to talk about us. I can’t even think straight around you.” And then, “I don’t know what’s happening anymore.”
I felt my mind slow down even as my heart sped up. An awful, wonderful nervousness seized me around the throat.
I felt paralyzed.
I wanted so desperately to say something, but I didn’t know what to say, how to say it, or whether I should even bother. I couldn’t seem to decide. I was suddenly overthinking everything. And we’d been lost in the silence for several seconds when he finally said—
“Is it just me? Am I imagining this?”
The sound of his voice broke my heart. I had no idea how Ocean could be this brave. I had no idea how he could make himself this vulnerable. There were no games with him. There were no confusing, meandering statements with him. He just put himself out there, his heart exposed directly to the elements, and wow, I respected him for it.
But it scared me so much.
In fact, I was beginning to wonder whether my fever wasn’t simply a consequence of this, of him, of this whole situation, because the more he spoke, the more delirious I felt. I felt my head swimming, my mind slowly evaporating.
I closed my eyes. “Ocean,” I finally whispered.
“Yes?”
“I—I just—”
I stopped. Tried to steady my head. I could hear him breathing. I could feel him waiting for something, anything, and I could feel my heart ripping open and I realized there was no point lying about this. I thought he deserved to know the truth, at least.
“You’re not imagining it,” I said.
I heard his hard exhale. When he spoke, his voice was a little rough. “I’m not?”
“No. You’re not. I feel it, too.”
Neither of us said anything for a while. We just sat there in the silence, listening to each other breathe.
“So why are you pushing me away?” he said finally. “What are you afraid of?”
“This,” I said. My eyes were still closed. “I’m afraid of this. There’s nowhere for this to go,” I said to him. “There’s no future here—”
“Why not?” he said. “Because of your parents? Because I’m some random white guy?”
My eyes flew open and I laughed, but it made a sad sound. “No,” I said. “Not because of my parents. I mean, it’s true that my parents wouldn’t approve of you, yeah, but not because you’re a white guy. My parents wouldn’t approve of any guy,” I said. “In general. It’s not just you. Anyway, I don’t even care about that.” I sighed, hard. “It’s not because of that.”
“Then why?”
I was quiet for too long, but he didn’t push me to speak. He didn’t say a word. He just waited.
Finally, I broke open the silence.
“You’re a really nice person,” I said to him. “But you don’t know how complicated something like this would be. You don’t know how different your life would be with me,” I said. “You just don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the world is really awful, Ocean. People are super racist.”
Ocean was quiet for a full second before he finally said, stunned, “That’s what you’re worried about?”
“Yes,” I said quietly. “Yes.”
“Well I don’t care what other people think.”
My head was overheating again. I felt unsteady.
“Listen,” he said softly, “This doesn’t have to be anything serious. I just want to get to know you better. I just— I mean I accidentally ran into you and I haven’t been able to breathe straight for hours,” he said, his voice tight again. “I feel kind of crazy. Like I can’t— I mean— I just want to know what this is,” he said finally. “I just want to know what’s happening right now.”
My heart was beating too hard. Too fast.
I whispered, “I’ve been feeling the same way.”
“You have?”
“Yes,” I said softly.
He took a deep breath. He sounded nervous. “Could we just—can we maybe just spend some time together?” he said. “Outside of school? Maybe somewhere far, far away from our disgusting lab assignment?”
I laughed. I felt a little dizzy.
“Is that a yes?”
I sighed. I wanted, so badly, to just say yes. Instead, I said, “Maybe. But no marriage proposals, okay? I get too many of those as it is.”
“You’re making jokes right now?” Ocean laughed. “You’re, like, breaking my heart, and you’re making jokes right now. Wow.”
“Yeah,” I sighed. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I was smiling.
“Wait—what did that yeah mean? Is that a yes to hanging out with me?”
“Sure.”
“Sure?”
“Yes,” I whispered. “I’d really like to hang out with you.” I felt at