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He pulls back, and when I lift my head, he’s eyeing me strangely. “I was actually thinking the opposite. That I’m not sure we were ready for it. I definitely wasn’t.”
“Maybe not,” I admit. Still, it’s shattering, thinking of what we could have shared. Visions of an alternate timeline pass through my mind—football games and homecoming dances and awkward photos and—
I force it away. That’s not our reality.
“It’s kind of poetic that it’s happening tonight, though,” he says. Then, with a thread of worry in his voice: “It’s not just tonight for you, is it? Because I’m really in this, if you are.”
“I am. This… this feels real. I want to be with you.” I’m aware, again, of all the conversations we haven’t had yet. The conversations I’m suddenly afraid to have when he feels so right next to me.
He traces the outline of my eyebrow with his fingertip. One, and then the other, as though he is trying to memorize what I look like. “I wanted to tell you. I decided I’m not going to see my dad this summer. Maybe one day I’ll change my mind about it and want some kind of relationship with him, but it’s still too raw. I’m not ready.”
“You feel good about that?”
He nods. “I do. And—I made an appointment online. To change my last name. It’s time.”
“Neil,” I say, placing my hand on his knee. “That’s… wow.”
“It’s the right decision for me. For a lot of reasons.”
“I’ll have to change your nicknames.” When he makes an odd face, I add: “I look forward to it.”
I lean in and kiss him. It’s so easy to get caught up in the moment with him, for the outside world to dissolve away.
“I also, um, got something for you,” he says after a few moments, shifting so he can get to his backpack. “After we split up, I passed by a QFC, and I thought it might at least make you smile if you decided you wanted to talk to me again. And that maybe you’d be hungry.” With that, he reveals the gift: a tub of Philadelphia with a red ribbon around it, and a compostable bag with two bagels inside. “I also have a spoon, if you prefer it that way.”
“You’re never going to let me forget that, huh?” I say, though my heart trips over this unexpected gift. It’s ridiculous, yes, but it’s also so damn sweet.
“No. I love it. I—” He breaks off, as though realizing he might reveal something he’s not sure I’m ready for.
“I love you too,” I say, and the horror on his face eases back into calm. It’s so easy to say, and it gives me such a rush that I immediately want to say it again. “I, um, I read what you wrote in my yearbook. In my defense, it was tomorrow, and I thought you hated me. But I’m in love with you, Neil McNair—Neil Perlman—and I think maybe I’ve been in love with you for a long time. It just took my brain a while to catch up to my heart. I don’t know how I missed it, but you are pretty fucking great.”
It’s incredible to watch someone melt in front of you. His face softens and his lips part, and he pulls me so close that I can feel our hearts thudding against each other.
“I know I wrote it down, but I have to say it out loud now too,” he says. I brace myself for it. I’ve wanted to hear t
hose words ever since I found that first romance novel at a garage sale. “I’m in love with you. You are the most interesting person I know, and I’ve never been able to talk to anyone the way I can talk to you. I’ve devoted the past four years to leaving Seattle, but you… You are the best thing about this city. You are going to be the hardest to leave. I love you so much.”
From all the books I’ve read, I thought I understood the concept of love, but wow, I knew nothing. I fold myself into him, not because I want his body heat but because I can’t seem to get as close as I want to be. I thought I was prepared to hear it. After all, I’d already seen it in writing. But it fills me up completely, to the point where my chest nearly aches. I’ve given this boy the messiest parts of me, and he’s done nothing but convince me he’ll be careful with them.
With starry eyes, we kiss and we watch the sky and we dip bagels into cream cheese. When we finish eating, I reach into my backpack and pull out Rowan Roth’s Guide to High School Success.
“So this was kind of bullshit, huh?”
“Not bullshit,” he says. “But possibly not the most encouraging or inspiring thing?”
“I don’t know if I want to tear it up.” I flip it over on the railing, smooth out the wrinkles. “But maybe we could write a new one?”
Rowan Roth’s Guide to College Success… and Beyond!
By Rowan Luisa Roth, age 18 and Neil (Perlman) McNair, age 18
Abandon the idea of “perfect” because it doesn’t exist. No one wants a perfect cinnamon roll; they want one that’s wonky and misshapen and slathered with icing. Cream cheese icing, of course.
Finish my book. Write another one.
Take as many classes that sound interesting as I can. Creative writing, and maybe Spanish, and maybe some other things too. Keep an OPEN MIND!
Listen to more happy music, though melancholy music has its time and place too.
