While Grandpa Wells was the type of guy to give the shirt off his back, and he treated me and the other non-Wells kids around the ranch like his own grandchildren, we also knew better than to disobey him.
“Yes, sir,” Denny said, turning to give me a goodbye half-smile. “Guess we’ll go fishing tomorrow.”
I nodded, spinning on my heel to climb into Grandpa Wells’s rusty blue Ford.
—
I awoke with a start, my room cloaked in darkness save for the small, horse-shaped night light by the door. Wind whistled through the trees outside—a sound our house’s old single-pane windows did little to mitigate.
The storm must’ve woken me up.
Yawning, I rolled to face away from the window, tugging the comforter to my chin and willing myself back to sleep.
Thunk.
Something hit the glass, and I jolted upward, clutching the bedding for comfort. Heart racing, blood rushing behind my eardrums, and a stutter to my breath. My eyes squeezed tight, pretending that not seeing the danger would be enough to keep me safe.
Another small object hit the windowpane, and I felt around the dark bedside table for my cell phone before quickly darting fully under the covers. I blinked at the painfully bright light, taking a moment for my eyes to adjust enough to see three missed calls and ten text messages, all from Denny.
All vague.
All desperate.
Blair:R u ok?
Denny:Let me in. It’s raining
I stared at the message.
Let me in. What the…
Tiptoeing, I made my way to the window and peeked from behind the curtain. Sure enough, there was Denny, slumped down in a patio chair with the rain and wind howling around him.
“Denny,” I whisper-yelled, sliding the window open with a grating squeal.
Within seconds, my best friend—also the boy I had the world’s biggest crush on—was dripping wet and shivering in my bedroom in the middle of the night.
“What’s going on?” I gawked at him, awkward and unsure of how to handle the situation. Whatever the situation was.
“It’s…uh…” He let out a ragged breath. “Sorry for waking you up. I-I wanted to talk to you.”
“It couldn’t wait until I see you tomorrow?” I asked through a loud yawn.
“No. Well, yes…I guess. But, no. I need to talk to you now. I couldn’t sleep.” Everything about him was off—unlike any version of Denver Wells I’d seen before. No self-assured confidence behind his words. No warm smile. No light. “I just…Blair, I don’t know why I’m here.”
A shiver racked his body and, without a word, I turned and opened my closet door. Then felt around in the dark for a pair of buffalo plaid pajama pants and a baggy old T-shirt.
“Here. Get out of the wet clothes,” I said, thrusting the pants and shirt toward him. And when he stepped toward the door, I shuffled to block his path, my palm falling to his dampchest. “You can’t go out there and get us caught. I’ll go so you can change.”
I gingerly stepped into the hallway and padded to the kitchen, pretending to get a glass of water for enough time I could be sure he was fully dressed. Fighting to stop myself from thinking about him half-naked in my room. I’d had a crush on him for so long, I forgot what it was likenotto have a crush on him. But it was painfully obvious those feelings were never going to be reciprocated. He told me about girls who passed him notes in class, teased me relentlessly for being weird, and introduced me to people as his best friend—there had even been times where he referred to me as hissister.
I desperately needed to get over my crush. And picturing his bare chest, cold and damp from the rain, wasn’t helpful. Picturing him slipping out of his wet jeans wasn’t helpful. And picturing him naked in my bedroomdefinitelywasn’t helpful. But there was no stopping it. My glass of water went down in slow, painful gulps as the tiny clock hand skipped forward.
He was sitting cross-legged on top of my bed when I slipped back through the door. Denver Wells was in my room. Wearing my clothes. On my bed.
Crying.
“What’s going on?” The door shut behind me with a soft click, and I crawled across the floral bedspread to sit in front of him.
