Perhaps I cried myself to sleep. All I know is that I gasp into alertness. The right side of my body is now cold from leaning against the toilet. I push myself away and avoid taking a serious look at the grime on the floor or toilet.

The door to the lady's room swings open. I freeze, but there are no footsteps. A concerned voice says my name. I don't immediately respond, but he says it again.

"Alison, are you in here?"

Philip?

I stand up in the stall and swallow, hoping to muster a voice that sounds normal. I force a smile for good measure.

"Give me a minute."

The door swings shut, and I exit the stall and look at myself in the mirror. The remaining make-up doesn't look as bad as I had imagined. Still, I wash my face and use toilet paper to clear up the mascara. It leaves my skin redder and raw. How I wish I had grabbed my purse. Then I could at least apply a little concealer under my eyes.

I cup my hands under the running faucet, drink some water and then smooth out my hair. I force some smiles, pinch my cheeks, but there's no hiding it.

And then I am at the door, opening it just crack and peeping my face out.

Philip stares back at me looking worried, looking gentle, looking like a promise to end my misery.

"You okay?" he says.

I look directly into his eyes. Nothing happens. And I laugh and wipe my nose.

"Oh, you know, just a full-blown panic attack." I stare at a crack in the sidewalk under his shoe. He has no socks on. "I know. It's pretty pathetic."

"Your cousins are looking for you."

"Are they now?" I laugh again. "So you met them?"

There's a pause.

"I bumped into Mia."

I chuckle. "And has that complicated things?"

His lips curve upward. "I've decided I can handle it. Actually, I'd changed my mind awhile ago. I was heading your way when I overheard . . . well."

"Must have been a shock for them," I say. "Brianna had been insisting I made you up." I try to laugh but it sounds more like a whimper.

"Sorry," I say.

"Don't be," he says and reaches toward me, almost touching my cheek.

I give him a soft smile but say nothing.

"I'm going to go tell Mia that I found you," he says. "Stay here. I'll be right back."

He runs off, but I don't watch him go. Instead, I step outside and play with the bathroom door—not quite opening and shutting it but moving it on its hinges. I hear the inflections of Philip and Mia's voices in the distance but willfully don't pick up any words. Instead, I stare up at the overhead light and watch the moths flutter around it, listening closely to the patterning of their wings against the plastic and the buzz of electricity. I slide my hand along the paint of the door, paying attention to the texture and imperfections—anything to stall my mind from thinking.

I barely notice when Philip returns, but suddenly he is nudging my back with some solid object in his hand. I turn around.

"I got this for you," he says and passes into my hands a small object. I turn it over and look at it.

"It's concealer," I say, astonished.

"Mia said just to return it to her purse tonight when no one's looking."

I know I shouldn't be surprised, but I still say, "Mia knows I . . ." I spin the makeup between my fingers anxiously.

"Alison . . ." Philip says, but I shake my head.

"I'm sorry," I say. "I'm so sorry. I'm absolutely pathetic. No one should have to baby me—not Mia, not you. I just—"

And then my mouth is spitting out words, anxieties and insecurities faster than even I can comprehend. And I'm apologizing for sharing too much with him, for turning him off by this long speedy monologue that is vomiting out of my mouth. I'm sorry for being too sorry, for ruining everything, for being weak and helpless and unattractive and crushing over him and obsessing about him for a full month. I know he'll never want to speak to me again, and I can't blame him. He—

And he kisses me.

That is, he says my name. I stop talking. I look up. His lips softly brush against mine. My insides tickle and warm with electricity. My eyes widen. And it's over. He stands before me with my chin cupped in his hand and is smiling at me.

I take a step back and nearly fall into the door.

I stutter. "I—I'm just going—I'm just going—going to—I don't know what I'm going to do, but I'll be in the bathroom."

He smiles. "Okay."

And I cocoon myself in the dingy, dimly lit, somewhat smelly building that is just the opposite of romantic.

"Oh my God."

I turn and look at myself in the mirror. I say it again.

"Oh my God."

I bring my hands—and the bottle of concealer—to my lips and pace the room repeating it over and over.

"OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod."

I notice my hands have begun to shake when I nearly drop Mia's concealer. I walk over to the sink, set the make-up aside, and cling to the edges of the sink for balance. A small squeal escapes my mouth, but I stop short and shoot a glance at the door. I swallow a giggle and fumble with the concealer as I attempt to open it. I try not to spill it. I try not to poke my eyeball as I apply it.

"Oh my God. How am I going to do this?" I cry as I struggle with the make-up. "Oh my God. He kissed you. Alison, he kissed you. Oh no! Now don't tear up. This won't work if you tear up. How do you even have tears left to tear up with? Oh God! Stop this."

I stomp my foot on the floor.

"Stop shivering, you moron! Oh my God. But he kissed you!"

I laugh again.

"He kissed you, and you're freaking out about it and talking to yourself in 2nd person!"

I force myself to keep silent as I apply the rest of the concealer. Then, I walk to the door and prepare myself for—normalcy. I swallow. I suck my cheeks in briefly. I take a breath. I open the door, and—

Mia is before me. She leans to one side with her arms folded across her chest.

"Hi," she says.

"Uh—hi."

"You can just give me back the concealer now," she says. "Philip's over by the playground. He needs to talk to you before you head back."

"Okay," I say and hand her back the concealer.

She takes it, stuffs it into her purse, but then stands there blinking at me for several seconds.

"What?" I finally say.

And then without a word, she turns and walks into the darkness where the shadows engulf her long before the echoes of her footsteps can no longer be heard.

I step out of the doorway and let the door swing shut behind me. The overhead light is still buzzing as moths flutter around. The road to the left looks completely empty. There are a few campfires lit in the distance, but all the nearby campers look dark and deserted.

I find Philip on the bench overlooking the playground. It feels a bit eerie in the darkness with the insects humming around and the darker shadows extending out from the monkey bars, but I sit down beside him on the bench.

He doesn't look at me.

"Hi," I say.

"Hi."

I hug my chest briefly. The night is hot, but the wind still has a chill.

"So, uh," I say. "I—uh—suppose you heard—"

"I don't regret it," he says, and I go silent. "Not really, anyway." He looks at me. "I hope it's not the last time."

"Oh."

I look down and give a shy little giggle.

"I probably shouldn't have, though," he says, and we are silent for several moments.

"Because," I say, and then I mumble. "Because you have a girlfriend?"

He shakes his head without looking at me.

"No. Nothing like that."

Then a crow lands on the monkey bars before us and gives a little caw.

Philip looks over at the bird and chuckles.

"Oh, you're curious, are you?" he says.

"Huh?"

But he turns toward me, takes my hands into his and sets them between our laps. The color of his eyes are barely discernible in the darkness, but the whites standout nonetheless.

"You've already suspected that I'm different," he says. "That I have . . . an affect on you."

I look down at our hands. His thumb rubs over the back of my palm.

"More than just attraction," he continues. "That I . . . calm you."

And then I'm looking back into his eyes and am forgetting to breathe. The pain returns, but it isn't as intense, and the calm it leaves in its wake is mediocre, more like how I feel after I've been away from him for a couple of hours.

He takes my left hand, intertwines our fingers and lifts them up together so that we are touching palm to palm. My heart beats rapidly.

He smiles gently.

"You're going to need to breathe, Alison," he says. "This is better demonstrated than told."

As I force myself to inhale, a soft cool breeze tickles the back of my neck and ruffles the edges of Philip's hair. There is another caw from the monkey bars, and I am distracted momentarily by the arrival of a second crow.

"Ignore them, Alison," Philip says, and his voice sounds a little hallow. "Look at me or you'll miss it."

I turn my gaze back, and with a swift rush of wind, he evaporates before my eyes. The wind disperses what subtle image there is left of his face and body. And then I am falling off the bench and exhaling a soft wimper.

Philip reappears before me, bending forward, bracing me by the arm and softening my fall.

One of the birds coo's that strange Aw-lee sound, and Philip pulls me into his chest. I'm not even sure what to do. My ear leans against his solid torso, and he says, "Calm down. Calm down."

"Don't—don't fricken tell me to calm down!"

But the pain is already trickling from his fingers, spreading across my skin and soothing me. My breathing slows, and the longer he holds me, the more it feels like I can't let go. If I let go, I'll panic again. I'll have to deal with the reality that he—that he is—

I pull just a little away from him, looking up at his face.

"You," I say. "You have a heartbeat."

He nods.

"But what," I say. "What are you?"

He gives a sad grin and shakes his head.

"I wish there were an easy answer to that question," he says.