Page 92 of Within These County Lines

He bites the inside of his cheek. “I wish I had some candy right now.”

I touch his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m afraid. The last time I did this—”

“This time is different,” I insist. “It’s going to work. It’s like an inverse function. Math has never failed me before.”

His breath shudders. “But what if it doesn’t? What if things get worse?”

My hands slide up from his shoulders to cup his face. “They won’t. Trust me. The only thing to fear is things staying the same.”

His throat bobs. His eyes shine gold in the dimming light. “That’s my worst case.” His voice cracks. “The sameness, with the hope of change completely gone.” He bows his head.

I pull him into a hug. “We have to try,” I say softly. My gaze flickers to the carved hearts full of couples and futures behind him. “I want you to meet people. There’s so much to experience after you come out. It all gets better from here. But to get to better, we have to be brave.”

His warm tears drop onto my shoulder.

“Help me up,” he murmurs. He takes ahold of the trunk and digs his foot against the coarse bark. I lace my hands together and give him a boost toward the upper branches. He faulters for a moment but quickly finds his footing and vanishes into the leaves.

Dara appears, out of breath. “The deed is done,” she says. I take the crowbar from her. It’s warm from her grip.

“What did you write?”

“I went with the classic boys rule.”

I nod in affirmation. “The Ardor Tree appreciates tradition.”

“Your turn.”

I don’t hesitate. My carving requires no thought. I don’t need to rephrase or rethink, just redo. I go to the smooth, untouched bark where my old heart used to be. An open canvas.

Stetson + Murray.

I wish I could write someone new. That’s who I want to gift my heart—a boy far from Penango. But I’m scared that writing a new name might make that person lose their ability to see me too. I don’t want to ruin my chances with any boys before we even meet. So I close my eyes and carve Murray’s name again, hoping the tree forgives me.

Once we’re all finished, we step back, gawking at the tree like it’s a windmill about to spin.

But the tree never moves.

“Do you think it worked?” Dara asks.

“It might take time,” I say. “Maybe a day or two. You were at Pinehurst when things changed the first time around. When was that? A few days after you wrote on the tree?”

“Hopefully it forgives faster than it curses,” Xander says.

“Who did you write?” I ask him.

“Andrew,” he says with a shrug. “I don’t even think he was gay. But he was cute.”

I cross my fingers.

Xander looks away.

“Y’all want to go to the Bean?” Dara says flatly. “I might as well enjoy the food while I’m back in town. We can watch Xander materialize over burgers.”

Xander sighs. “Can we stop at the pharmacy for candy first though?” he asks. “I need something sweet.”

They turn toward my truck. I track them through the trees, and the ice scraper in Xander’s hand reflects rays from the setting sun back at my eyes. They quickly shrink in the distance. I look over my shoulder one last time at the thick branches, searching, waiting for movements.