Shift

His tongue is pushed to the roof of his mouth, his smile showing a hint of his teeth, one dimple deeper than the other. He nods, and I brace myself for the question, ready to make this lie massive.

“I bet you’ll look real pretty in your dress.”

His eyes settle on mine and there’s a brief flare in them that fills me with a fire so hot and angry that it rages up my throat. I’m not sure what it means. Is he trying to be cruel? Or just taking my brother’s advice, ending us before we get in too deep. Tommy, who has never had feelings for anyone other than himself.

“Huh,” I eek out in a whisper-type pout. I grip my bottom lip with my teeth and shake my head. He’s really going to listen to my brother . . . over me.

My gaze falls to the ground as my head stills, and after a few seconds, I glance up to my friend, whose eyes aren’t burrowing into me anymore with shock but instead are tilted and heavy with pity. Pretty sure Bailey knows more about what’s going on than I give her credit for.

“Let’s go,” she says quietly, leaning her head in the direction of her house.

I manage to pull my lips into a tight smile, one that I’ll leave plastered there until we’re safe in her room and I can tell her everything, from the first kiss to the last one right before Dustin fell asleep last night. I fall in line with her footsteps, but in my periphery, I can still see Dustin standing there, watching me go.

Letting me go.

I spin to walk backward, not slowing, but giving him one last chance to choose differently. His expression is unchanged—almost void of feeling, eyes steely and jaw locked. It’s as though he’s trying to become an impenetrable wall all on his own. Why, though? For Tommy?

“I think Michael Bosa will love it.” I don’t smile when I utter the words, and I’m sure there’s a part of Dustin that knows it’s all bullshit, that I would never let that guy near me unless it’s to hand over cash I’m owed. But I’ve sold it well enough to leave him unsettled. His façade cracks, just a little. His brow draws in, creasing briefly. It’s almost a flinch, but it’s there, and I catch it. I take some pleasure in him having to think about my lie while I’m gone. And I don’t plan on coming home until well after midnight so he can suffer with it for a few hours.

As suspected, Bailey knew more than I originally thought. I’ve been sneaking her out for parties, races, and meet-ups with cute boys long enough for her to shed most of that sheltered cocoon her parents raise her in. What I didn’t expect was how much she understood my feelings for Dustin.

“I’ve been watching you two together for years. You’ve always had a thing,” she said.

And we have. I just thought I was the only one aware of it.

Whatever that thing was, it’s entirely different now. And the closer I get to the glow of solar lights that lead up the gravel pathway that cuts through my xeriscape front yard to my driveway, the less sure I am about any of it.

I shouldn’t have turned this into a game. I should know better than to go against a guy who doesn’t lose. Besides, the one true thing that makes my bond with Dustin special is our honesty, and instead of following the path we’ve forged our entire lives, I made a sharp turn. An immature one too. At this point, I’ll be lucky to get Michael Bosa’s baby brother to take me to prom.

My feet crunch against the pebbles that wind toward my house, and when the gurgle of the dripper system kicks on to water my mom’s few flower beds, I startle, gripping my chest as I take a tiny leap backward.

“It’s not a snake,” Dustin’s voice says. It’s too dark to tell where he is exactly, but I sense he’s near the garage.

“You told me that once before, and I seem to remember it was a snake,” I say, recalling a family hike Dustin joined us on when we were younger that ended in me sprinting down the mountain when I discovered Dustin had been lying about the cricket sounds. My hand grips my T-shirt for a different reason as I inch forward. My eyes scan the driveway, adjusting to the dim light as I search for him.

His legs come into view first as he kicks off from the back of Tommy’s car and flips on the light by the garage entry. His hair is a disheveled mess. He’s wearing a pair of my dad’s extra-large sweatpants that hang from his hips enough to expose the red band of his boxer briefs, and a gray racing T-shirt that he’s worn several holes in over the last few years. Sloppy, like a kid wandering out from a sleepover, and still the most attractive guy my eyes have ever seen.

His feet shuffle toward me in Tommy’s too-small slides, and I smile at the sight of his white socks, heels hanging off the back of the shoes.

“In my defense,” he says, drawing my eyes back to his face. His head is cocked, and his smile is crooked as he bites on the tip of his tongue. “I was fourteen, and I didn’t want you to freak out. We were on a canyon trail and you were inches from the edge.”

“What’s the worst that could have happened, I’d slip and fall to my death? I mean . . . snake versus plunging death. Tough one, really,” I joke. One look in Dustin’s eyes, though, and I can tell he isn’t amused.

“That’s pretty much the worst that could happen, yeah,” he says, no more humor in his voice. His response weighs heavy in my chest, smothering my heart and muffling the beat. Gone is the daring look from earlier, too. He’s dropped the charade, and it’s time for me to as well.

“You wait up for me?” My hand lets go of my shirt long enough to slide across my body and weave under my other arm. It’s warm out tonight, no reason to be cold. Yet I can’t seem to hug myself tight enough.

“You really going to prom with Michael Bosa?”

He knows I’m not.

I hold his gaze through a full breath, and eventually shake my head and look down at our feet. We’re still too far from each other to touch. A small cricket cuts through the space between us, and I take a quick step back, my jumpiness amusing Dustin enough to pull a breathy laugh from his mouth.

“What? You have me thinking about snakes,” I say, kicking gravel from the walkway onto the driveway at his feet. He leans back, thumbs hooked in the sweatpant pockets, and laughs for real. I guess I’m in the mood to blame him for everything.

“I’m sorry I made that a big deal. Prom is stupid,” I say, glancing at him briefly before looking out at the dark roadway, stars spilling down from the sky. I swallow the rock in my throat.

“No, it isn’t,” he says, his voice nearer. I work my jaw, afraid to turn back and face him because he’s right, it isn’t stupid. For some reason, it’s important to me. But it’s more important to me that I go with him. That we show up together, for people to see—for Tommy to have to accept.

Giving in, I turn my head and find him close and waiting. He reaches for my arm, dragging his knuckles from my elbow to my wrist until I relent and let go of the vice grip I have on my chest. He takes my hand in his, weaving our fingers together, and my pulse races. I blink wildly, strangely overwhelmed, but then one touch of his other hand under my chin and my body calms.

“Prom isn’t stupid. I was being stupid. And I don’t want you going anywhere with that Bosa asshat,” he says as the right side of his mouth lifts into a smirk.

“He’ll be so disappointed,” I say in a hushed tone.

Both of our chests lift with a short laugh.

Closing all space between us, he cups my face and moves so his toes touch mine. I look up from his shadow to find his eyes peering down at me while his thumbs draw tender circles on my cheeks.