Our Beating Hearts

25

AND OF COURSE, I'M A hot mess for the rest of the day. I'm so far gone, it's not even funny. My head is just mush. Actual mush. And it would be one thing if it only happened in Calum's physical presence, but it's way beyond that. It's everything I do and everywhere I go. People try to talk to me, and I don't even hear them.

Michael intercepts me on my way to the buses. "Come on. I'm driving you home."

"You don't have to do that."

"It's not a question. Let's go." He hooks his arm around my shoulders and turns me toward the parking lot. Then he walks me the whole way there like I'm a frail, stumbling great-grandmother.

"You're ridiculous," I inform him.

He opens the passenger door for me.

"Are you going to click my seat belt for me, too?" I add.

"Very funny."

"So, where's Sierra?" I ask when he finally slides into the driver's seat.

"Funny you should ask."

"Funny how?"

"Well, by funny," he explains, "I mean not at all funny."

"Ah."

He backs slowly out of his parking spot, lips pressed together.

"Is everything okay?" I say after a moment.

"What? Oh yeah. I'm just." He shakes his head. "Did you know she's going to prom?"

"Sierra?"

Michael nods.

"Oh. With Gigi?" Zayn and Gigi broke up last summer, four months after they got together.

He stops at a light, turning to me incredulously. "You knew about it?"

"No, but they were pretty flirty during the play."

"No, they weren't! I would have noticed. I always notice this stuff." I snort out loud, and he narrows his eyes. "What?"

"Nothing."

"Hmph."

"So, are they dating?" I ask.

He sighs. "I don't know."

"Want me to ask her? I'll ask."

"I don't like it."

"I think you just don't like the idea of your best friend hooking up with someone."

"THEY'RE NOT HOOKING UP."

I shake my head, smiling.

"But she keeps staying after school with him for yearbook, and now he's giving her a ride home like every day."

"Aka, they're hooking up."

Michael huffs. "No, they're not."

He turns onto Roswell Road, and for the next five minutes, we drive in silence. I don't say a single word until he pulls into my driveway.

"Seriously, are you okay?" I ask finally.

"What? Yeah."

I shake my head. Then I grab his hand and tug it. "All right. Come on."

"You want me to come in?" His brow furrows.

"Yup."

"Um. Yeah." Michael nods quickly. "Wow, I don't think I've actually been inside your house in years."

"I'm aware," I say, feeling stupidly self-conscious. It's not a secret that I'm not rich. And Michael's not going to judge me for having a small house, or clutter, or crappy secondhand IKEA furniture. But I'm just weird about having people over. It's like I can't help but be acutely aware of the stains on the carpet and my mismatched bedding. Or even just the fact that my whole room is the size of Michael's closet.

We walk in through the garage, and he follows me down the hall. "I can't even remember what your room looks like," he says.

"It's really small. Just warning you."

Then I open the door and step into my room. Michael lingers in the doorway. "This is amazing," he says softly.

I look at him to see if he's kidding.

"Did you draw all of these?" He walks toward the wall, peering closely at one of my sketches.

"Some of them. Some are from the internet."

My walls are covered with art-pencil sketches and carefully inked character portraits and chibis and yaoi. If I fall in love with something on DeviantArt, I print it. Or sometimes Luke prints them and gives them to me. And I guess lately, more and more of them are mine. I have an acoustic guitar in the corner and a standing keyboard. My Leo and Jason sketches, Nico and Will, some of my original characters sketches on the wall. And the picture I drew of Abby and me at Michael's house. I hope to God Michael doesn't notice that.

"This room is so you," he says, smiling.

"I guess."

He flops backward onto my bed. That's the thing about Michael. He feels totally at home wherever he

goes. I stretch out beside him, and we both stare at my ceiling fan.

Then Michael covers his face and sighs.

"Hey," I say.

"Hey."

"I know you're worried about high school ending."

He sniffs and turns his head to look at me. There's a tear streaking down his cheek. He wipes it away with the heel of his hand. "I just don't like goodbyes."

"I know."

"I don't want to leave my friends." His voice catches. "I don't know anyone in Sydney. I don't know how people do this."

I feel my throat start to tighten.

"I think I'm even going to miss Taylor."

"Okay, now you've lost me."

He laughs and sniffs again. "Come on. You know you'll miss her. How are we going to know if her metabolism is still rocking?"

"Probably from her daily Instagram updates."

"Okay, that's true."

"And that's a conservative estimate."

"I know." He scoots toward me, so close our heads are touching. Then he sighs quietly into my ear, ruffling my hair with his breath. I don't think I've ever loved him more. We just lie there like that, watching the fan move in circles.