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“Excited?”

“Maybe.” I look toward it, larger now than from across the boardwalk. “I’ve never been on one, so I’m actually not entirely sure how scared I am of heights. The thought of it doesn’t sound too bad though.”

“That’s the spirit,” he says as we move up. “But if you’re scared, even if it’s as soon as we sit, we can rush off.”

I glance at him. “What if I get scared while we’re on it?”

“Then I’ll climb out and scale the ride, drop down and take control of the machine, and spin you back around.”

I put a hand to my chest. “My hero,” I say, deadpan.

On our turn to enter the carriage, Theo holds open the door. I hop on, and Theo remains standing there once I balance myself on it and sit on one side.

“All good?” he asks.

I grin at him. “All good.”

He sits in the opposite seat and watches me as the ride turns on and we slowly make our climb. I trace numbers into the palm of my hand. The wheel isn’t enclosed, so the breeze grazes our skin as we move. My gaze travels to the bridge, where, as Theo promised, I spot the blue lights sprinkled throughout its length.

Theo grabs my hand. “What are you doing?”

“Huh?” I pull my hand away. “I was just thinking of this math problem.”

“You’re seriously studying in your head? Hand tracing?” He pats my thigh twice. “Lopez, I promise you it’s not that serious.”

“It is.” I stiffen. “I’ve been getting at least one problem wrong every quiz, test, or practice sheet. I’m messing up too much.”

“Getting one problem wrong is as close to perfect as humanly possible.”

“But close to perfect is not perfect.” I link my fingers together.

He gives me a sympathetic look that makes me want to push him off the ride. “Is the world going to end if you get a problem wrong? Are they going to take grant money from one of the top students because she forgot the formula for a single problem?”

“Maybe,” I say, heat building at the base of my neck. “You don’t know otherwise. Besides, a lawyer can’t make any mistakes. My mom told me she almost got fired because she had typos in a court motion and the judge denied it.” She had to be perfect to get respect, to keep her job. Same thing for anyone else without a safety net. “My dad almost got a job at a better-paying company but mispronounced the name of it during the interview and they thought he didn’t do his research properly. And one single problem can risk me getting docked from my ranking. My grant contract states I have to always remain in the top five. Being perfect matters.” When he opens his mouth, I add, “To people like me.”

He leans back and places his hands behind his neck, relaxed. “I get what you mean, and all that is valid, but Lopez, you’re not perfect. Nobody is, and it’s impossible to be that way. You’re going to slip up sometimes.” He pauses, clearly clocking the expression I’m making right now. “Why do you look like you’re about to have a heart attack at the very thought of it?”

I rub my hands over my face. Of course he’d never understand until he lived a life of always trying to prove himself, to witness his parents trying to fix their accents and blend in with their peers, and to try to get perfect grades because it’s the only gift I could give them—one less thing to worry about. I was a smart kid and I was going to get into a good school, land an amazing job, and they’d never have to worry about me.

“I know I can’t be perfect,” I tell him, “but I’m still going to try.”

He sighs, and I point to the lights below. “Pretty,” I say, ready to change the subject to something we can find common ground in.

“Yes,” Theo says.

I look over at Theo and he’s still watching me. His words from before echo in my head again. I wonder if it’s true. I wonder if I could reach back to certain moments in time, look over, and find Theo watching.

“You said you wanted to talk to me for a while,” I say, feeling lighter the higher we go up, the darker the night gets, the brighter the LED lights make Theo’s eyes gleam.

He nods slowly. “I did.”

“I don’t want to ask why since you’ll just list out nice things about me,” I say when he opens his mouth. I hold up a hand. “So I’ll ask, when, then, did you first want to?”

“Curious?”

“Impatient too,” I say, looking at him expectantly.

He leans back, scratching at his neck. The movement gives me a view of his jawline, the way it tightens and loosens as he thinks. “Before, you said we didn’t have a single conversation. That we didn’t know each other.”