I was surprised by how excited I was when Friday came around, when Lucas didn't have rehearsal and I would get to drive him home.

When he saw me approach him in the locker room, he shouldered his duffel bag and grinned, flashing that goddamn dimple. "You miss me?"

"No," I lied.

     He didn't say a word to me as we walked through the parking lot to the car—he never did. The moment we were sat down, though, he turned to me and asked, "How are you feeling? Not in general—I don't care about that. I just mean about the conversation we had Saturday night, if you even remember it."

I remembered it clearly. Parts of that night had fallen from my mind, lost and unimportant. Lucas' words, though, had stuck. I'd made sure of it.

"I'm . . . I'm trying," I said, and I really meant it. When I started feeling down, right as I climbed into bed, I would repeat his thoughts like they were my own. Sometimes it helped; sometimes I actually felt better. Sometimes I fell asleep with a smile on my face, and on those nights, I got a good rest.

Other times, the second side of me won, and I felt shittier than ever. I didn't sleep well, sometimes I cried, sometimes I punched pillows. Those nights made me want to give up on ever finding what Lucas had.

"Good and bad, huh?" Lucas said, and I mentally cursed his uncanny ability to look into my mind. "You'll have a lot of that. Just don't lose hope, alright? Remember you've got a friend."

I nodded, and Lucas smiled. He changed the topic after that, to trivial things like weather and picture-lighting and white shoes.

The big surprise came when I pulled into his driveway and he said, "Come inside."

I hesitated. A part of me—a really big part of me—wanted to go in with him. To spend time with my one real friend and talk about real-friend shit. But if Shawn ever saw me voluntarily hanging out with his brother . . .

"Nobody's home," Lucas added. "Shawn started these overnight soccer camp things right outside town, from Friday after school to Saturday morning before your club games. And my parents both work really late on Fridays. The house is ours for the taking."

He sounded kind of nervous, like he was afraid that I just didn't want to go inside with him at all. His insecurities didn't show often, but when they did, in moments like these, he seemed so much more human.

"I'm in," I told him.

We ate first, because soccer practice was a bitch. Lucas, thank god, found leftover lasagna in the fridge—no more burnt bagels. We shared the meal over more casual conversations. Small-talk usually bored me, when it was Trevor or Damien or Cameron talking. With Lucas, though, everything was interesting

"Okay, first thing's first," he said when we made it to his bedroom. He kicked off his shoes and went straight for his laptop, tossing it gently onto his bed and climbing on behind it. He laid stomach-first, propping himself onto his elbows, and I stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before he patted the spot next to him and I realized with some embarrassment that he wanted me to join him. When I did, he turned to me, head in his hands, his eyes sparkling, and said, "It's time I introduce you to your fellows."

He opened his laptop, and the first place he went was a website called Tumblr. I knew what it was, sure, but I'd never used it. Tumblr was for a certain group of people, and I'd never thought that I was a part of that group.

Turns out, I was.

He went from blog to blog, and for the first time, I truly understood that I was a part of something big. Pride rallies and parades, speeches, essays, artwork, rants, people—all displayed on the screen before me, showing me what I never knew I needed to see. Gay men and women, holding hands, kissing, putting "boyfriend tags" and "girlfriend tags" on YouTube together. Proposing, getting married. Transgender teenagers and adults, talking about their struggles and triumphs to an audience that wholeheartedly supported them. And whenever there was even a glimmer of hate—a mean comment, a protest, the words and actions of this town and others—they were snuffed out. Attacked with a vengeance.

     We didn't just stay on Tumblr. He took me through social media sites, across support pages, everywhere he thought I needed to go.

This group of people treated each other like family. When someone insulted a brother or sister—or someone who identified as neither—they defended them with all of their might. Complete strangers fought for each other because they—we—were all connected by this invisible cycle of love that tolerated no hate.

As in every family, there were fights. People discrediting others, deciding who is or isn't accepted into the group. Words I'd never even heard before—asexual, demisexual, non-binary—were suddenly written clear as day in front of me. And some people, hypocrites to their own cause, started civil wars that were fought just as fiercely.

We spent so long in front of that computer screen. I couldn't look away. I was captivated and mesmerized and maybe a bit horrified, but I'd get over than soon enough. When three, maybe four hours passed, and I realized that I needed to get home, I had to drag myself away.

Lucas walked me to my car. "So?" He prompted, leaning against the hood. "Did that change your perspective?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," I breathed; I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. Finally, I had something to look forward to. If that was what I would meet when I left Nowhere, Nebraska, then graduation couldn't come fast enough. "Thank you, Lucas. So much."

He smiled, a little bashfully. "Hey, I told you I'd be your link, didn't I?"

He opened his arms, and I was too giddy to be surprised when, for the first time since seventh grade, Lucas Morgan and I hugged.

He was warm, and he smelled nice—kind of fresh.

It became a routine of ours. On Fridays after school I would go to Lucas Morgan's house, eat his leftovers, and he'd show me things that made me smile. Things that made me feel a lot less worthless.

As with everything, there was a downside. It seemed like the more happy I became with myself and my identity, the more that dark, angry part of me tried to rip that away. I found my restless nights matching my peaceful ones in number and tripling them in intensity.

God, it was frustrating. I just wanted to be happy, and yet I couldn't seem to let myself have that. That second part of me screamed that I didn't deserve it, and sometimes, I screamed it too.

It was hard. A struggle within a struggle. But now, I didn't give up, didn't even think about it. I told myself every day that eventually, that other part of me would be dead, and I would have the sense of pride that was so often written and sung about. I just had to be patient, and remember that it wouldn't be an overnight process.

I didn't tell Lucas about all of this, but I had a feeling he knew. He always knew.

The third time I went with him to his house, that thirteenth week of senior year, he shut his computer one hour in. I stared for a moment at the blank wall where the screen had just been, then I turned to Lucas, confused.

"Is it time to go already?" I asked, not even trying to conceal my disappointment. The time couldn't have gone by that fast. I checked my phone; it was only 7:48.

Lucas shook his head. "I just thought maybe a change in scenery would be suiting. You down to watch a movie?"

I could tell by the mischievous glint in his eyes that we wouldn't be watching an ordinary rom-com. I said yes, though, because he was Lucas Morgan, and he could ask me to wash my hair in barbecue sauce if he wanted; I would probably do it. Thank God he didn't know that.

The movie he chose was called Brokeback Mountain. I'd never heard of it, but I understood pretty quickly why he'd looked so cheeky as he took it out.

"You little shit," I muttered. Lucas laughed.

I didn't mind too much until the tent scene came. As soon as I realized where it was going, my face lit up red and I looked away, mortified. Lucas found my embarrassment hilarious, and he got a kick out of my refusal to look at the screen. He even played into it, using one hand to cover my eyes and telling me that I was "too young".

When the scene was over and I still refused to look, Lucas's task switched from shielding my eyes to trying to convince me to open them.

"You're such a baby, Jean," he laughed, giving up in his attempts to pull my hands away from my eyes.

"Sticks and stones," I chanted.

The sound of the movie stopped. "Did you pause it?"

"Yup."

"Why?"

"Open your eyes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"Please?"

"No."

I felt Lucas' fingers wrap around my wrists again, and we were back to pulling. It was a battle of brawn, and though Lucas was strong, I was stronger. I could see him through a tiny crack in my fingers, his lips pressed together with effort, and it was that sight that made me lose. I cracked up, and Lucas easily won the upper hand, pulling my wrists away from my face with a triumphant cheer.

I didn't care that he'd won, though, because pretty soon we were both laughing. The situation wasn't even that funny, but we were laughing at nothing and everything. We were laughing at the movie and my embarrassment and his futile attempts to out-strengthen me and each other's laughs and that one vase over there.

Then, out of nowhere, I sneezed, and Lucas stopped laughing entirely. I looked warily at him as he stared at me with doe eyes and a weird, sort of adoring smile. "Uh, Lucas?"

"You have such a cute sneeze," he said. "Oh my god, you have such a cute sneeze. Sorry if the word cute makes you lose macho-dude-bro points, but oh my god. Like a kitten!"

I scowled; I hated when people said that. It was, as much as Lucas would roll his eyes at me for thinking this, super emasculating. Lucas cooed at my pink cheeks and sour expression. "Nathaniel Jean, you're fucking adorable."

I wasn't sure if he was being serious or making fun of me, but either way, my cheeks only got pinker.

"Shut up and play that damn movie," I grumbled, and he did.

By the time the movie was over, it was around the time I would usually go home. Lucas walked me to the door, but no further, because "It's kinda cold and my coat is up in my room and I don't like you enough to go out there and freeze."

"How'd you like the movie?" He asked as I took down my own coat, which I'd wisely left hanging on the coat rack that was on the Morgans' front door.

"It was good," I said vaguely, because I felt sort of awkward going into great detail. Then I made the mistake of turning around; Lucas had been right behind me, and I'd just managed to deplete any space between us. "Super gay," I added, though the words came out tense and nervous. Lucas looked just as uncomfortable as I felt, but he didn't step back.

"Yeah," he laughed awkwardly. I could feel his cool breath on my face. Absolutely clueless as to how to get out of this awkward situation—and not totally wanting to—I occupied myself with counting his freckles. "Super gay. Like us."

"Like us," I shakily agreed. He still hadn't moved back. His proximity was definitely clogging my mind, and I was reminded once again that Lucas Morgan had a crazy effect on me. Now I really, really didn't want him to move back. And I was pretty sure he didn't want to, either.

I inhaled sharply when I realized that he was doing the opposite. He was closer now than he was seconds before, I was positive. I could feel the tips of his feet against my shoes, and a few stray hairs against my forehead. Then his nose against mind. His chest. His thighs. Everything except his lips.

Then his eyes fluttered shut. I forgot how to breathe as mine did, too.

And then the contact was gone, and they flew back open. The change was so quick, my lips parted in a silent gasp at the loss. Lucas was a foot away from me now; still so close, but the moment was over. He wouldn't meet my eyes.

     "Sorry," he muttered. "That's was dumb."

     I swallowed the disappointed lump in my throat. "Not that dumb . . ."

     Lucas finally looked at me, and I could tell he was disappointed, too. Guilty, even. "I know, I just . . . We should wait."

    "Waiting sucks," I said, because I really really wanted him to kiss me. There was no point in being subtle and hiding how I felt now—clearly he felt the same way, at least a little. There was something between us, something more than friendship, and now that it was so close, I wanted it more than ever.

    Lucas chuckled humorlessly. "Yeah, it does; but you're not there yet."

     I opened my mouth to protest, to ask him how he would know whether or not I was ready, but he held up a hand and continued. "You've still got shit to deal with. You don't have to admit it, because I see it. I don't want to enter the equation before you've even figured yourself out. I want to help you, and I think that would do more harm than good."

     I absolutely hated that he was so smart. "And how will you know when I'm ready?"

    Lucas' lips quirked up the slightest bit, the left side just a little higher than the right. Then he said, "Because you'll kiss me."

The idea alone made my stomach erupt into angry, excited butterflies. I knew what Lucas was getting at, though he didn't say it out loud—he didn't want anything to happen between us if I wasn't sure I could handle it. He was afraid, though he wouldn't admit it, that he would kiss me and I would regret it the next morning, after I'd had time to think. I had to make the move. Then he'd know I was sure.

      "And what if I'm ready now?"

Lucas looked unwaveringly into my eyes, green meeting blue. "Then kiss me."

I wanted to. I really, really wanted to. I'd been wanting to for what felt like so long now, and I never thought a moment like this would present itself. Lucas Morgan was standing before me, proposing that I kiss him. He liked me—he had to. These crazy, horrible, wonderful feelings I'd been harboring weren't unrequited.

       I'd dreamed about this, more than once. All I had to do was lean forward, maybe take an extra step, and . . .

And I couldn't. I wasn't ready.

"Goodnight, Lucas."

His expression didn't falter. If anything, his smile got bigger. "Goodnight, Nate."

As I stepped into the frosty November air, regret and dread settled over me like a cloud. Had I just made the wrong choice? What if Lucas moved on, found someone else or simply lost interest before I was ready? What if I never was ready?

     But what if, some day, hopefully soon, I was ready? And I would kiss him, and it would be perfect—not rushed or anxious or regretful?

     I didn't sleep much that night. Not because I was upset or angry or stressed, but because I was too pumped and anxious and giddy to close my eyes. I had a new goal now, something to strive for, and I couldn't wait to achieve it. The thought filled me with a newfound excitement that I didn't want to let go of.

The Monday that followed brought the first snow of the season. It was light and pretty—the type of snow that made you want to go outside. Perfect to start off Thanksgiving break.

Despite there being no school, soccer practice would still be held every day except Thursday and Friday, so my schedule wasn't entirely free.

     The locker room was booming with cheers when I entered, and, curious, I walked over to the center of the room to see what the action was about.

     As it turned out, there was no action at all. Most of the team was gathered there, either sitting on the long wooden benches that lined the lockers or stood in a wonky circle. They were chatting like the fratboys they were destined to be, punching each other in the shoulder, overusing the word bro, and talking about their "conquests".

"Lauren was so fucking easy, dude," Damien Diggory was saying. "I barely had to do any work."

"But bro!" Duke Lawson, one of our back-up midfielders, laughed. "She's a freshman!"

Damien raised his eyebrows and shrugged suggestively. "You'd never know by looking at her, if you know what I mean."

Shawn Morgan smacked him on the shoulder. "You should see her sister, man. Now that's a chick you wanna get with."

"Oh, she was there, too!"

Boys erupted into howls and wolf-whistles, some slapping Damien on the back as if he'd won the lottery. I guess in their eyes, he had.

"Yo, but have you guys seen that new chick?" Tyler Fiero piped up. "The one from Switzerland or Sweeden or one of them?" Several boys hooted in agreement. "Have you seen the ass on that one? Damn!"

"She was totally eyeing me at the party," Cameron Schetwaldski said smugly. "And what can I say? I don't blame her!"

    "Aw hell yeah!" Shawn cheered. "Dude, I fucked with her a couple nights ago—she's freaky as fuck! It was so epic."

     "Maybe it's a Swedish thing," Trevor Cazamn laughed.

     There was only one other boy in the room who was anything but engrossed in the conversation. Lucas Morgan was leaning against the end of a locker row, looking uninterested and moderately disgusted.

    Trevor looked at me, and I silently begged him not to drag me into the conversation. "Yo Nate," he called, and I sighed. "Have you seen Lucy Conwick lately? Talk about a glow up! Her body got so fuckin'—"

     "They're women, not pieces of meat," Lucas spoke up suddenly. I admired his bluntness—it was a trait I wish we shared—and mentally thanked him for saving me.

     In an instant, conversation died. All eyes turned to him. I could already sense an argument coming, could already see the boys ready to throw their sticks and stones.

    "I swear to fucking god," Shawn cursed. "Do you have to be such a cunt all the time?"

     "Chill, Shawn," I said with a roll of my eyes. I agreed with Lucas, though I'd never say it out loud. Besides, I didn't want to deal with another gang-up-on-the-gay-kid party, not when that gay kid was my friend and entirely right. "You're whinier than my sister."

     I could tell the guys were pissed at me for opening my mouth. I tried not to care too much, even as they continued to be angry and petty throughout practice. None of them wanted to talk to me, but then again, talking to them usually cost me brain cells, so maybe the change was good.

     "Stood up for me, huh?"

     I jumped a foot into the air and nearly fell on my ass when Lucas' voice startled me as I walked out of the showers. I'd thought I was the only one left.

     "Fucking hell, Lucas," I groaned. "Don't do that."

     He laughed as I began to dress, and I tried not to blush when felt his eyes on my back as I pulled a hoodie over my head. "Sorry."

     "Shouldn't you be at rehearsals?"

     "We don't have 'em over break," Lucas said. I tried to hide how happy that made me—the daily car rides would resume, at least for the week. "But don't change the subject. You totally shut them up for me back there."

      I couldn't help but grin. "Yeah, well, it felt pretty good."

     Lucas chuckled, shaking his head disbelieving. "Do you like any of your friends?"

      "Including you?" I said. "Yes"

      "And not including me?" He prompted. I scoffed and made a face, and he laughed. "Aww, I feel special."

      I made another, somewhat less sour, face. "You're gross."

     "I'm awesome."

     "Wanna come over?"

     I hadn't meant to ask so suddenly, but now seemed as good a time as ever. Lucas, however, hesitated, and I could read in his expression why. "I want to hang out with my friend," I added, and he grinned.

Things were kind of awkward at first. After last Friday, Lucas and I didn't quite know how to act around each other. There was a lot of awkward stuttering, and even more awkward flirting, and even more awkward blushing. Still, it was fun, because it was Lucas, and things were never not fun with him.

"I didn't mean it like that!" I exclaimed, burying my red face in my hands. Lucas laughed, leaning his head back against my pillows, but his cheeks were just as bright.

"You are really killing it with the innuendos today," he said, and I just blushed more, because he was right; this was the fourth time in the last hour that I'd embarrassed both of us by saying something very—unintentionally—sexual. "You know, you used to say shit like that all the time in seventh grade. I think you genuinely had no idea, though."

I paled. "Did I really?"

Lucas laughed. "Oh, it was so bad."

I slid my hands down my face and groaned exaggeratedly. "That was not my best year."

Lucas pursed his lips playfully. "Aw, c'mon, it couldn't have been that bad. We were friends back then, after all."

I scoffed. "Yeah, that was the problem. You fucked me up big time, Morgan."

He raised an eyebrow, obviously curious. "Oh yeah? How so?"

I wasn't even embarrassed to tell him. At this point, I'd told him more about myself than anybody else. This seemed like such a small, insignificant secret compared to the things we'd talked about before. If anything, it was something to laugh about.

"You were my first crush."

Lucas' jaw dropped. He was silent for several seconds, before he half-whispered, "Seventh grade Lucas is shaking right now. I was obsessed with you."

I half-laughed, half-choked. "No."

"Yes."

"You're serious?"

Lucas nodded fervently. "I'd been crushing on you from a distance like a creepy school girl since like fifth grade. When we started talking I thought I was gonna explode."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Lucas Morgan had liked me back then, too, just as much as I'd liked him—maybe even more. At the time, I'd thought there was no way—I'd had no idea that he was even gay, let alone interested. And now, six years later, we were back to the same exact feelings.

"Holy shit," I breathed.

Lucas grinned. "It's crazy how things go full-circle, huh?"