"Those are my favorite," Talon said, eyeing up the Swedish berry candies in my hand.

  "Oh, are they?" I said, ripping it open with my teeth. (This is why I'd bought them from the vending machine, of course, because he loved them.) I put three in my palm. I grinned sideways at him. "Tal, I know. They're for you."

  I put the three in my mouth and gave him the rest of the bag. He ughed, thanked me, and ate them too quickly. Lately, his appetite seemed endless.

  It was Thursday. We'd gone back to school Tuesday, where there were now industrial floor fans humming at an annoying, distracting pitch. A pipe burst in one of the art rooms. Thankfully, all but three projects were spared, but the area was entirely blocked off. Unfortunately, this burst pipe in no way benefited any of our crew and school continued as usual, save for the new background noise. Our principal, Mr. Rathert-Hill, walked around the hallways looking harried, speaking frantically into his cellphone and occasionally poking his head in the art room. He rubbed his neck and assured passing students that this wouldn't st forever. "A week or two," he said, "three tops. Sorry about this. So sorry."

  Now it was the second half of lunch hour. Talon and I were sitting at one of the picnic tables near the front entrance of our school. The day was mild but windy. Dirty snow still littered the ground, half melted and on its way out. By the weekend, it was supposed to be sunny and warm and back to regur spring weather. I'd shared my food with Talon, who forgot to pack something to eat again. So we ate half a peanut butter and jam sandwich each and split one of Mom's homemade grano bars. He took the banana and I ate the apple. Make him lunch tomorrow, I reminded myself.

  A metallic grey Mercedes pulled up, nice enough that I saw a group of guys—Dhruv Bhandari, Miles Campbell, and Simon King, who was limping slightly in his orthopedic boot—turn their heads to admire it as they walked back to the school from Safeway. Talon shifted beside me.

  "What's up?" I said.

  "Huh? Oh, nothing." But he was chewing on his thumbnail again. "Well—hold on. I don' t know why he's here."

  "Who?"

  Talon nodded at the car. "Mr. Carter." He pulled his phone out and turned on the screen, but apparently didn't find what he was looking for. "I'll be right back."

  Mr. Carter was our eighth grade P.E. teacher, one of the good ones. We weren't terrible athletes; my cardio was great, thanks to swimming, but I was less interested in team sports. So I appreciated that Mr. Carter seemed to let our ziness slide, particurly during softball (Talon and I would take field so we could talk and goof off, and often missed easy pop flies, much to Marty's irritation). A brief, comforting thought hit me: Had Talon arranged to meet with Mr. Carter to tell him about his father? Or perhaps this was coincidence? Mr. Carter retired after his lottery winnings, but maybe he still had school business—but why at the high school?

  Mr. Carter rolled down his window when Talon approached. Inside the car, Mr. Carter looked even stouter than he was. He stroked his thick brown moustache and smiled at Talon. When he pulled down his sungsses, I saw the same beady, watery eyes I remembered from a few years back. Because of the wind, I couldn't make out exactly what the two of them were saying, but I leaned forward to decipher the conversation as best I could.

  "I was texting Tuesday," Mr. Carter said.

  "Sorry," Talon was saying, "with the snow and everything, um…" He furrowed his brows.

  Talon's hand was resting on the edge of the Mercedes' open window; Mr. Carter reached forward and patted it.

  Help him, I thought. Please.

  Mr. Carter did indeed pull himself out of the nice car; his eyes darted around, settled on me, and jumped away. He reached back in to grab a leather bag, said something to Talon, and went inside the school. Talon sat down next to me again.

  "What was that about?" I said.

  But before Talon could answer, there was a thud behind us. Feet leaping onto the picnic table.

  We turned to see Rob and Casey on the wooden tabletop, grinning down at us. Lily, Kat, and Ana trailed behind them. Lily looked pretty. Hair pulled back in a bun, a few loose strands on either side of her face. When she smiled at me, the estic bands on her braces were now purple, which meant she must have had them tightened recently.

  "Hey, bozos," Marty said, peering down at us. "Prom news incoming."

  Ana pulled herself up on the picnic table, adjusting her long skirt, and pulled Casey into a kiss. Marty grabbed Kat's hand to bring her up next to him and they kissed, too. I gnced at Talon, who seemed unfocused.

  Lily came around to our side and gestured between us. "Is it okay if I—?"

  Talon looked up. "What? Oh, yeah. No problem."

  He moved over to the edge of the bench and Lily sat down next to me. Our legs touched. She kept her left hand on her thigh but edged it closer to mine. The light blue nail polish on her pinky finger was chipped. Was I supposed to take her hand? The rules of dating eluded me, partly because, so far in my life, I hadn't needed to consult them. As of this week, Casey and Ana were walking everywhere hand-in-hand, making out against their lockers. Yesterday, Ana grabbed dangerously close to his groin while they kissed in the hallway and he made a sound I never wanted to hear again. (Marty and I had shared a simultaneous full-body shiver.) Since tenth grade, retionships seemed to begin overnight and end with simir speed—but you still had to ask someone out, right? Lily and I weren't together by default, were we? Was it possible to not know you were dating someone?

  "Can I show you my dress?" Lily said.

  "Color only!" shouted Kat. "And everyone can see you grabbing my ass, Marty."

  "That's what I meant," Lily said. She pulled out her phone and showed me a close-up: a sliver of shimmery gold material. "What do you think?"

  I leaned closer to her phone. "Gold?"

  She nodded, and shifted her body slightly so that she was leaning into me now.

  "You'll look great," I said. "Plus, I can't wait to see the full thing and not, you know, an inch of fabric."

  "What's wrong with that, Cloud?" Marty said, and then turned to Kat: "I think an inch of fabric sounds perfect, babe. Leave the rest bare."

  Rob arrived for his afternoon csses. We kept our locations on so he could find us when he got to school, so none of us were surprised when he rounded the corner. Our table was overflowing now—four of them on top and the three of us squished on the bench—so Rob took the far bench.

  Talon was sitting with his right arm against the table, texting. He nodded at Rob when he sat down but then they went back to not looking at each other. Rob and Talon used to have a solid connection, but they didn't talk much anymore. Rob was into all things videogames: old consoles, collecting rare editions and niche indie games, even creating them. There was an overp of these interests with some of Talon's, who adored fantasy. Growing up, the two of them bonded over the Final Fantasy game series, Studio Ghibli movies, and J.R. R. Tolkien's encyclopedic The Silmarillion.

  The rest of us greeted Rob. Soon, there was a rise in our chatter as Kat expined to Marty she was doing a deep purple dress, Ana showed Casey a swatch of vivid coral, and Marty again began shouting to Talon and Rob that they had to come to prom with us.

  "I looked up the price of a limo and it's not even that expensive if we split it," Marty said.

  "Not expensive for you," Rob said.

  "Dude, I would obviously pay more than you or Talon," Marty said. Rob and Talon's families had less money than Marty or Casey's or even mine, although we didn't overtly discuss this. "I'm not a psychopath."

  "My sister said they give grads a deal or something," Casey cut in. "It's one night, you can take a break from gaming!"

  "This is our goodbye to high school, to Six Mile, to all of it," Marty said. "We're finally getting out of this shithole. Why the hell shouldn't we celebrate that?"

  I leaned forward, forearms on my knees, so that I was looking at Talon's shoulder. "It won't be the same without you two there," I said.

  Talon gnced over his shoulder and gave a small shrug. "I'll think about it."

  Marty groaned. "Rob?"

  He drummed his fingers along the table, hung his head as though praying, and then looked up. "Fine!"

  We all cheered, even the girls. A few groups of students looked over at us, startled by the noise, as they walked by.

  "You all hear Kip Lamb's having a party after the game next week?" Casey said.

  "We're going," Kat said, gesturing towards Ana and Lily. "You're all coming, right?"

  We hashed out the details: next Thursday, after the baseball game, Kip Lamb's party. We hadn't strictly been invited but Kat said that Kip didn't care about that and besides, we would be with her.

  Lily turned to me. Her face was close, only inches away. She wore mascara and her eyeshes were lengthened, darkened. I recalled the taste of her lip balm, the way her pelvis pushed into mine, her ass in my hands. Now, she reached for my right hand and held it tentatively in hers; both of our palms were sweaty.

  That was when I spotted Mi-yeun Kang approaching our table with a friend I didn't recognize. Mi-yeun's dark hair was pulled back in a wavy ponytail and she wore a loose cream cardigan. Casey must have spied her at the same time because he elbowed Marty in the ribs.

  "Hey!" Marty said, elbowing him back. But then he seemed to realize what Casey was getting at: Marty followed his gaze and saw Mi-yuen walking steadily towards him, big smile on her face. Without missing a beat, Marty turned to the group. "Shit, gotta go. Meeting with Galgher. See you after school!" And he leapt off the picnic table and sprinted towards one of the beige-panelled portables, where I saw him duck behind an enormous pnter.

  Mi-yeun watched him leave, frowned, and turned to her friend, who shrugged. They changed course and headed for the front entrance instead.

  "You know why we're showing you these dress colors, right?" Ana said to Casey.

  Casey and I looked at each other, panicked.

  "Corsages, you dimwits," Rob said.

  "Ohhh," we said.

  "Yeah, of course," Casey said. "On it."

  The bell rang, signalling the end of lunch. But the air was fresh and the wind, despite the chill, felt nice, and I wanted to stay outside with Talon. Should we skip? It was unlike me, but that was the point of our final semester, right? I knew Talon wouldn't mind cutting css but—no, he had biology this afternoon and he needed to attend.

  Lily squeezed my hand. "History's calling. I have to work tonight, but maybe you can come over again this weekend?"

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Casey shoot a knowing grin Rob's way.

  "That sounds good," I said.

  She leaned forward and quickly pressed her lips to mine. I hesitated before pcing my free hand on her arm and pulling her in to kiss her deeper.

  She smiled. "You taste like sugar."

  "Swedish berries."

  She wrinkled her nose. "That's a c-tier candy."

  I balked. "Hey, S-tier for sure."

  When I looked around Lily, Talon was already gone.

  As the six of us walked towards the front doors, Casey leaned close to me. "What's a corsage, again?"

  After school, the guys and I pnned to head to Beans for another study session. Both Lily and Ana were working their part-time jobs, McDonald's and a clothing store in the mall. Kat flicked her ponytail over her shoulder and said she preferred to study alone; honestly, I also felt that solo study sessions were significantly more productive but knew Talon needed the support. And besides, I'd never minded studying with a crew—talking about concepts out loud helped solidify our collective understanding.

  So we piled in the back room as usual and got to work. I'd modified a practice exam for Talon, whittling it down in scale but focusing on core areas I thought he needed to address. I worked on chemistry while he filled it out. When he was finished, I quickly scored it for him. I wrote the percentage on the top of the page. While the guys talked, I slid it over to Talon.

  "It's okay," I said. "This was a first attempt."

  Talon gnced down at the paper. His eyebrows furrowed; he looked embarrassed. "Forty-two percent?"

  "But that's only eight percent away from passing."

  He turned the mock exam over. "Ry, I'm not going to pass."

  "We'll do more this weekend."

  Talon started chewing on his fingernail. "I'm sorry. You're helping me so much, I don't know why I can't get it."

  "It's because you're trying to cram a whole semester's information into your brain within a few weeks. That's hard for anyone."

  "Not for you." He ran a hand down his face. "I fucked up."

  "You're going to pass," I said. "It's fixable."

  About halfway through our study session, our conversation drifted to tuxes.

  "I'm buying one next week," Marty said. "I told you in the group chat."

  But everything got lost in there—it was all memes and convoluted inside jokes.

  "You're buying? They cost hundreds," Casey said. "Shouldn't we just rent them?"

  "I'm down for renting," I said.

  Rob shrugged. "Fine by me."

  I nudged Talon. "What do you think?"

  Marty and Casey watched him expectantly.

  "Um," Talon said. "I'll think about it."

  "You keep saying that, dude!"

  "I'm still thinking," Talon said, sinking lower in his chair but smiling.

  I agreed to go with Casey and Rob to pick out tuxes. Marty said he'd join, especially because he needed to order a corsage as well. After we picked a day, we all headed home to eat. Outside Beans, I turned to Talon.

  "Flip your lip like this," I said, demonstrating by pulling on my own.

  Talon did as I instructed, turning his bottom lip so I could see the inside.

  "Perfect," I said. "Want to come over? I'll remove the stitch."

  Talon said yes. We got in and kicked off our shoes. Rachel was home, too, and lit up when she saw us. She was eating chips, veggies (carrots, broccoli, celery, and yellow bell pepper), and Mom's hummus so we joined her at the kitchen table. I liked when Talon ate and kept pushing the pte towards him. As we chatted, Rachel gnced at Talon, a pensive look on her face. But then her eyes would dart to mine and she'd go back to telling a joke or shoveling broccoli in her mouth.

  Upstairs in my bathroom, I instructed Talon to lean against the bathroom counter because the light was stronger. From my kit, I pulled out a set of tweezers and my smallest scissors. I asked Talon to gently pull his lip down.

  "This shouldn't hurt," I said, "but it might feel weird."

  He nodded. "Wait—do I smell like garlic?"

  "Yeah, but it's okay. I do, too."

  "But my hand isn't going in your mouth."

  I ughed. "It's fine."

  I pulled his lip down. The wound had healed beautifully and the inside of his lip looked perfect. Pink and smooth. Using the tweezers, I gently pulled upwards on the stitch's knot, then quickly snipped the loop. Unbound, I could now remove it. I tugged the stitch out with the tweezers.

  "How's that?"

  "Great," he said. "You're right, no pain."

  I wrapped the stitch in toilet paper and tossed it in the trashcan.

  He held a finger to his lip and then traced the spot with his tongue. Without looking up, he said, "So it's not just prom?"

  I frowned, confused. "What?"

  "I mean… Lily. You're not just going to prom with her?"

  My bathroom felt smaller than usual. I wiped the scissors down thoroughly with rubbing alcohol, taking longer than I needed so that I didn't have to face him. "What do you mean?"

  "At lunch, you kissed her," he said, "so—I guess you're dating her or something?"

  "Oh," I said. "That." What to say? It felt rude to say Lily and I weren't something, but at the same time: what were we? We hadn't talked about it yet. All we'd done is make a list of stuff we wanted to try out together. "We're not really together."

  He stood silent for a moment. "I just thought that maybe you were…"

  "That I'm what?"

  Talon turned his head to look at me; we held eye contact. I felt vulnerable, exposed, like whatever he said next would decide my future.

  Would he say it? If he said it, would I admit it? Time slowed. I didn't know if I didn't want him to say something revealing or if I desperately did. I couldn't even think the words properly to myself. To hear him say them might be too much. But it also might make this all make sense: my feelings, my attractions, my loneliness and confusion, This Thing between us.

  "I thought we…" he started.

  I stared at him, waiting. Whatever he decided—if he wanted to say it, if he was going to decre it for me—I would accept it.

  But finally, Talon shrugged softly. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing."

  I packed up my kit and slid it back into the drawer.

  "Want to look at dorms with me?" I said, which felt like a selfish way to redirect the conversation. But I hadn't figured out the Lily situation yet, and I had no clue how to talk about it.

  Talon grinned. "Let's do it."

  We sat propped up on my bed, my bedroom door slightly ajar. I grabbed my ptop and rested it across both of our knees. Talon tilted his head so that it was resting on my shoulder. When I moved my head to the right, his hair touched my cheek. We took a virtual tour of the campus ("This looks like a university out of a movie," Talon said) and watched testimonials of former students describe each dormitory ("They're suspiciously enthusiastic," Talon said, and I said, "Especially at these prices"), opening tabs side-by-side so that we could compare room sizes, window views, and distance to campus.

  "Which one would you want to stay at if you were visiting?" I said.

  "Is that how you're deciding?"

  I looked down at him and smiled. "Obviously."

  "Hmm," he said, looking pleased. "Then I vote Bckwell Hall. I think that one had some single rooms."

  Later, after Talon left, I was in bed scrolling social media, texting the guys and Lily. Dad poked his head in my door.

  "Hi, son," he said. "Do you mind if I take a seat?"

  I sat up straighter, adjusting my pillow. "No problem."

  He settled into my desk chair, groaning as he did so. "These are not made for men my age," he said, leaning forward to pce his right palm on his knee. In his other hand he held his usual Bible, bent sticky notes spyed out. "Your mother tells me you're taking Lily to prom."

  "That's right."

  He nodded, a small smile pying at his lips. "She's a good girl. A good family."

  Where was this going? "She's really smart, too. She's going to U of T in the fall."

  Dad raised his eyebrows. "Wow. Very impressive." He gnced around my room but didn't seem to find what he was looking for. "She's also a nice-looking girl, isn't she?"

  Oh God. "She is, yeah."

  "I think it would be good if you and I could have a more fulsome conversation soon, but for now, perhaps a quick one. How about giving me your full attention?"

  I turned my phone face down. It was eight-forty. Not only was I not in the mood for this, but wasn't it a little te to begin a dating lecture? A breeze picked up outside and rattled my window. Dad's face looked drawn. I wondered if he was sleeping well; he'd struggled off and on for years but it seemed worse tely. Occasionally I'd get up in the middle of the night for water or a snack and he'd be sitting at the kitchen table, reading or working on a sermon.

  "Okay," I said tentatively. "What's up?"

  Dad sat up straighter in my chair, which made an arming creaking sound. "It's an exciting time in your life and it's natural to test boundaries. Especially on a celebratory night like prom, when emotions are heightened. But I want to remind you to protect your heart, and to respect Lily's as well. That's your job just as much as hers."

  "I know, Dad."

  "In all your retionships, you want to keep God at the forefront, and honor him."

  He'd told Rachel and I this countless times. "Got it."

  "Attraction, arousal, urges—that's all to be expected. Everyone has those feelings. They're healthy. It's about where you put those feelings, how you can serve others and God." He paused and inhaled. "Intercourse is—"

  "Dad."

  "Ryan, it's only awkward if you make it that way. I'm not feeling awkward. Are you?"

  I groaned and closed my eyes. "Yes!"

  He ughed but when I opened my eyes again, his fingers were pying with his Bible's sticky notes. "Okay, okay. Message received. We'll talk some other time, all right? Soon."

  "Uh huh," I mumbled.

  Before he left, Dad reminded me to set up a passport renewal appointment and narrow down which dorms I would be applying for. I needed my student VISA, too. Time is of the essence, he told me.

  "I'm very proud of you," Dad said on his way out. "Get a good rest."

  I noticed after he closed my door behind him that he had done that completely uncasual move where he left his Bible where I could see it—this time, on the corner of my desk. But I didn't want to open it. Dad always said God would tell you which verse he wanted you to reflect on, but more often than not, when I opened a Bible I nded on a passage that made me feel infinitely worse. I sank low beneath my duvet, flicking mindlessly through my phone, reflecting on honor and respect and pride. Was there anything to be proud of tely? I'd gotten into my dream school, this was true, and I knew that on paper that meant a lot—in my heart, too. It's what I'd been working towards for so long. But I couldn't shake the feeling that I was messing up somehow, that I was letting everyone down.

  My phone dinged. It was my co-worker Brayden texting to ask if I could take his shift after school tomorrow. I'll owe you one! he wrote. Because of Dad's reminders about my VISA and passport, I said sure. I could use the extra money. I clicked away from Brayden's thread and went to Talon's. The st text I received from him was at 11:47am, during his history block. He was due any minute for his nightly check-in. Mostly I was thinking about lifeguard training, though. About how what they show you in movies isn't exactly true: when people are drowning, they're not usually screaming and thrashing around, making a huge fuss. That's why you have to keep your eye out and be on high alert, scanning the nes repeatedly. Drowning's often quiet. Lonely. Ordinary. People around them might not even notice, lost in their games and pool lengths and lives. Drowning can be a gradual sinking beneath the surface rather than a sudden forceful drop, but a slow descent is just as violent.