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I expect him to congratulate me and point out the bright side. But I think he senses how I’m feeling because he holds out his arms, eyes inviting me and asking if I need a hug. I close the space between us and lean into him, wrapping my arms around his waist just as he wraps his around my shoulders. Breathing him in, I can smell the wood of his acoustic guitar.

“I’m so sorry, Emilyn,” he says.

“I really wanted to win.” My voice is tight, and I swallow the lump stuck in my throat.

He hugs me tighter, and I do the same. I gaze up, our arms still wrapped around each other, and he locks my eyes in focus.

“I’m still proud of you.” He looks at the ground before lifting his eyes back to mine. “I’m also sorry I pressured you into telling your family about us. You decide when you’re ready to do that, not me.”

“I’m sorry too, Jase,” I say. “I shouldn’t have kept you a secret. I was scared of losing you.”

He rubs his hand against my back. I can’t tell if he’s fully forgiven me, and I don’t blame him if he hasn’t. But feeling his hand smooth against my back spreads that same warmth I’ve missed and cherished after all these weeks.

We sit down on the curb and catch each other up. I tell him about my punishments, along with how bored I feel finishing homework instead of shooting photos. He tells me that he’s been looking into music schools, though he still thinks he might not go to college at all, and his mom isn’t sure how to feel about either choice. This summer is dragging for both of us.

“I also made more songs,” Jase says, tapping on his phone before handing it to me. “Surprise, none of them are done.”

“Maybe they will be,” I say. “The composer just has to believe in himself.”

He smiles at this. “The composer needs to work on that.”

I study all the titles of his new songs, each ringing a familiar bell. Though I can’t put my finger on why since he just recently composed them.

The first is called “running away from sf,” which is thirty seconds of strings strummed so fast they make me feel like I’m escaping. Another is “your voice,” the slow and heavy thrum of strings reminding me of when I projected my mnemonics to the class a few weeks ago. Jase shows me more new songs, each ranging from twenty seconds to thirty. “always trying,” “disney movies,” “icing weapon,” “don’t worry so much,” “coming prepared,” and “badass goody-two-shoes.”

Then it hits me like a camera flash. These songs are all about me.

Jase must notice that I’ve realized this because red tints his face.

“I’m still working on them,” he says. “They need polishing.”

“Well, I love what you have so far,” I say, smiling. Warmth sweeps through my chest. I remember “passion,” the first song he composed that was inspired by me. I thought that would be the only one. Now, he’s composed even more songs, and I’m the inspiration to every single one. I love how I feel so seen. “You’ll polish them into real gems soon, I just know it.”

“You’ll be the first to listen.” The look he spotlights on me, tender and sweet and sees me as I am, is the kind I want to drink in forever.

I inch closer to him, and when our shoulders touch, Jase scoots closer so his arm presses against mine. He feels like the sun, the warmth filling my chest now coursing through the rest of my body. “You always put yourself down for your quiz scores and wrong answers, but Jase, you’re musically intelligent.”

He raises both eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“All kinds of intellect exist. You can be academically intelligent, emotionally intelligent, fashionably intelligent. You’re musically intelligent, and it’s one of my favorite things about you.”

Jase flashes me a smile that makes my heart thump. His dimples crescent into his cheeks, and his face saturates with pink the shade of cherry blossoms. It’s gratifying making Jase Rivers blush. He laces his hand into mine and leans in close enough that only a sliver of space separates our faces.

“Well, you’re photographically intelligent. And academically intelligent. And emotionally intelligent. You’re all kinds of intelligent.”

I wrinkle my nose at this last bit. “I wouldn’t call myself athletically intelligent.”

“You can if you try.”

“You’re overestimating me.”

“You just need to believe in yourself.”

I laugh and shake my head. “Well, I’m glad you have that much faith in me.”

“You have a lot of faith in me. And that, along with all your intelligences, are some of my many favorite things about you.”

My heart flutters so hard it feels like it’ll fly out of my chest. I lean towards him and close the sliver of space that barely separated us, pressing my forehead against his. “Are they?”