She exhales, the tension draining from her shoulders.
“Should we make new ones?” she asks, already standing. “New wishes for whatever comes next?”
We walk to where paper and pens wait under a small canopy. She hands me one of each. We both write, fold our papers.
“Trade?” she asks.
We exchange papers. I unfold hers: “To believe the good in my life is mine to keep.”
She reads mine aloud: “To show up as myself and trust that's enough.”
“We're wishing for the same thing,” I say. “To believe we deserve this.”
“Yeah,” she whispers.
We tie our wishes to the branches. When we step back, we’re standing closer than before. Close enough that touch feels inevitable.
I reach out, my gloved hand finding her cheek. She leans into my palm. The wool is wrong, too much between us. I pull the glove off quickly, needing to feel her skin. Her face is cold at first, then warming under my touch.
“Holly.” My jaw won't stop clenching. She watches me struggle for the right words, the way I’m gripping her face like she might disappear if I get this wrong.
“I love you,” she says.
“What? I was—that was my?—”
“I know.” She rises up, kisses me before I can finish protesting. When she pulls back and looks at me, I can see she means it.
“I love you too,” I say, a little stunned. “I can’t believe you said it first.”
“You've been saying it all week. The scholarship fund. Showing up today.” She presses her forehead to mine. “I just used words.”
My body sways, tension leaving so fast I have to concentrate on standing. “Say it again,” I whisper against her mouth.
So she does.
The kiss settles something in me. The ache that’s been running through every thought, every breath, finally quiets, leaving only her and the steady calm that finally feels like the truth.
“We should get to the theater,” she says.
“Yeah.”
Neither of us moves.
“The show's soon.”
“Right.”
Holly laughs and grabs my hand. We walk faster than necessary, both of us eager to be inside, to be surrounded by people who'll see us choosing each other.
HOLLY
The theater is humming with pre-show energy when we arrive. Kids in various stages of costume, parents trying to corral them, Mrs. Kowalski directing traffic.
Emma spots us first from across the room. Her eyes drop to our joined hands. She grins like she just won a bet.
“Finally!”
Several parents turn to look at her, then at us.
