MY PALMS ARE CLAMMY by the time Carson and I get upstairs. It's not every day I hug a boy, and it's not every day I invite him into the apartment alone with me. The only guys who've ever been up here are Nolan and Tim—and probably Matias, without my knowing.

Holding the door open for Carson is like welcoming him into my universe. The one that exists beyond whatever facade I put on at school and when I'm at work. His cheeks are blotchy and his eyes are wide with wonder as he looks around. Our place is dinky, but the open-concept between the kitchen and the living room make it breathable. Mom's rustic antiques decorate the area, though half this stuff came from Grandma, especially the floral wall tapestries and throws laying over the couch.

"Well, this is it," I say. "Small, I know."

He drops his backpack on the living room floor. Mom tries to keep our place organized, but there's so little space all our furniture's crammed together. We don't even have room for a kitchen table, just a coffee table made of maple. A bookshelf reaches the ceiling filled with cookbooks and fiction, and pots of plants hang in the windows with unruly leaves spilling from them. My guitar is propped up against the arm of our turquoise couch. When Carson sits, I wipe my hands on my pants and join him. We've been alone so many times, but never alone alone.

Carson leans back into the cushions, and our shoulders are so close we're nearly touching. "So, you feeling better?"

"Yeah." I twirl a piece of my hair between my fingers. "I'm just sad tonight had to go like that. Nolan was really upset, too. I keep wanting to protect him, shield his eyes from how dysfunctional our family is, but... it's impossible. Plus, I've been trying to lay off Nolan since he told me I'm overbearing."

"That kid is lucky to have you. I bet Nolan'll realize that when he's older." He laughs a little. "My brothers just beat my ass whenever I do something they don't like. I wish they were more like you."

Along the side of his face, the marks from when Lucas shoved him in ceramic have gone white. Scars like that fade, but never disappear completely. I open my mouth to say something—to comment on how he doesn't deserve that—but he beats me to it.

"Your mom seems like a good sister to your aunt too."

"Yeah, she is. My mom wasn't perfect when she was younger—I mean, she had me when she was my age and was with some wannabe rock star, but Colleen caused a whole other barrel of trouble for my grandma and grandpa. She was the problem child, I guess. And she was always jealous my mom got special treatment. When Grandma passed away, she didn't leave any money to Colleen at all because she didn't trust her not to spend it on booze or gambling. All Colleen got was memorabilia, all of which she sold anyway. Colleen has no idea about it, but my mom has always kept some of that money aside from her, just in case she gets her act together."

"That's gotta burn from Colleen's side though."

"Yeah... I'll never forget the look on her face when she found out. It was like, pure devastation. Like she believed her mom didn't love her or something."

"Brutal. Gotta feel bad for her."

True. It's so easy to be mad at Colleen for drinking so much, but sometimes I forget she has reasons. But that doesn't mean my cousin should have to suffer for it.

"Oh, right. Before I forget." Carson jostles his backpack open. He carries that thing with him everywhere; it's a dark green burlap with tears around a flimsy metal zipper. Both an American and a Canadian flag are patched on the front, and C. BLUE is scribbled in Sharpie on the side. After digging around, he pulls out an old cassette player.

"Wow," I say, "this was ancient tech even when we were kids, Carson."

"I know." He wipes the dust off. The tape on the inside has a white band with 1999 written on it. "I was digging around in my dad's stuff and I found it. Neat, eh?"

"Yeah, does it work?"

He presses play. The wheels turn, the tape rattles, and Bobcaygeon fills the room in a crackled pitch. A smile stretches my face.

"It's a Canadian band, but I know you like the oldies," he says, "so I thought you might dig it."

"It's awesome. I do know this song."

"Yeah. Something authentic about it." We listen in silence. When the song ends, Carson shuts it off he puts it on my lap. "Here, it's yours."

My heart inflates even bigger than when he gave me the rock. "But it's your dad's. You should keep it."

"I want you to have it. Truth is I don't know if my dad's ever getting out of jail. Or if he's even gonna come back to Hull if he does."

"What makes you say that?"

"Just a feeling I get."

It's a feeling I know too well. I hug the cassette player to my chest. "Okay, I'll keep it. Thanks, Carson."

His smile creates a kaleidoscope of butterflies in me. I swear, every time I see it, his magnetism grows stronger. I could come clean right here, right now about the thoughts I've been having. See if he really does like me back. But the idea makes me lightheaded, so instead I go into the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water to save my parched lips from shriveling like dried apricots. When I set the cup down, Carson is already on the other side of the breakfast bar.

Okay. Breathe. I can do this.

I scoot onto the counter as he steps into the kitchen. His eyes scan the fridge, and I wonder what he's thinking about when he stops on the polaroid collage of my cousin and I magneted to it. Carson and I are different in a lot of ways, but we're cut from the same cloth. We understand each other like no one else does.

"Carson?"

He faces me. "Yeah?"

I have no idea how to start this, so I ask the question that's been burning me for years: "Why did you kiss me in grade six?"

He turns to stone. "Right. I never apologized for that..."

"Was it a dare?"

"No, it wasn't a dare. It was just... stupid. I was stupid. And impulsive."

"Did you like me?"

"Of course I liked you."

My throat constricts, but it's too late to back out now. "We were just kids back then, and I never knew if I should take it seriously. I always thought it was a dare. Then high school hit and getting with girls has always been so easy for you. But you've never tried anything with me."

He swallows. "Did you want me to?"

"Maybe not before, but..."

An expression I can't read darts over his face. He waits a beat before he steps toward me. "I never tried anything with you 'cause you're you, Jill. Hell, you're scary. You scare the shit out of me."

With me seated on the counter, we're the same height. Eye-to-eye, we watch each other's faces, and my heart does a cartwheel.

"I'm not scary," I say and hold my head low so my hair falls in curtains around me. I'm trying to stay confident, but the room spirals.

"You kidding? You're terrifying." He gets closer and closer. "You're all kinds of hot, talented, and you're not easy to impress. You've had the richest kid in town ask you out and you don't even bat an eye at him."

"You know I don't care about that kind of stuff."

"I do know that. It's part of the reason why I've always liked you."

All at once, my skin is aflame. It's all like a dream; we're here, and we're talking about this, but it doesn't feel real.

"I never even thought I could be on your radar," Carson says. "There was no way you could ever like me back."

"But what if I do?"

In one stride, he closes the gap between us and grazes his fingertips over my knees. Even through the fabric of my jeans, his touch electrifies me. I can't bring myself to meet his stare; the static in my chest is too loud, and my thoughts are jumbled like storm clouds.

"As soon as I started liking girls," Carson says, his voice husky, "you were the first one I ever really saw. You liked the same music as me, and you always had the best smile, and"—he moves a piece of my hair from my cheek—"I was more than a little in love with your blonde hair. It was everything about you, Jill. That's why I kissed you in grade six. But I realized right away that you probably didn't like me back and I'd just messed things up forever so I ran away and never brought it up. I was too scared."

Finally, I meet his eyes, and the intensity in them hits me like a shockwave. I suck in a shaky breath and focus on his lips. "Maybe I wouldn't have realized it before, but I do now. You're good, Blue. You have such a good heart."

"I don't deserve that."

"You deserve so much more than you think." Confidence bleeds through my anxiety, and now our eyes don't leave each other. "So do you still like me that much?"

He laughs. "More than that. As we got older, you only got hotter, and cooler, and way, way scarier."

"I'm not that scary."

My body moves on autopilot. All rational thoughts have vanished, and I'm left with a physical yearning to be close to him. I touch the neck of his hoodie, and he breathes in sharply.

"I really wanna touch you," he says, "but I still can't tell if this is real."

I bite my smile. "It's definitely real," I say, and then our lips are only millimeters apart. His warm breath touches my skin and makes me dizzy. I lean closer, and closer—

The house phone rings and rattles my eardrums, and I'm jerked right out of the moment.

Oh God—I almost kissed him.

Carson looks a little shocked, a little hurt I pulled away. But I've fallen from cloud nine. Yeah, I like Carson—but I need to slow the hell down. Awkwardly, I tuck my hair behind my ear.

"The house phone never rings," I say and slip away from him. "Sorry. It might be important." I grab the phone and answer, "Hello?"

"Jillian Williams?"

"Yeah?"

"Hi, are you Sharon Williams's daughter?"

My mouth goes dry. "Yeah?"

"We need you to get to the hospital—there's been an accident."

* * *

A/N: Thanks so much for reading! How are we all feeling so far!?