I was not going to leave things like this. He was going to kiss me, I knew he was, and I didn’t know the next time I’d see him again.
But Dean grabbed our bags, and he pulled my sleeve, and the moment was gone.
We practically ran all the way back to the train station. Even though it’d gotten colder as the sun had set, I was sweating and breathing heavy because I was so out of shape, which I hadn’t wanted Dean to see. But we got to the station on time. Barely. They’d already started letting people onto the train.
“When am I gonna see you again?”
“We will figure it out,” Dean said. “You had better go.”
This wasn’t fair. I wished we hadn’t wasted so much time arguing when I’d gotten there. “Wait! We need a picture.” I pulled out my phone and threw my arm around Dean’s waist.
I caught Dean looking for people who might be watching, but no one was paying attention to us. We were invisible. Besides, I didn’t care. I leaned in as close to Dean as I could, breathing in the spring-fresh scent of his hoodie and the citrusy smell of his hair, and I snapped the pictures.
“I’ll send them to you.”
“Good,” Dean said. “Now go!”
I turned to leave, and Dean grabbed my hand. “Wait.” He pulled me toward him and around a corner and he kissed me like I was the only person in the universe. He kissed me like I was going off to war and he would never see me again. He kissed me like he meant it, and I kissed him back.
And then he was pushing me toward the gate, and I was running to the train and I barely made it before the train doors closed and we left the station, but for the whole ride home and the rest of the night I couldn’t stop smiling because I’d kissed Dean Arnault and he’d liked it.
Dean
FOR THE FIRST time in years, I felt like I had no idea what I was doing. After I was diagnosed with ADD, in addition to medication, I began cognitive behavioral therapy to develop coping mechanisms that would help me manage my condition. One thing I learned was that I functioned better with a plan, so before bed each night I wrote out a plan for the following day. I might change or update it as the day went on, but I still had it as my touchstone if I fell off track. Eventually, I started using the plans for long-term goals too. I had a college plan and a senior class president plan. I had a plan for how I was going to spend my day in Boston. I had plans for everything.
Except, I never could have planned for Dre.
No one could have planned for a person like Dre. He waltzed in and blew up my life, leaving me standing in the rubble of everything I’d known, and I had never been happier. Or more terrified. Dre was forcing me to confront things about myself and my family that I wasn’t ready to deal with. I didn’t know if I would ever be ready to deal with them, but I could feel the inevitability of the moment quickly approaching. Keeping my newfound relationship with Dre a secret was difficult, but I didn’t want to distract my mother or the public from the election. Once my mom won and became president, I promised myself I would tell her and my dad the truth about everything.
That was the best plan I could come up with.
“Dean? Could you answer the door?” It was the Saturday before the second debate, and my mother had decided to take a night off from her preparations to throw a casual dinner party. I didn’t know who my parents had invited—close friends or influential donors. Normally, I was only expected to make an appearance, shake some hands, show off what a smart son I was, and then vanish, but this time my mother had asked me to stay.
I opened the door and was greeted by a couple my parents’ age. The Maguires, friends of my parents from church. Him in a casual suit, her in a beautiful blue dress with an empire waist. “Mr. and Mrs. Maguire, nice to see you.” I shook their hands and stood aside to let them in.
“And you remember our daughter, Mindy,” Mr. Maguire said.
Mindy stepped out from behind her parents and offered me her hand and