Griffin lay on his bed looking up at the ceiling. He could still hear the crickets from the woods buzzing in his head. He could still feel that dark static clouding his mind.

He wished he could rewind time to an hour ago. He wished he had just kept up the subtle dance.

He knew Charlie meant well when he said that the confession wouldn’t change anything between them. But there was no unscrambling that egg. There was no more room for subtext anymore. There could be no innocent, plausibly-deniable flirting. Griffin could no longer speak freely in that unspoken way, because he’d made the mistake of opening his mouth and letting the words come out.

And Charlie had feigned ignorance, as if Griffin had been having a one-way conversation these past few weeks.

Or Charlie just wasn’t ready – Griffin could understand that. And I don’t know was better than outright no.

At least, that’s what Griffin told himself. In truth, it felt like the difference between being punched or kicked.

There was no way he could face Charlie like this. No way he could get in that car again, that tight space that closed them in together with the whole world on the other side of the metal and glass. No way he could get up in front of their English class and deliver a presentation on everything they’d learned about romance.

Griffin only needed one slide to tell that story. Two words: It sucks. 



At least he didn’t have to worry about getting caught sneaking out anymore. His driving days were over. He wouldn’t be getting behind the wheel for a long time.

It used to be that when he’d get stressed, Griffin would turn to his favorite books for comfort. When he’d get sick at the suffocating feeling of an unrequited crush – Charlie wasn’t his first, just the deepest and most real – he’d turn to Dip.

That was ruined now. He’d shared every one of his favorite books with Charlie. He couldn’t open them anymore.

He focused on the sound of those crickets. He was certain he couldn’t really hear them – just the echoes etched into his mind, like whispers you could feel on the back of your neck.

There was a knock at his door.

He bolted upright on the edge of his bed. Charlie, he thought.

The door handle turned, and his heart picked up its pace.

His mom popped her head in.

He deflated and cursed at himself for getting his hopes up.

“Everything okay in here?” she asked.

Griffin didn’t respond. She opened the door and stepped in.

“I heard you come in,” she said. She sat down next to him on the bed.

Griffin wasn’t sure what to say, so he said nothing.

“Why didn’t your friend drop you off?”

His stomach sank.

But her voice was gentle, not accusatory. She put a hand on his back, rubbing in a soothing circular motion.

“I know you've been going out at night. I’m not that old, and not that deaf,” She said with a slight humor to her voice.

“Did something happen tonight?”

Griffin turned to her. He couldn’t help it or hold it in. Tears were welling up in his eyes. He buried his face in her shoulder.

“Talk to me, Griffin,” she said. “You can tell me anything.”

He burst into sobs at that dreaded phrase. She let him cry for a while, stroking his back until the sobs subsided.

“I like a boy,” he said through sniffles.

“Does he like you back?” she responded swiftly, softly – unsurprised, as if she’d practiced this moment before.

Griffin leaned more heavily into her shoulder. It was the only way he could think of to show gratitude in that instant. For her deftness and uncomplicated acceptance. This was so far from how he’d rehearsed this scene in his mind before. But then, so was his moment with Charlie.

“He doesn’t know yet,” he said after a beat.

“That’s not no,” she replied.

The room was silent for a few minutes, save for the calming sound of her hand rubbing circles into Griffin’s back.

“He’s been teaching me to drive.”

Her hand paused.

When she spoke there was a catch in her voice, but she pushed past it. “Are you being safe?”

Griffin nodded, which had the effect of nuzzling into her shoulder. She laughed, and her hand resumed its circles.

“He says I’m a natural,” Griffin half-whispered.

“Well that sounds like something a boy with a crush might say,” she said teasingly. “Give him time.”

They sat on the edge of Griffin’s bed together for a good, long while. After she retired to her room and Griffin got under the covers, he felt the gentle phantom motion of her hand on his back in slow circles as he drifted off to sleep.