When Griffin saw Charlie at school that day, chatting with a group of guys on the soccer team outside their first-period class, he panicked. He’d told himself he was going to go out of his way to be friendly with Charlie when he saw him – in the way that seemed to come so naturally to his project partner. He hoped they could become real friends eventually. After all, there weren’t many people that would stay up just to read Moonsword.

He hadn’t planned for there to be other people surrounding Charlie like an impenetrable wall of social danger. He hurried past the group, eyes pointed straight ahead to avoid any incidental eye contact.

“Griff!” he heard called out just after he’d made it past the group. It was Charlie’s voice. He turned and waved, a bit sheepishly.

Everyone in the group waved back, which surprised Griffin. He was pretty certain at least two of the guys next to Charlie actively pretended he didn’t exist. Charlie broke free from the huddle and jogged a few paces over to Griffin, grinning for miles.

“Hey! How’s the chest?” he asked.

Charlie reached towards him and tapped him lightly on the sternum. He winced in response. “Me too!” Charlie said excitedly. He lifted his t-shirt up to his chin, revealing a small black-and-purple bruise in the center of his chest. Griffin pushed out a laugh and flicked his eyes up from Charlie’s torso before his gaze could be construed as staring.

“I guess we’re matching,” Griffin said. He thought about lifting his shirt to flash his own bruise to Charlie, but his soccer player buddies were still standing a few paces behind him and staring at the two of them.

Charlie didn’t seem to notice the calculating hesitation on his face. He nudged Griffin on the shoulder with his knuckles. He seemed to like doing that.

“Just like the Branded Brothers of Night, eh?” Charlie said.

Oh God, Griffin thought, he’s making that Moonsword reference. And he has no idea what he’s saying. That was the moment that Griffin knew he was in trouble.

He had a big, dumb, incorrigible – and certainly unrequited – crush on Charlie Hess and he needed to get out of there immediately.

“Definitely!” Griffin yelped. “See you in English, brother!” he said, meaning to nudge Charlie back with his own knuckles. In his nervousness, it landed more like a punch. He turned and quickly walked away, not daring to look back. As he turned the corner at the end of the hall, he caught a glimpse of Charlie staring confusedly after him and rubbing his shoulder where Griffin had punched him.

The next few hours passed painstakingly slowly for Griffin. He relived the brother! moment endlessly in his mind. He considered taking himself to the nurse’s office and feigning something – anything – to get himself sent home early. Or, at the very least, out of his fifth-period English class.

He never quite managed to stitch together a believable story for himself, though, so a short while later he found himself walking into Mrs. Wilcox’s classroom and scanning it for Charlie. He hadn’t shown up yet.

Griffin set his eyes on a seat in the back corner of the class, but before he could make his way there, he felt a familiar nudge in the back of his arm. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

“Hey, Griff!” Charlie said behind him, just as enthusiastically as ever.

“Hey, partner,” Griffin responded meekly. Somehow partner felt even worse than buddy or brother.

“I believe it’s howdy, partner,” Charlie retorted with an exaggeratedly gruff Western flair.

“Boys, you’re blocking the door,” Mrs. Wilcox chided from behind her desk. Griffin peeked over his shoulder and saw a line of students lingering lazily behind Charlie. Charlie pushed him gently into the classroom.

“Oh, hold on a sec–” Charlie held him back for a moment by the shoulders. Students filtered in around them, like a boulder cuts a stream. “Your backpack is open,” he whispered as if it was a secret worthy of keeping between them. Griffin listened to the zipper shut behind him and tried to stare blankly ahead. He couldn’t fathom why his cheeks were choosing this moment to flush with rosy warmth, but it was the last thing he needed standing there in front of the entire class.

“Thanks,” he muttered and made a beeline for the seat in the back corner – even better now that there were no open desks around it for Charlie to follow him. He dropped his backpack on the floor and slid into the chair. I’m just going to have to open my backpack again in a moment anyway, he thought to himself.

He looked down at the empty desk in front of him. He needed to avoid seeing the look on Charlie’s face when he realized Griffin had abandoned him.

“Hey Dinah, mind if we swap desks?” Charlie’s voice came from two rows over. “Tryna’ sit with my partner.”

Dinah, the girl sitting next to Griffin with short curly hair dyed black and dark lipstick to match, clicked her tongue and picked up her backpack. “Well, howdy then,” she said dryly as she stood and made for Charlie’s desk.

Charlie plopped down in the row next to Griffin, who shot him a weak grin.

“Are you feeling okay?” Charlie whispered through the space between them. A couple of heads ahead of them turned around, but just as quickly lost interest and turned back again.

“Oh, uh, yeah,” Griffin replied. “Just tired.”

“Heh, me too,” Charlie said. “Couldn’t put down Moonsword. It turns out you do have taste.”

Griffin’s heartbeat grew twice as loud in his chest. He could feel it pounding in his eardrums. His brain was working in a frenzy to decode every inflection in Charlie’s voice. Was he… flirting with him? It was impossible to know – Griffin had become so accustomed to the guys at school being dismissive or outright hostile, that he wasn’t sure he could recognize baseline friendliness anymore.

“So, uh, what’s been your favorite part?” Griffin asked.

But before Charlie could answer, Mrs. Wilcox clapped at the front of the class to collect the room’s attention and lessons began.

It was difficult for Griffin to pay attention. He kept stealing glances over at Charlie, who sat back slack in his chair with his eyes trained on the presentation ahead of them. He seemed both relaxed and laser-focused at the same time. Griffin admired that careful line that he embodied.

He also admired, for a bit longer than he intended to, the lean line of his jaw. Charlie turned at the wrong moment and caught Griffin staring.

“You alright?” He asked in his cluelessly loud attempt at a whisper. Heads turned again. Mrs. Wilcox shot them both a look. Charlie mouthed sorry to Griffin, and then to Mrs. Wilcox.

Class continued even more painstakingly slow than before. Griffin didn’t dare glance over at Charlie again, and he was hardly interested in the short story that Mrs. Wilcox was reviewing at the front of the class. He’d already read it a few years ago.

His mind wandered back to the car last night. To the gentle knuckle-nudges, and the soft warmth of Charlie’s hand over his own.

He snapped back when he heard his name being called out at the front of the class.

“–and Charlie, your theme for the semester will be…” Mrs. Wilcox scanned the piece of paper she was holding in her hands. “...romance.”

There was a whoop and holler from two of the boys at the front of the classroom. As they turned around to face Griffin, though, their voices caught in their throats. Charlie was staring back at them with a powerfully blank expression – as if to say don’t. They turned around again, silent.

Charlie turned to Griffin, suddenly all smiles. “We lucked out,” he whispered. “We get the fun, fluffy stuff.”

Griffin nodded back. It was the most he could muster in the moment. Class ended soon after, and students began filtering out. Charlie stood and said, “Pick you up at ten? I’ve already got some good films in mind to send you home with.”

“See you then,” Griffin replied, and then – in a fit of nervous uncertainty – he saluted Charlie with two fingers swiping off from his temple. He wasn’t sure where in his brain that gesture had come from, but he was immediately mortified.

Charlie – in his unflappable, charming way that Griffin was unmistakably enthralled by – rolled with it. He tipped the brim of an imaginary hat and said, “Til’ dusk.”

Charlie joined the final trickle of students exiting the room, and Griffin followed a few paces behind.

As he watched Charlie walk away, confident and casual and so easily a piece that fit the puzzle of their school, Griffin thought about how utterly doomed he was. For all his kindness, Charlie didn’t fit with Griffin. For all his generosity, Charlie would never look at him the way he wished he would.

And now he’d have to spend the semester talking with Charlie about romance – watching gushy movies he can’t relate to, recommending books he’ll have to pretend to have liked – all the while burying any inkling of his real feelings.

After all, even if he didn’t mind scaring off his partner and failing the project, he still wanted to learn how to drive.