October 11, 1977

Mom and Dad were fighting again.

It was one of those slow-building ones—the kind where their voices started quiet, like two snakes hissing, and then built into sharp words that cut the air like glass. I’d turned on the TV to drown it out, but the static didn’t do much. Sesame Street played in flickering colors while my lil sister sat on the floor next to me, legs splayed out, half-asleep with her thumb in her mouth.

I rocked her gently with my knee. “It’s okay, Lulu,” I whispered.

She didn’t answer, just leaned against my leg.

Then came the knock.

It was weird—no one ever knocked this late. I looked toward the hallway, waiting for Mom or Dad to answer it, but they were too busy behind closed doors, saying things they’d regret later. So I stood, careful not to wake Lulu, and went to the door.

When I opened it, she was standing there.

The girl.

Hair tied in a high ponytail, cheeks flushed, probably from running. She looked nervous. Maybe I looked surprised too, because she didn’t say hi—just reached into her pocket and held something out.

“A letter,” she said. “From me.”

I took it. The paper was folded all neat, like it mattered.

“Can you come with me? Just for a second?” Her eyes darted past me, like she was scared someone else would answer. “To the backyard of the school.”

I blinked. “Fallview?”

She nodded.

I looked over my shoulder, at Lulu asleep on the rug, at the hallway where the argument raged on. Then back at her.

“…Okay.”

—

The walk to school didn’t take long. The night air was cool—cooler than I expected for early fall. The girl walked a few steps ahead of me, quiet the whole way. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t read the letter.

Fallview Middle School sat dark and half-haunted at night, the windows like closed eyes. She led me around the side, past the gym, toward the back field where the old tree stood—the one that turned gold too early every year.

She stopped under it, kicked at the grass a little, then turned to me.

“I like you, Caleb.”

Just like that.

No lead-up. No stammer. No small talk.

And I stood there, still holding her letter in my hand like it might catch fire.

I opened my mouth, but before I could speak, I saw something out of the corner of my eye.

A blur by the gym wall.

I didn’t have to look twice to know who it was.

Noah.

Of course, he was here. He always noticed things… especially things I tried to hide. I’d known him long enough to feel it when he was near. And I knew he’d read the signs. The way I’d been weird all week. The way I didn’t say much this morning. The letter. The girl. The silence.

And then… he ran.

I caught just a flash of his hoodie disappearing past the brick wall, the sound of his shoes slapping the pavement like a heartbeat.

“Wait—” I said, stepping away from her.

She blinked. “What?”

“I—I-I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” I said, already turning. “You didn’t.”

But I couldn’t stand there and pretend anymore. Not when I knew the only person who really mattered had just left without waiting for an answer.

I shoved the letter into my jacket pocket, and ran after him.

I didn’t even know where I was running. I just knew I had to find him.

The school faded behind me, the trees and houses blurring past. The air scraped against my lungs. I should’ve called his name, but I didn’t. I don’t know why. Maybe I was scared he wouldn’t stop. Or maybe I already knew where he was going.

Because Noah only ever ran to one place when things got too loud.

The pier.

It wasn’t far, maybe ten minutes if you cut through the empty lots and didn’t care about fences. And tonight, I didn’t. I hopped one, stumbled once, scratched my palm open on the wire. Didn’t care. I kept going.

I spotted him before he saw me—hunched at the edge of the pier like something had punched the air out of him.

The wind tugged at his hoodie, and his sneakers were barely hanging on the edge of the wood, toes over water. For a second, I didn’t know if I should call out or just sit down.

So I did the only thing that felt natural.

I walked up behind him and gently set a hand on his head.

“There you are,” I breathed. My voice cracked a little from the cold—or maybe from the relief. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch. Just sat there, still as stone, staring out at the lake like it was gonna tell him something I couldn’t.

I lowered myself beside him, careful not to crowd him. The wood groaned beneath us.

“I checked the school, the park… even your backyard.” I tried to smile, to make it a little less heavy. “Figured you’d be here. Your mom’s gonna think I kidnapped you or something.”

Nothing.

And then, finally, in the smallest voice: “I saw you. Behind the school.”

I let out a slow breath. “Yeah… I figured.”

“She gave you a letter.”

“She did.”

Another beat passed between us. Then he asked, quieter this time, “What did you say?”

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, eyes fixed on the water’s black surface. The moon shimmered in the ripples like a secret it couldn’t hold.

“I told her I wasn’t really into that kind of thing. Not right now, at least.”

He turned his head a little. I felt him looking.

“Why not?” he asked.

I shrugged, suddenly aware of how loud the water sounded between our silences.

“It just didn’t feel right,” I said. “She’s nice and all, but…”

But she wasn’t you.

I didn’t say it.

I turned to him instead. His profile was tight—jaw clenched, eyes wet but not crying. Like he’d already done that part before I showed up.

“You okay?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. Just gave the tiniest shrug, like even that was hard.

So I reached out and tugged his jacket tighter around him. My hand brushed his shoulder, lingered there for a second—just enough for him to feel it, to know I was still here.

“You’re freezing, dummy,” I said softly. “Let’s go. My mom’s got the fireplace going and there’s leftover cider.”

He didn’t move right away.

But when I stood, he followed.

We walked back together, side by side. Our hands never touched. We didn’t say anything more.

And even though I hadn’t said what I really wanted to say…

Even though I didn’t know if I ever would…

He was walking beside me.

We didn’t talk on the way back.

The night had thinned into a still, crisp kind of silence, and every step felt like it echoed too loudly. The leaves on the sidewalk cracked under our sneakers like brittle bones, sharp and dry. I stayed beside him, careful not to walk too fast, careful not to let the space between us stretch too far.

Noah didn’t look at me. I didn’t try to make him.

Some things can’t be patched up with words—not right away. And maybe not ever, if you say the wrong ones too soon. So I didn’t. I just walked.

By the time we hit Maplebrooke Lane, the streetlamps were casting those long, soft shadows, and the houses were tucked in behind yellow windows and blue TV light. It was the kind of warmth that felt almost too far away. Like looking in from the cold and wondering if you were meant to stay out there.

When we got to his house, I saw the porch light was still on. Waiting.

The second his foot hit the step, the front door burst open.

“Noah James Bennet,” his mom’s voice rang out—tight and full of worry, but sharp too, like she was trying not to let it slip.

She pulled him into a hug before he could even answer. Her arms wrapped around him in that firm, protective way she always had—like she could squeeze the fear out of both of them. But her hand on his shoulder stayed there a little too long, a little too hard.

“Do you know what time it is? Curfew was hours ago!” she scolded, voice cracking just once. “You can’t just disappear like that—not without telling someone!”

Noah didn’t say anything. Just let her hold him. He looked small, almost, against her. Like a kid again.

“I was with Caleb,” he mumbled finally, barely loud enough to hear.

She looked past him, and I raised a hand, awkward. “Evenin’, Mrs. Bennet.”

Her eyes softened, but only a bit. That tired mix of frustration and relief flickered across her face. Then she sighed, deep and heavy, and stepped back into the house.

“Come in, both of you. Supper’s still warm,” she said. Then to Noah, quieter, “We’re talking later.”

Noah nodded, but didn’t look at her.

The warmth of the house hit me first—smell of cooked rice and something buttery—and then the mirror in the hallway caught us both as we came in. He looked wrecked. Red eyes. Wind-tousled hair. Something hollow in the way his shoulders sagged. I probably looked better on the outside, but that didn’t mean much.

Mrs. Bennet walked into the kitchen and called back, “Caleb, would you like to stay for dinner?”

I glanced at Noah. He didn’t nod or speak, but he didn’t shake his head either. His silence felt like a maybe. Like something I could step into, just for a little while.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” I said.

“No trouble at all,” she replied, pulling out plates like it was just another Wednesday.

“Wash your hands first,” she added.

We headed to the little hallway sink. I turned on the faucet—cold at first, then too hot—and tried not to look at Noah while the water rushed between our hands.

When I reached for the towel, I bumped his shoulder. Not hard. Just a nudge.

I didn’t say anything.

He didn’t either.

But he didn’t pull away.

And somehow, that was enough.