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I gasp, stick out one hand and hold the other to my chest, feigning a dramatic, soap-opera-esque moment. “Could that be… ice cream?”

“Why yes, yes it is.”

“Vanilla?”

“With rainbow sprinkles.”

I grin. “You
really do know how to please a guy, Cat Davenport.”

“Like hell I do.”

I sit down next to her, taking one ice cream and handing the other to her. She gives me a spoon, says, “Enjoy! I’m a badass, I know,” and for a little while, we just eat and stare out at the other students leaving school, at the sports teams getting together for practice, anything than to meet each other’s gaze. Anything but to face the truth.

If there was a prize for most awkward maybe-couple, we would come in
first.

“So
,” Cat says when we’re both done with our (delicious) ice creams. “You ready for exams?”

“No. You?”

“Nah. I’m too busy buying ice cream for this friend of mine.”

“You mean you’re buying ic
e cream for other guys?” I say in my fake-dramatic voice.

“PLOT TWIST!!!!”

“You are such a dork.”

“No, no,” she says, shaking her head.
“West Ryder, I am wonderful.”

“Well, that may be true,” I say, turning to h
er, “but you are still a dork. Correction: you are
my
dork.”

“And you love me for it, right? For being a dork?” she says jokingly, but as soon as the words leave her mouth we both realize what she’s just asked. She stops, holds her breath, and I feel like I’ve been slapped.

“I…” I say, not entirely sure how to respond. She raises her eyebrow. “Um, well, this is awkward,” I finally say.

“
I agree,” Cat says, forcing a nervous laugh.

I listen to the hum of cars driving past, the distant chirping of birds
in the trees high above. The sky is clear aside from a few clouds, and it feels nice to be outside with Cat again. “So, Cat,” I finally say. “I don’t really know what is going on… with… us… but I do know that whatever happens, I don’t want to lose you. So for now, maybe we could try just staying best friends again?”

I am acutely aware of her eyes on me, studying me. There’s a long silence before she
answers. “Friends,” she murmurs as if to test out the word. Then she starts nodding, and says “Friends” again, louder this time, and I know she’s agreed. “Yeah, okay. That sounds good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she says.

“You always were a terrible liar.”

She narrows her eyes, looking at me with both suspicion and curiosity. “Why do you think I’m lying?”

I smile vaguely. “Your lip,” I say. “It always twitches when you lie. Just
a little, but it’s always there. It’s been like that for years.”

She
moves closer to me, her side only inches from mine. “You were watching my lips?”

My stomach drops. Oh shit. I was, wasn’t I? I was staring at her lips. It was s
o natural I didn’t even notice it, but I still
was
staring at her. Whoa. “Yeah, I mean… no… I mean...” I trail off.

“You’re also a terrible liar,” she says quietly.

“And how do you know that?”

She nods at my cheek. “Your dimples. You always bring out the dimples—or as I like to call them, the Big Guns—when you lie, because you’re so focused on looking normal and
smiley and
not
like you’re lying that you look exactly like you’re lying.”

I whistle to myself. My eyes are on hers.
“So we can even tell when the other is lying,” I say quietly. “We’re like an old married couple and we aren’t even a couple.”

“Yeah,” she sa
ys, “I guess.” There’s a pause, and we both look at each other, searching for words to say but coming up with nothing. “This is weird, you know. We’re both skirting the whole romance thing, intentionally or not. We can’t keep doing this, can we?” I don’t respond.

“
Either we try…” Cat takes a deep breath, hesitates. “…to be more than friends, or we stay best friends.”

“
It has to be so black and white?”

“I think so.”

I close my eyes. “I guess… I guess we should stay best friends,” I say. “If we have to choose.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

She nods reluctantly. “You’re right.
We’ll be badass, ice-cream-eating best friends and forget everything else. Deal?” she asks.

“Deal,” I say, but as
soon as the words leave my mouth, I’m not sure I mean it.

Chapter 16

I spend the rest of my afternoon in my room, not studying, not working, just staring up at the ceiling and thinking.

Dad approached me on my way up the stairs nearly an hour ago. This time, though, he didn’t glare at me, didn’t scream about what a waste of space I am. He just said, “Hey,” and his eyes were trained on mine, but he looked so suddenly tired, like the stress of the last year had finally hit him. I mumbled “Hey” back and slipped past, because I knew a conversation with Dad would only result in me feeling worse and worse, and I can’t have that again. “Good luck with exams,” Dad mumbled as I raced up the stairs. Then I heard him sigh to himself like he regretted something. He moved back to the kitchen. For more beer, I assumed.

As I lie there, I keep thinkin
g about Cat, about Mom and Dad and our broken family. It shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does. I mean, it’s been a year with Dad how he is, half a year without Mom, and
I still have Cat
, so why does it matter anymore? I should be over it. I shouldn’t be visiting Mom’s grave every week hoping she’ll return, I shouldn’t be acting as if Dad is just a little tired and having 365 consecutive bad days, I shouldn’t worry about whether I love my best friend or not. We’re still friends. We fought, but she’s still here. I don’t need love to be happy.
I don’t need to worry.

Sometimes
, like now, I wonder why Dad stopped caring. It feels like it’s been a millennium since he was happy, but really it’s only been a year. I guess I’ll never know why he gave up, though. It’s just one of those things that I don’t really need an answer to. Maybe he got depressed. Maybe he let it get to him. Maybe work was too stressful. Maybe he just decided to call it quits.

I don’t know.

And I’m not sure I care, either.

I sigh, click over to my vlog page,
and refresh it aimlessly a few times, but I don’t know what to think, what to
do
. Then I see my camera positioned in front of me. My camera. The only way I have ever been able to get my thoughts out before. It worked for Mom, kind of, so maybe it’ll work now. For Cat. For Dad. I roll my eyes at how stupid it sounds, but it’s not like I have anything better to do.  So I reach out and turn on then camera, take a breath, and start talking.

“Sometimes,” I say
into the lens, “loving people sucks. It’s scary, terrifying really, but you have to do it. You have to take that deep breath and make the plunge, for all of its hurt and emptiness and confusion to come, because loving someone is worth it. I loved my mom,” I say, but I can’t look at the camera any longer. Instead, I focus my gaze on my light-blue-painted wall in front of me. I keep blinking and blinking, hoping the tears won’t come again. “She’s gone now,” I continue, “and now my dad is gone to me, too. It… hurts… to lose someone you love. When Mom died, I…” I close my eyes. Talk about making a fool of myself. “I didn’t know what to do,” I say, my voice hushed. “I felt empty, lost, hurt, and more than that, I felt confused. How could someone I love die on me like that? How could it hurt so much? And why couldn’t I have had a warning? I mean, I never even got to say goodbye…” Another pained breath. The tears keep threatening to come, but I fight them. I’m not going to cry. I’m strong. I’m
strong
. “And then I couldn’t stop wondering why the hell I bothered to love her in the first place, if all it did was leave me with tears and pain and a deep sense of confusion.”

I grit my teeth.

“That was my low point. How could I forget all of the happiness she brought me when she was alive, just like that? How could it suddenly be not worth it? How could a moment of pain change how I feel about my own mother? I didn’t know, and that was and still is the problem: I don’t know. But,” I say, “I wouldn’t trade loving her for anything else. Sure, the memories don’t turn into happiness as quickly as they say. Sure, you don’t just ‘get better’ one morning. Sure, it feels like you’re trapped and will never escape. But that doesn’t matter. It feels like that because you’ve loved someone, and that’s an amazing thing. That’s something
important
. And yeah, it hurts. It fucking burns. “But,” I say, “it hurts because it matters.”

I pause, my temples pounding
, my head throbbing so hard I swear it’s about to explode. “There’s this girl who I’ve known for the longest time who, the other month, told me she loves me. And now? Now I’m afraid of her. Afraid of wanting her. Afraid of
loving
her. But why? For what? Because I’ll be broken again? Once again, I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I just know… that I don’t want to put myself out there again. That I don’t want to lose anyone else.” I tighten my jaw. “But I’m done hiding. I’m done being afraid. So I’m taking the leap. Eventually, it will hurt. Eventually, I will fall off this cliff of happiness, at least for a while. And yes, it will feel like my heart is being ripped apart over again, but it won’t even matter, because I will have been with her.”

I close my eyes and look away, my whole body a mess of energy and mixed emotions.
Then, without thinking, I turn off the camera, sync the recording to my computer, take a deep breath, and upload it.

***

“West!” Dad calls from downstairs a few minutes later. “Dinner! Now!” I sigh and stand up. Time to make him dinner. Again. I stumble down the stairs, my head throbbing, and turn into the kitchen.

But this time, Dad isn’t sitting on the table with his beer, waiting for me to do all his work for him. In fact, all of the beers are tucked in the corner of the room, near the recycling, and Dad is standing in the kitchen, wearing Mom’s old apron and holding
up a spatula. I stare at him, and he forces a small smile as he holds out a piece of chicken.

“I made dinner,” is all he says.

Chapter 17

It hits me the second I swing open the front door on my way back from school the next day. Cat’s birthday. It’s tomorrow.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. It’s really her birthday tomorrow, isn’t it? And I forgot. I’ve been so focused on everything else that I
completely forgot my best friend’s birthday. I haven’t even gotten her anything.

Yep. I’m officially the worst friend ever.

But after everything else I’ve screwed up, there is no way I’m ruining her birthday of all things.

In a flash,
I throw my backpack inside, mumble to my dad that I’m going to get Cat a gift even though I know he can’t hear me, turn, and run back out the door. I’m many things, but “poor present giver” is not one of them. I’m basically the king of presents, and I plan to stay that way.

I climb into Dad’s old pickup truck, slam the door, turn on the ignition, and start driving. I almost hit our mailbox as I back out, but I don’t care. I press my foot on the accelerator and speed down the road to the supermarket, because that’s where all the true present-giving badasses go.
One red light, one downed stop sign, and two near-dead old ladies later (I’m still not entirely sure how I passed the driver’s test…) I skid into the grocery store parking lot. 

“This’ll be the best damn birthday present you
’ve ever seen, Cat Davenport,” I mutter to myself as I push open the door, step out of the car, and walk inside the store. The supermarket itself is less “super” than it is a market, with its mere four cramped aisles of food. At the very least, however, it has what I need. The lights flicker above me as I walk, and I appear to be the only customer in here aside from the creepy old man standing in the corner. I go for the cake supplies immediately. Cat loves cake almost as much as I love ice cream. But even more than that, she loves cake when someone bakes it
for her
. I remember how her face lit up last year, when I made her the most kickass Dora the Explorer cake known to man, how she shrieked and danced and grinned at me. Just the thought of her looking so happy brings a smile to my lips.

On top of the standard cake supplies I grab Oreos, chocolate icing, and a packet of sour gummy worms, her favorite toppings.
I also slip in a bag of cookie dough for myself because hey, a guy’s got to eat.

When I’m back home,
I head to the kitchen, dump out the eggs and sugar and the rest of the groceries into a large white bowl, and begin my cake cooking expedition. Dad isn’t in the kitchen for once, and that I am thankful for. He’s probably passed out on the sofa in the family room, though, which is not exactly something I want to get myself into now. So I distract myself with cooking. Next I get out the butter, the Oreos, and start preparing the cake.