My heart clenches at the wistfulness in his voice. “What would normal teenager Ben do?”
A small smile tugs at his lips. “Probably fail calculus.”
“Scandalous.”
“Learn to play guitar, maybe. Join the drama club. Ask someone to prom without calculating whether it would hurt my class rank.”
The mention of prom makes something twist in my chest. Who would he ask to prom? I’ve never seen him talk to any girl other than myself for more than two minutes. Is there someone he’s interested in?
“You didn’t ask anyone to prom because of your class rank?” I ask, hating the way my voice cracks.
“Among other reasons.”
I want to ask what the other reasons were, but something in his expression stops me. Instead, I reach over and squeeze his hand. “For what it’s worth, I think normal teenager Ben sounds pretty great.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. But I also think the Ben lying next to me right now is pretty great too.”
He squeezes my hand back, but it feels too intense for us. Too far compared to our usual touch. So even though I like it, I find myself withdrawing my hand.
My heart, though? It’s still beating frantically.
“Thank you,” Ben says quietly.
“For what?”
“For…” He gestures vaguely. “This. Forcing me to be human occasionally.”
“That’s what best friends are for.”
“Is that what we are?”
The question catches me off guard. It’s so strange. Of course we’re best friends. We’re basically each other’s only friend. He’s always buried in textbooks, and I’ve never found a group I really fit in with at school.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Sometimes I feel like we’re…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”
“Ben.”
“It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.”
But I can’t forget it, because now I’m hyperaware of his shoulder brushing mine, of the way his breathing has changed, of the space between us that suddenly feels charged with possibility. Something has shifted.
I need to know what it is, need to know if it’s what I think it might be.
But before I can say anything, the first firework explodes overhead in a shower of gold sparks. I feel him relax completely beside me. For the next half hour, we watch the sky light up in brilliant colors—red, white, blue, green, purple—each burst more spectacular than the last.
“Look at that one,” I whisper, pointing at a particularly impressive explosion that spreads across the sky like a giant chrysanthemum.
When I turn to see if Ben is watching, I find him looking at me instead of the fireworks. There’s something in his hazel eyes I’ve never seen before, something that makes my heart skip a beat and my breath catch in my throat.
“Uh, hi,” I say.
The colored lights dance across his features as he shifts closer, his face inches from mine. I can smell his soap, the same one he’s been using for several years, which I would recognize as his anywhere. My pulse pounds so loudly that I’m sure he can hear it.
“Freya, I…”
