boy went quiet. A beat passed. My heart was still drilling against my ribs.
“Could you—” I began, trying to sound confident. “Could you turn off that light?”
There was silence for a long beat, and then the light went off. I lowered my hands and blinked into the darkness, but all I could see were white spots.
“Goddamnit,” whispered the first boy. He was breathing shallowly. “I told you something like this would happen.”
“Don’t worry,” said the second boy. “She’s not gonna say anything to anybody, are you? You probably can’t even see us, right?”
“No, I can’t,” I said quickly.
“I’m going back,” the first boy said. “Don’t let her follow me.”
“Wait,” said the second boy. “Wait, dude, come on!”
My eyes readjusted to the darkness. I could see the first boy running off, fading into the night, and the second boy watching him go. Then the second boy turned back to me. We stared at each other through the darkness. The silence between us was pressing.
“I’m sorry,” I said finally. “I didn’t mean to walk up on you.”
He ignored me and walked back to the trees. I could just see his outline, tall and broad in the dark. He stood absolutely still, and then, without warning, he rammed his hand against a tree.
My pulse quickened in alarm. This guy was a stranger, and he was clearly unstable. I took a hasty step back, but then—
He was whimpering. I could hear it from where I stood on the sidewalk. He slumped against the tree, cradling his injured hand.
I froze for the second time, torn between two instincts.
The night was loud in my ears. The streetlamp ahead was bright and beckoning. Behind me, the guy was drawing pained, ragged breaths.
I walked back to him.
He was shaking his hand in the air, cursing under his breath. I hovered next to him, poised to run in case he got violent again.
“I’m fine,” he grumbled, without looking at me. “Go find your friends.”
He sounded lonely, dejected, almost like he’d expected to end up in this very spot. He was still breathing hard, flexing his hand gingerly. I stepped closer and grabbed his wrist.
“Stop moving,” I said.
He stilled. I held his hand and shone my own phone light now. His palm was torn open and covered in blood, but the back of his hand and his knuckles were fine.
“You didn’t punch it?” I asked. “You just hit it?”
“I knew not to punch it,” he snarked. “Not a fan of broken knuckles.”
“But you’re a fan of broken skin?” I asked, unable to help myself.
He yanked his hand away. I lowered my phone, and we stood facing each other beneath the tree.
“Who are you?” he said.
It was the third time he’d asked, but his tone was softer now.
I blinked at him. I was still nervous, but I knew it was only fair to tell him, especially now that I’d witnessed such a vulnerable moment.
“I’m Codi. Teller.”
“Codi Teller,” he repeated, like he was testing it out. “And you go to Buchanan?”
“Yeah, I’m a junior—I mean, rising senior. Who are you?”
It took him a few seconds to answer. “Ricky Flint,” he said at last. “I’m the guy whose party you’re trying to get to.”
For a second I couldn’t think at all. This whole incident already felt surreal, and now it was almost comically absurd. I couldn’t believe the boy whose party I’d been thinking about all day, the boy I’d imagined to be the very essence of a Teenager, popular and cool and inherently straight, was out here hiding in the trees after kissing another boy.
“Are you gonna tell anyone?” he asked.
I could tell he was trying to keep his voice steady, but there was the faintest crack in it.
“It doesn’t matter to me,” he went on, “but it—it matters to him.”
It was unexpected, the way he said it. It wasn’t in a guilt-tripping kind of way; it was more like he was acknowledging me as an equal, like he knew I had witnessed this private, delicate thing that I could use against him and the other boy if I wanted to, and he was laying it out there, giving me the choice.
“No,” I said, looking over at him. “I’m not gonna tell anyone.”
He stared at me for a long moment.
“Really, I promise.” I hesitated, feeling my way into the words that followed. “I mean, I get it. If I was the one having a party—which, just, wouldn’t happen, but if it did—I’d be out here, too, trying to kiss a girl.”