When Clay started asking all those questions about my sexuality, I wondered if this was his way of saying it without saying it. It could be hard knowing who to trust in such a provincial town. Simply saying the words out loud was terrifying sometimes. Even to someone who would undoubtedly offer support.

I tried to pry subtly. But subtlety wasn't one of my strengths, so Clay missed the point altogether. Although it was cute to see him getting so flustered.

Back at my house, Clay stopped me before I got out of the car with a hand on my arm. "Wait."

Hope blossomed in my chest. Was this the moment I'd hoped for when I agreed to this outing. "Yeah?"

Then it came crashing down. Clay pointed at my head. "My hat."

"Oh." I took it off and handed it back. I pushed the door open and stepped out. "Well, bye."

After I closed the door, the window rolled down with a low mechanical whir. Clay leaned across the passenger seat, the hat back in its rightful home. It looked so much better on him. "I had a great time, Emmett."

"Me, too."

"We should do that again." It sounded more like a question. As if he weren't sure that we should.

"Go-karts and Mexican?"

Clay laughed and threw up his hand. "Or mini golf and pizza—which is neither cold, nor stolen from twelve-year-olds. Maybe a hike and a hoagie."

"Sounds fun."

"I'll call you."

I nodded. "Do that."

Clay gave a half-wave as the window slid up.

I stood on the curb and waved as Clay drove away. I waited until the little white Honda turned the corner before I crossed the street to Carrie's house.

Her Miata was in the driveway, so I didn't bother knocking. "Honey, I'm home!" I called out.

"Hi, Em," Carrie's mom called out from somewhere deep in the house. "Carrie's out back, by the pool."

"Thanks, Mom."

Obviously, she wasn't really my mom, but she may as well have been. The Herreras had lived across the street from us since before I could remember. Carrie and her mother were a constant fixture in my life. Carrie and I had been inseparable since our first play date. Over the years, we'd bonded over being the only children of single, career-driven mothers. The proximity helped too. Our mothers were also extremely close. I used to wish they were lesbians—or at least bi—so they could get married and we could be a family, then Carrie and I could live in the same house and actually be related.

"Anytime, mijo," Dr. Herrera said.

Carrie was in the pool, laid out on an inflatable pink lounger, letting her hand drift through the water as she floated aimlessly. Her bronze skin glistening from sunscreen. She didn't look like she'd even touched the water. Her hair and bikini were both bone dry.

"You're looking lovely today, Care."

Carrie pushed her sunglasses off her eyes and lifted her head to look at me. "And you're being unusually nice today, Emmie."

I took a seat at the edge of the pool and rolled up my pant legs. I removed my shoes and socks to dip my feet into the water. It was bracing at first, icy cold. Being so hot out, the chill was nice. I had a love/hate relationship with summertime. I longed for it during school, but I detested the sweltering heat and humidity. And sweating, most of all. Although the hot guys that jogged through our neighborhood shirtless almost made up for the downsides.

"What happened to your knee?"

"I fell. Scraped it."

Thinking back to Clay blowing on my knee, looking up at me with that sweet grin and those brown eyes, gave me a bit of glee.

Carrie returned the glasses to shade her eyes and stared up at the clear blue sky. "Just a heads up. That guy from bowling the other night asked me for your number. You know, the one you betrayed me over and went all Ides of March on me, Brutus? Not that I'm bitter or anything."

"Need I remind you, dear Ceasar, you and your boyfriend put me on his team."

I actually came here to tell her all about today. I wanted to get her thoughts on it. She probably knew Clay fairly well, since he was her boyfriend's best friend. I told everything that happened. Carrie listened, her mouth gaping wider with every word.

"Do you think he likes you?" she asked.

"He just broke up with his girlfriend," I said with a shrug.

"Are you saying that because you think that means he's straight? Or because that means he's another guy on the rebound?"

Another shrug, with a headshake thrown in for good measure.

"The answer to the first is you can never know that for sure unless you ask," Carrie said, holding up one finger. Which was an excellent point. I could guess and look for clues all I wanted, but only Clay could answer that question.

Carrie held up a second finger. "The answer to the second... more complicated. Especially after my disastrous attempt at matchmaking."

I reached down and flicked water at her. "I'm over Tanner."

Carrie huffed, brushing the droplets off her leg. "Yeah. Okay." She clearly didn't believe me. I didn't blame her. I had a tendency to wallow in bad news, wrapping it around my heart like a blanket until I was miserable.

Wiping away the sweat beading on my forehead, I stood up and stripped off my shirt. "Move over, I'm coming in."

Carrie paddled her raft out of my path.

I removed my jeans and tossed them out of the splash zone. Boxer briefs were just as good as a bathing suit. And her mom wouldn't care.

I ran and jumped into the deep end. The frigid water stabbed at my skin in such a satisfying way, although it did sting the cut on my knee a bit at first. I stayed under for as long as I could until my lungs burned. I kicked off from the bottom and rocketed to the surface, gasping for breath in the fresh air.

"I give it a five for form, Bob," Carrie said, affecting the tone of a bored sportscaster. "He's done much better in past performances."

I slapped the water. "Fuck! There goes my Olympic dreams."

"Sorry 'bout it. The panel has to remain impartial. No matter how much the judges adore you."

I released an exaggerated sigh. "Fair enough."

When my jeans dinged a few minutes later, I climbed out of the pool and went over to check my phone, gingerly slipping it from the pocket to avoid wetting my pants too much. It was just a number. No name. I tapped the text to open my message app.

My heart skipped a beat as my eyes scrolled across the words, seeing the messages above, realizing who this was from.

What r u doin tomorrow?

I don't know. What are we doing?

Panic immediately set in after I hit send. That was too presumptuous. Using "we," like we were a couple.

😁

The dots appeared again. My pulse pounded as I waited for Clay to send whatever he was typing.

How do u feel abt 4-wheelers?

"Ew."

"What?" Carrie asked.

I shook my head as I typed.

Are you trying to kill me?

😂

It's really fun. If u don't kno how to ride or ur nervous u can ride w me.

I could picture it perfectly: clinging tight to Clay, my chest pressed against his back as my arms wrapped around him. I could bury my face in his neck—get a good whiff of that cologne, probably mixed with sweat—and pretend it was because I was scared of falling off.

I was getting a little too excited by the idea. Especially since I was only wearing underwear, which would hide nothing.

I didn't know how much time I spent fantasizing, but it must've been a decent chunk, because my phone dinged again.

???

I turned to Carrie for some sage advice. "Is it bad to try to date a boy if I don't know if he's into guys?"

"I don't think so. It only gets gross if you continue to pursue him once you're sure he's not."

I nodded. That logic seemed sound. I really didn't know if Clay was one hundred percent straight. Having girlfriends didn't prevent him from also liking guys. Liking me?

Biting my lip, I wrote back.

You better not let me fall off.

Never.

😉

I dropped the phone onto the chair and turned back to the pool, diving in headfirst.

Breaking through the surface, I wiped my face, slicking my hair back.

Carrie cupped her hands around her mouth, making cheering crowd noises. Mimicking the sports announcer again, she said, "He's done it, folks. What a comeback. A real Cinderella story. It makes even this black-hearted bastard want to cry."

I pumped my fist in the air. "That's what I'm talking about."