grip me the way I assumed it should.

  But I needed to send her a photo, right? I clicked away from her photos and texted Rachel and said I'm having a nap, don't come in. I propped my desk chair against my door. When I sat back down, I thought of Talon and me earlier. The sweat lingering on the back of his neck. The wind pushing his hair at Craigflower Creek, his gentle eyes when he stared down at the water. His dark eyeshes, the shape of his bottom lip. His weight when he sat on top of me and the closeness of our hips. Finally, I turned to a memory I revisited often, the small details of which never failed to arouse me.

  Back in grade ten, Talon asked me one day to stay after school with him. He looked different tely. Still handsome, but skinny. Constant sadness or frustration on his face. This was probably the beginning of us drifting although I didn't know it at the time. He was wearing a green sweater—I loved when he wore green—and he kept tugging the ends over the scars on his wrists from the accident.

  Talon closed his locker. "I don't want to go home."

  "Let's hang out, then," I said. "No problem."

  It was a sunny Friday in April. The hallway was nearly empty. Kids were mostly gone now, trickling out the entrance door in groups of two and three.

  "I know," Talon said. He reached into his backpack and held up a key. "Band room."

  "You have a key?"

  He expined that the choir and band teacher, Ms. Pearson, had given him access a couple months back. She knew he didn't have the best instruments at home and encouraged him to come in if he wanted to practice; she even let him mess around on the timpani and the drumkit, although Talon said percussion wasn't his forte. Ms. Pearson had always seen talent in Talon. She had frizzy brown hair she kept tucked into a braid and was so soft spoken I often couldn't make out what she was saying. Rumor had it that she used to be much livelier, that her daughter had taken her own life a decade or so ago and after a leave of absence, she returned to Six Mile Secondary changed. But we'd only ever known her this way: quiet but observant. Talon said she'd only ever given out a single copy of the key once before him. So we had to be discrete about it.

  "I won't say a word," I said.

  The band room was inside one of the portables and the acoustics were terrible. We kept the lights off; the golden natural light through the front windows and door was enough. Talon fiddled around with an electric guitar while I banged ineffectively on the timpani, enjoying its strange ghostly sound. When I got bored of that I sat down at the piano, clunking on the keys. Talon sat next to me, shoulders slumped.

  "Tal? Are you okay?" I said. "You seem down."

  "Huh? Oh, yeah. I'm good. Here, want me to show you some basics?"

  "Please do. I'm useless."

  He shifted on the piano bunch; our legs touched. Slowly, he demonstrated a c chord to me. I tried to follow suit but chose the wrong three white keys.

  "It's these ones—here." He moved my fingers.

  My brain was fried that afternoon. I had a model UN meeting during lunch, and a debate (of which I was team captain) during my English block. Final css was physics, and our teacher surprised us with a quiz. So all my intellectual energy was zapped and Talon's instructions were being lost on me. Despite his efforts, I kept messing up.

  "Is this right?" I said, teasing, putting my hands in terribly convoluted positions.

  "No, it's more like this," Talon said, putting both his fists square on the keys.

  "Oh, beautiful," I said, nodding, "I really hear the detail. And what do you think of this?" I put my forearms on the keys. We ughed even though it was completely stupid.

  "Close, but not quite right," Talon said.

  "No?"

  "No."

  He smiled at me, but his expression was difficult to read. He looked down at our legs and then back up at my face. My hand was resting near my knee. He moved his own hand close to mine so that our skin touched. A wave of butterflies ran through me.

  "Put this hand here," he said, moving my left hand to the right side of his face. His elbow skimmed the keys, a quick discordant trill ringing out.

  I knew he was joking around, but—

  "And where do I put this hand?" I said, holding up my other.

  "Hmm," he said, moving it to his hip, "here."

  "Ah, yes," I said, "I see how this sounds better."

  He ughed.

  "And then," he said, "this next bit, it actually involves our faces—"

  "Oh really?" I said. I felt warmth in my pelvic area then my groin. My heart pounded. "How so?"

  Our faces were so close. He moved another inch closer, then two. Our lips almost grazed. "Almost there," he said.

  My head span.

  "You just have to move a bit closer," he whispered.

  "Like this?" I didn't think about it: I pressed my lips to his.

  "Perfect," he said into my mouth.

  We kissed shyly at first. A thought arrived instantly, fully formed: oh, this is how it's supposed to feel. My entire body came alive. My skin tingled, and my chest pounded. I gripped his face and hip; I traced my fingertips along the edges of his denim and my breath hitched when I touched his bare skin. His hand moved to my arm (I flexed my bicep as much as possible) and then to my waist. He kissed my top lip and then my bottom lip and we smiled at each other and then we were making out again, more intensely now, and his grip on me became firmer and he pulled me into him and I lost my fingers in his hair and the silky feel of it against my hand made me shiver. He pushed his tongue into my mouth and—

  The door creaked open.

  Talon and I jumped apart.

  Ms. Pearson stood in the open doorway, peering into the dark band room. She'd come back for her giant tote bag, covered in embroidered music notes and stuffed with exams to grade. Even ter, I don't think she realized we'd been kissing. But still, she chastised us and especially Talon and she wound up taking away his key right then and there.

  "This was supposed to be just for you," she said, shaking her head. "We agreed to that."

  We walked home together. It was early spring, and the air was fresh and cool; the sun was ducking behind the blue mountains. There was This Thing between us, heavy and charged, and we gnced at each other every time our shoulders bumped together. A cool breeze snuck up on us; I watched Talon's neck break out in goosebumps. I cleared my throat, feeling hot and excited and nervous and fully alive. I wanted to tell him what I thought: that touching him, that kissing him, had been everything to me. That it confirmed so much of what I'd always thought about myself. That sometimes it was hard to look directly in his eyes because it made my chest hurt. That when he grabbed my arm when he ughed, I felt invincible. But it all seemed so cheesy. And maybe he really had been kidding around back on the piano bench. Maybe I wasn't thinking clearly, and the joke would be obvious to me tomorrow. So instead, I told Talon I was sorry that the room key got taken away.

  He turned to me and smiled. Against the afternoon sunshine, he had to squint. "Don't be sorry. It was worth it."