Boys of West Denton ✓

chapter fourteen

Sebastian

Saanvi must open the message right when I do—a new Instagram group chat, with me, her, and Harrison, of all people. Her response is immediate.

          HarrisMcC'mon: hey guys, there's a party at Elana Doorsey's tonight if y'all wanna come

          saanvigaddaaaam: I mean, I'm not doing anything

My head flies up. "Saanvi, what?"

She shrugs at me. "What? I'm not. You're not. We could totally go."

"Since when have you wanted to go to a party with Harrison McCammon?"

"Um, maybe since he valiantly sprinted across Lake Franz to go rescue you from your weird, concerning cliff yoga?"

"You make him sound like Jesus when you put it like that."

"Or a common basilisk."

I blink. "Saanvi, you're gonna need to translate that one for me."

"They're lizards that run across water. You really need to fall down more internet rabbit holes, my friend. Also, don't change the subject."

"I'm not changing the subject. Please explain how I am attempting to change the subject."

"A-ha-ha." My phone buzzes with a new message, very much possibly from Harris, but I don't answer. Neither does Saanvi. "Seb, let's just go. We always talked about going to more parties after high school. Soon, we'll be several states away from each other, and I'll only get to bother you when it's snowing outside. So can we please just go?"

Her eyes are pleading. It's impossible to say no to her when she's like this, so I sigh, shoulders slumping in defeat. "Fine, fine. We can go."

She squeals, launching herself across the bed to wrap her arms around me. "You're the best! I love you so much, you stupid little poopy head."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You make me wish I were straight."

"Stop, I'll cry." She squeezes me. "You make me wish I were a stocky little Midwestern boy with an off-putting obsession with flannel and Nike shorts."

"Shut up."

"Oh absolutely not. Never."

—

My parents are home earlier than I'd anticipated them to be. They were at a book club at one of the two cafes on Main Street, although I can never remember which one. They're still arguing—perpetually arguing, I swear—about some plot point when Saanvi and I come downstairs.

I don't miss the knowing look they cast at each other. I think they used to be uneasy when Saanvi and I would spend so much time alone when freshman year started. Although we'd been best friends since Saanvi moved here at age seven, when we entered high school, a girl and a boy being friends was suddenly a cause for concern. But I kind of got it. My parents were high school sweethearts, after all. They've always assumed Saanvi and I are secretly the same thing. If only they knew my real secret—that Saanvi and I could never secretly date. (Shocker, I know.)

Over the years, they've become more and more used to me spending time around Saanvi. I'm guessing it's probably because we never changed in the way we treated each other. We've always been more like siblings than anything else. And Saanvi's parents have a strict no-dating rule, one which she only ever defied once in our sophomore year. I helped her sneak out on one date to Paco's, and she decided that she hated the guy so much that she was just going to wait until either a "smoking hot bad boy boxer with a heart of gold" transferred to our high school, or college.