Chapter 1

1

all

of these

beautiful

things

sunlight,

goodness,

stars,

you

-butterflies rising

It's all over after this.

One last spring break trip with the guys before we graduate. It's the end of an era. Everything is about to change.

And I'm not ready.

The plane banks right, sunlight streaming through the tiny window to my left, and I shift, trying to keep my knees from knocking into the seat in front of me. It's not possible. I'm too big for these seats.

My best friend, Rory, is sitting next to me. He's got his eReader in his hands, his dark red hair swept back, glasses slipping down his freckled nose. He's completely entranced by whatever he's reading, probably some complicated mathematical or scientific theory.

And I just keep thinking about how shit's gonna change after this trip. I kinda want to talk to him about all this ‘it's all over' stuff, but I don't want to bother him. I bother him too much, I think. I'm always talking. It's even worse when we're studying together. I sit there with my knee bouncing and about a trillion thoughts in my head that have nothing to do with the books in front of us.

No studying on this trip though. I should be happy about that, but honestly, hanging out with Rory on my bed with books all spread around us and his glasses sliding to the tip of his freckled nose is usually the best part of my day.

But after this trip, the four of us go back to IFU, and then we graduate, and head off in four different directions to jobs and bills and shit I don't want to contemplate yet.

Do college friendships always end? I don't want them to.

I inwardly sigh and glance out the window. The sky's slowly shifting from brilliant blue into a deep, burnt orange.

It's really fucking beautiful out there. Where we're heading is supposed to be beautiful too. Clua—a tiny island off the coast of Mexico. Five days of beaches, sand, and sunsets like this one. Brilliant blue ocean and palm trees and bright, tropical flowers. Warm nights and maybe a bonfire or something? I don't know. But we'll play volleyball and drink too much and laugh our asses off. Honestly, I don't care what we do. I just want to do it.

I draw the shade down so the sun doesn't bother Rory and then swipe off my IFU beanie. My hair is warm with perspiration, the curls no doubt sticking out. I smooth them back and shove my hat in the seat pocket in front of me. My knee bounces, my jeans sticking to my thighs. I shouldn't have dressed so warmly, but it was snowing in Colorado when we left.

And… I want to talk.

About anything and everything.

Past Rory, Theo and Carter are chatting across the aisle, deep in conversation. I guess I could stand up and go talk with them, but I want to talk to Rory. He always has interesting things to say, and he'll probably give me a new perspective on this it's-all-over thing that I haven't thought about yet.

I clasp my hands in my lap, trying to stop fidgeting. Fuck. I'm fit to pop here. Maybe I'll just ask Rory what he's reading? Just one quick question. Then I'll leave him alone.

I shift as subtly as I can, leaning just a little closer to him. Thirty seconds of conversation, and then we can go back to sil?—

His reader tilts away from me.

I straighten. Is that tilt intentional?

No, it can't be. It's not like he's paying attention to me.

He's focused on reading.

Right?

I shift, trying to maneuver my knees in the cramped space, and then, ever so smoothly, settle my arm next to his on the armrest, my elbow barely brushing his, my eyes traveling toward his lap. I'm not really looking, but I'm not not -looking. I'm just getting myself into a position where I could look. If I wanted to. Mostly to see if he's actually?—

He tilts his reader farther away.

Why is he doing that?

Does he not want me to see what he's reading?

Why would he hide it?

"So…" I clear my throat, dry from the forced air in the plane. "Good book?"

His head darts up, eyes widening as they land on me. Freckles pinprick over his cheeks, a few larger ones trailing down the side of his neck. One that I've always especially liked just to the right of his chin.

He blinks at me with iridescent gray eyes. "The book's fine."

"What's it about?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

As far as I know, Rory mostly reads nonfiction. AKA, boring shit. I mean, it's not boring when he tells me about it because he gets all excited, cheeks flushing and eyes lighting, and he always says something interesting. But it's definitely not something I'd be able to sort through.

But why would he turn away his reader if it's just that?

"Uh…" He presses his lips. "Nothing, really."

He goes back to reading.

At least, he's pretending like he's reading.

And now I'm curious. Like achingly curious. Honestly, I'm always curious about everything when it comes to Rory, though. He's got so many thoughts and theories. He's funny and inquisitive and unexpected and… Well, I could go on for days about him.

We've been friends since freshman year, and we spend pretty much all our free time together. We study together, eat together, live together. We even try to schedule our classes around the same time so we can commute together. Life is better with Rory.

And I don't want to annoy him.

I stretch to fiddle with the vent, opening it to get a blast of cool air, and then lean back again. The sharp bones of his elbow, smaller than mine, press into my forearm. His skin is a creamy white under all those freckles, pale next to my darker brown.

And… what now?

A full minute passes. I stop my knee from bouncing. Twice. And I try not to look at him, but I'm not very good at that.

He finally glances over at me. "Do you need something, D?"

"Nah, I'm good."

I'm good. Not curious at all. Not about to explode. Not scratching at my curly hair again. Nothing to see here.

His teeth scrape over his top lip. He studies me, and then he nods to the aisle. "Do you need out?"

I shake my head. "Nope."

"Okay." A little pucker appears between his brows, right above the bridge of his glasses. "Um, Dorian?"

"Yep?"

"You're being odd."

"I am?"

He flips the case to his reader closed, his thin lips pressing. "Yes. Very."

"Shit, I'm sorry," I groan. He must get so annoyed with me. "I'm antsy. It's a long flight. You know how I get."

He smiles faintly. "We could talk."

"Really?" I straighten.

"Sure."

"Okay. So…" I give him a megawatt smile. "Tell me about what you're reading."

His eyes widen again, and then he seems to catch himself, blinking and shrugging a shoulder.

"Sure," he says. "We could talk about… that."

"Alright, go ahead."

He runs his index finger across the top edge of his reader case. "It's about electromagnetic wave theory. You probably wouldn't find it interesting."

"I'm sure I could follow along."

"I didn't say you couldn't follow along." His attention flips so it's directly on me, his eyes not moving around my face, not flinching, not questioning. Iridescent gray and certain. "I said you wouldn't find it interesting."

Rory is way smarter than me. Like oodles. I'm not stupid. And having an LD in no way makes me stupid, but sometimes other people don't seem to get that. Or they think they understand it, but they still treat me differently anyway. Rory's never treated me differently. It's never once felt like he's looking down on me. In fact, when I say something that might be kinda disparaging about myself, he's the first one to point out that I don't need to limit myself. The first one to remind me that how I see the world is perfectly fucking fine, and if anyone else doesn't understand that, they can go fuck a duck.

Well, he doesn't say it quite like that. He says it in his Rory way.

I nudge his elbow. "If you talk about it, I bet I'd find it interesting. I could see a world where electromagnetic waves get me going."

His lips part, and now his eyes do move around my face. "Um, well." His fingers tap on his reader case. "There's a theory that electromagnetic radiation could power airplanes."

"No shit? How would that work?"

See, he always says something interesting.

"Well…" He launches into an explanation about ground antennas emitting electromagnetic radiation—probably microwaves, since those can pass through clouds—using a phased array, which sends out a tight beam of energy. He gets all excited halfway through, talking about a NASA experiment in 1975, his cheeks flushing under his freckles.

"Although," he concludes, his nose wrinkling, "it's pretty unlikely. It would take a physics masterpiece, and getting federal regulation would be nearly impossible."

"Seems like it would take a lot of antennas too." I shrug. "In high density populated areas where airports are built."

"That's true." His forehead lines. He's probably calculating all sorts of shit in his head. "I didn't think of that." He suddenly blinks. "So, anyway, that's what I'm reading."

"Uh huh." My lips curl up in a half smile. Do I believe him? He has no reason to lie to me. But I just… have this feeling . I can't explain it. "What's the title?"

" Applications of Electromagnetic Waves ." He scrapes his teeth across his top lip, his fingers toying with the frayed edge of his reader case. "What are you excited about doing in Clua?"

I tilt my head at the sudden subject change.

I mean, he's smart. He could have just pulled all that electromagnetic radiation knowledge out of his ass. But I don't know. I still have this feeling.

"Sandcastles," I say, answering his question anyway.

"I should have guessed that." He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He's got these long, dark red eyelashes. They swipe on the inside of his glasses when he blinks.

I like watching them swipe.

"Yep." I grin. I'm the maestro of sandcastles.

I really am. I'm good with my hands. I grew up working at my family's flower shop, and working as a florist is a skill that translates into a hell of a lot of other things. Like kick-ass sandcastles.

I fucking love sandcastles. I follow sandcastle builders on IG. There are whole competitions too. I'm not good enough for that, but I love seeing the builds. I talk to Rory about it all the time.

Some people would probably snicker at my interest, but Rory always dives right in with me, evaluating the structure and design, calculating the density of sand depending on its wetness. I love how he always notices different things than me.

"I can't wait to see what you build," he says.

"Maybe we can do it together?" Shit, I'd really like that. Rory and I have never been to the beach together. Back home for me is San Diego, but he's never gone with me even though I've asked him like fifty times.

His eyes flick around my face. His lips part, then close, then part again. And I'm just sitting there, waiting for what he's gonna say, watching the expressions move across his face. Kind of mesmerized by them, actually.

A tickle fills my stomach.

I rub at the side of my neck, uncomfortable in the narrow seat.

I don't want to think about that tickle too much. Because if I do… Well, I just don't want to think about it.

That tickle leads nowhere I should follow.

I shift in my seat, trying not to let my brain go off in all the directions it usually does.

"I'll definitely build with you, D." Rory's elbow brushes mine. There's a twin pair of freckles on the knobby rise of his wrist. I like looking at those, too. The way they?—

Shit. Stop.

I clear my throat. "Okay. You and me. It's a date."

"Uh…" The tip of his tongue slips along his upper lip—such a small lick that I wouldn't have noticed if I weren't staring straight at him. Fuck, I'm staring. Fucking stop.

"I didn't mean…" I shake my head. "Yeah, just… I wonder if we're gonna get any turbulence?"

Smooth, D.

"Maybe?" He clicks off his seatbelt. "Uh, I need to take a piss."

Before I can respond, he drops his reader in his seat and darts toward the lavatory at the rear of the plane, slipping easily down the aisle between the seats.

And I watch.

I keep watching as he stops to wait in a line that spills into the aisle.

I sigh, tearing my eyes off him. It's still a million fucking degrees in here. The air blower is tiny . And not doing anything. I grab the safety card out of the pocket in front of me and fan myself with it, spreading my legs into Rory's area and groaning at the stretch.

A half minute goes by.

I fan myself.

Another minute passes.

Quiet conversations murmur around me. Rory's still in line, not moving quickly. His reader sits there, on his seat.

Electromagnetic radiation. That's what he said.

I have no reason not to believe him.

Another forty-five seconds pass.

I glance back to where he's waiting in line then turn around again, my t-shirt sticking to my shoulders, a hint of perspiration on the back of my neck, my jeans feeling like they're strangling my thighs.

His reader's still sitting there.

Just right there. It probably is just Applications of Electromagnetic Waves .

I fidget and then shove the safety card back in the pocket.

I don't need to look at his reader.

I don't need to.

Don't need to .

I extend a hand.

I'm just stretching.

That's all.

Nothing more.

My fingers graze the case.

Ohh fuck. It's just sitting right there. And… I'm going to do this, aren't I?

I think… I am .

I'm going to look.

Is this the wrong choice?

Yep, it is.

But, somehow, his reader's already in my hand. It just leaped into my palm. I swear, it wasn't me.

I flip open the cover, and the screen lights. Words appear, right where he'd left off. And… oh… holy… fuck .