They are so caught within their conversation that they are both startled by a sudden explosion to the side of their shoulders. The waitress is lit with campfire glee as she lowers the flaming cheese onto their table. The smell of lighter fluid flourishes, then dissolves into a smoky lemon breeze. The Halloumi sizzles appreciatively.

  Avery and Ryan both stare.

  Once the waitress leaves, Ryan confesses, “I have no idea how to eat this.”

  And Avery confesses, “Neither do I.”

  These are confessions that the waitress has anticipated, so she returns with more bread for the table. She knows it’s often easier to accompany the cheese, the first time.

  The cheese tastes of char and citrus on the surface, then a chewy tang underneath.

  Ryan loves it. Avery is simply relieved they weren’t asked to eat it while it was still on fire, which is how he thought “flaming cheese” might be consumed.

  Ryan turns the conversation back to the play. “I can’t wait to see it,” he says.

  This is something he’s said before, but this time it’s not theoretical. Ryan asks which performance he should aim for; the Saturday matinee’s a no-go because of work, but Friday and Saturday nights are possible, and/or the Sunday matinee.

  It’s Avery’s impulse to say, You really don’t have to. Because it’s not a great play. His role is hardly a lead. It’s a long way to drive.

  But the thing is: He wants Ryan to see it, and he knows Ryan genuinely wants to be there after hearing about it for weeks. It makes Avery’s heart skip a beat to realize Ryan is so plugged into Avery’s story he gets electricity from it, too. Ryan wants to see Pope as Lavinia Stranglehold. He wants to see how Dennis is ruining the play. He wants to see Avery step far out of his comfort zone, tasked with making strangers laugh at lines written before his grandparents were born.

  “Come Friday,” Avery says. “Even if it’ll make me more nervous.”

  “Me being there will make you more nervous?” Ryan asks.

  “Yes,” Avery answers without hesitation. Then he clarifies, “That’s a compliment, you know.”

  Ryan smiles. “I know now.”

  That smile. God, that smile. Avery feels he has to restrain himself from leaping over the once-flaming cheese to kiss that smile.

  Oblivious, Ryan keeps eating. Between bites he says, “I’m not entirely convinced this is cheese. It feels more like an alien substance. Maybe something a manga character would eat. Or astronaut cheese. Only you wouldn’t want an open flame on a space station, I believe.”

  He’s saying anything that comes to his head, and Avery wonders how he could unlock someone else so fully, in such a short amount of time.

  Can we really talk about anything? he wonders. Which immediately makes him think about sex. Not the actual act. Those images don’t flash to him. But he remembers his conversation with Liz at the side of the stage. Ryan is now looking up Halloumi on his phone, reporting that it’s made from a mixture of goat’s and sheep’s milk, with a texture often described as squeaky. As he does this, he does not appear to be a boy overly concerned with sex.

  But Avery has to admit to himself once again: He’s not sure.

  “The word Halloumi is trademarked by the government of Cyprus to prevent other countries from claiming it for their own cheese. Isn’t that wild? Switzerland must be like, damn, we should have thought about doing that!”

  “Yeah. Totally.”

  Now that talking about sex (not sex talk) is on Avery’s mind, he knows it’s not going to leave unless he brings it up. He doesn’t know how to approach the subject, so he grasps at whatever route in he can see, and makes up a conversation that never happened in order to steer in that direction.

  “So,” he says, “speaking of weird things…my friend Pope was talking to me the other day, and they were talking about how everyone says people think about sex every seven seconds, and we were both like, that can’t possibly be true. Maybe as an average—like, someone thinks about sex for an hour straight and then doesn’t for the next six hours. But every seven seconds seems a little extreme, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t think that statistic is science,” Ryan responds. “It’s like some third grader’s older brother told him it happened every seven seconds, and that third grader told all the other third graders, and from there it spread to the whole world.”

  “I know!” Avery says, trying to figure out how to continue to lead the conversation where he wants it to go. “It’s like everyone thinks sex is the point. But it’s not the point, is it?”

  “Only if you want to make a baby,” Ryan says, forking more Halloumi into his mouth and chewing, chewing, chewing.

  “I know, I know. But besides that. You know?”

  Ryan looks a little confused. “I mean…yeah. I know. But even if it’s not the point, it’s still nice, right?”

  “Of course!” Avery replies. “But not, like, right away.”

  Ryan’s hand shoots up to his mouth and he looks at Avery for a second before lowering it and saying, “Oh God. You didn’t think we were going to have sex tonight, did you?”

  Avery feels his face flush. “No! Not at all!”

  “Okay. Whew.”

  “Don’t act so relieved !” Avery blurts out, even though he himself is very relieved.

  Now Ryan looks panicked. “Oh shit. I don’t mean that I don’t want to have sex with you. Just not, like, tonight, in the backseat of a car in some parking lot. Jesus. No.”

  It’s all so ridiculous, Avery starts laughing. And once he starts laughing, he honestly cannot stop. Even as Ryan is asking, “What? What?” he is crying with laughter, Ryan staring until Avery laughs out, “I don’t want to have sex with you tonight, either!” and Ryan should be laughing, too, but mostly he looks confused.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Avery says once he gets his full voice back. “I just got it into my head that because it’s the seventh date, there’s a certain place we should be. Like, there’s all this pressure for sex to be The Big Moment. But I don’t want it to be The Big Moment. I want us to have a thousand different kinds of big moments. And I definitely want some of them to involve kissing and making out because whenever I’m near you, there’s absolutely a part of my body that wants to be completely all over yours, this irresistible pull, like gravity…only hotter. But because we never talk about sex, I didn’t know what you were expecting. Am I making any sense?”

  Ryan puts his head in his hands, shakes it back and forth a few times, then peekaboos his palms into parentheses.

  “You’re making sense,” he says. “But possibly there were other ways to have his conversation.”

  “You’re not mad? Or disappointed?”

  Ryan puts his hands down, makes sure no one else is within earshot, and says, “Avery. I didn’t come here for a quickie. Or even a slowie, if that’s a thing. That whole hot gravity thing you’re talking about? I feel it, too. But it’s about being with you, about being together. And to me, being together is this—talking and laughing and wanting to make out and having completely embarrassing conversations in public. Do I think we’ll have sex? Yeah. Eventually. But eventually is a really wide range of time. And as for sex being the point? Honestly, it never even occurred to me to think that. In the list of things I was looking forward to tonight, I don’t think it even hit the page.”

  Avery is still flushed, but now his shoulders are relaxed.

  “But there will be making out?” he asks.

  Ryan extends his legs so they touch Avery’s, pulling them a little toward him.

  “Oh yes, there will be making out. I swear by the dying embers of the flaming cheese.”

  It’s the least romantic image imaginable. And at the same time, Avery can’t imagine anything more wonderful.

  * * *

  —

  They talk, they joke, they eat. Their legs stay largely intertwined. The waitress brings them a free dessert. When they ask her why, she says it’s because they both dressed up.

  “It’s a sign of respect to wear those ties,” she says. “I appreciate it.”

  It’s only when Ryan and Avery start talking about next weekend, about whether Ryan will be able to stay over after the play, that Ryan remembers that his parents exist. He remembers the fight he had with them before he came here. He imagines what he’ll be going back to.

  But only for a few seconds. He doesn’t want them anywhere near this date.

  * * *

  —

  In the parking lot, they kiss between their cars. They both taste like honey and walnuts and vanilla ice cream.

  They kiss with their lips and their hands. They can’t help but keep their ears attuned for any sudden noises…but no sudden noises arrive. Their kisses intensify time, and also erase it.

  Toward the end, Avery pulls back and apologizes for the awkward conversation before.

  “No, it’s good,” Ryan says. “We have to have those conversations, about what we want. All the small conversations are practice for the big ones.”

  Avery likes that Ryan has made the sex conversation a small one.

  A party of six loudly leaves the restaurant, and Ryan and Avery take this as their signal to call it a night. At home, dinner takes about a half hour. Tonight, it’s been two hours and counting. That feels major to each of them.

  After they kiss out one more goodbye, Ryan says, “Lord knows what my parents will think. I left without a tie and now I’m coming back wearing one. That can only mean trouble.”

  He grins at Avery then, and holds the grin until they each get in their cars and drive away.

  Both feel this particular practice has gone well.

  The Abandoned Course

  (the third date)

  The last thing Ryan wants is for Avery to meet his parents. Half the problem is solved because his dad is out of the house. But his mom is the bigger problem, because while his father will happily ignore whatever’s in front of his face, his mom will ask questions.

  Ryan’s head is still spinning from meeting Avery, and while he suspects what the answers to a lot of his own questions might be, he doesn’t feel like he can rely on any of them yet.

  Not letting his parents into it is an act of self-preservation. Meaning: He is preserving the part of his self that he actually likes, because that seems to be the part that Avery likes, too.

  His parents don’t bring out that part of him.

  He knows he can’t just disappear from his house, so he’s told his mom that he and Alicia are doing something. The problem is that his mom knows what Alicia’s car looks like, so when Avery arrives, she’ll know something’s up.

  Ryan understands he could have asked Avery to pick him up somewhere else…but then Avery might have been the one with questions. And Ryan’s not ready to bring everything down by answering those questions yet.

  About ten minutes before Avery’s supposed to get there, Ryan says goodbye to his mom and walks out the front door. Instead of waiting on the front walk, which is visible from at least four different rooms, he puts himself on the other side of the front hedges. It’s not complete camouflage, but it’s good enough.

  His heart lifts a little when he sees Avery turn onto his street. Avery hasn’t even had time to shift to park before Ryan has the door handle in his hand. He jumps in and says, “Let’s go.”

  But Avery doesn’t go. Instead he says he has to go.

  “Could I go inside for a sec?” he asks. “I have to pee.”

  Ryan knows it’s impossible for Avery to enter the house and get to the bathroom without his mother in some way intervening. Her maternal trip wire is too taut.

  He feels there’s no way to say, I want today to be perfect, and if you pee in my house, the odds are too strong that it’ll spiral into something far from perfect. So instead he tells Avery, “We’ll find someplace else. I promise, it won’t be long.”

  * * *

  —

  Avery isn’t comfortable enough with Ryan yet to say, Are you serious? I have to pee. He also doesn’t want to explain that it’s much easier for him to use a private bathroom than a public one. Especially in a town like Kindling.

  So he starts the car and pulls into the street, as instructed. He waits for some explanation about why he can’t go inside Ryan’s house, but none is forthcoming. He can’t help but wonder if Ryan is embarrassed by him, then tries to bury that thought.

  “I have a plan,” Ryan says. “Are you up for a plan?”

  Avery nods.

  Ryan seems encouraged by this response. “Okay,” he says. “I’ve got this.”

  Avery follows Ryan’s directions to a McDonald’s.

  “That work?” Ryan asks.

  Avery can’t say he’s exactly enthusiastic about peeing in a McDonald’s in a small town he doesn’t know. But it’s definitely better than nothing at this point.

  Avery pulls into the parking lot. “You hungry?” he asks Ryan.

  “Not yet. Not unless you’re hungry. I just figured you could pee here.”

  Again, Avery doesn’t want to explain. So he gets out of the car, heads inside. He doesn’t make eye contact with anyone, but at the same time he feels unspecified eyes on him as he goes over to the men’s room. People behind the counter glaring because he hasn’t bought anything. People at tables staring because they know his destination and have some questions about that. Nobody has to be watching for Avery to feel watched. He is almost used to it, but will never truly get used to it, this feeling that he might be confronted at any moment by assholes. Because assholes are everywhere, and they fundamentally don’t understand who Avery is.

  He is relieved that it’s a one-stall bathroom, that he can lock the door and have privacy. He is also embarrassed by his relief, uncomfortable with the fact that he’s so uncomfortable. Ryan remains oblivious in the car. Avery envies that, and is also annoyed by it.

  On the way out, the eyes are still there, the extra self-consciousness. Avery won’t let it change his actions, not anymore. But he can’t deny it’s there.

  When Avery returns to the car, he finds Ryan busy texting. He barely looks up when Avery gets in.

  Avery half expects Ryan to say that something’s come up, that the date is being canceled, even though this would contradict everything Avery’s felt and thought about Ryan so far. They don’t really know each other enough for any impressions to feel like truth.

  From that half expectation, he’s half surprised when Ryan smiles and explains, “Everyone wants to meet you.”

  This fills Avery with another kind of anxiety.

  “Everyone?” he asks.

  Now the change in Ryan is more pronounced—whatever edge was there when Avery got into the car has smoothed. He seems much more excited as he says, “I may have told one or two or seven of my friends about you. I mean, some of them saw us dancing the other night. I had to keep them updated.”

  Avery starts the car and asks, “Where to?”

  “Do you want to meet some of my friends?”

  The answer is yes, and the answer is no. The answer is that Avery wants to see more of Ryan’s life, for sure. And the answer is that he likes it only being the two of them for now.

  “Maybe later?” he offers.

  Ryan takes this in stride. “Oh, definitely later. I just need to know whether to put them on standby or not. But we’ve got hours of us-time before that.”

  Avery likes the sound of this. But he still feels uneasy. Not because Ryan’s making him feel wrong. He’s just uneasy because nothing is easy.

  Don’t overthink this, he tells himself. Live it instead.

  * * *

  —

  Ryan is so happy he’s not driving. He doesn’t need to look at the road. He can look at Avery instead.

  It’s like being on drugs, the desire he has to take everything in, to stop and ask himself, Can you believe that you’re here with this really cool boy, and you have a whole day to yourselves?

  These are not thoughts he usually has.

  It’s making him smile. He must look like a total dope. Which only makes him smile more. And he is not a smiler by nature. He comes from a long line of nonsmilers.

  “What?” Avery asks, part confounded and part annoyed.

  Oops. Ryan sees how the whole staring-smiling thing might be a little weird from the outside. “I’m sorry,” he says. Then he tries to explain. “I don’t usually like people. So when I do, part of me is really amused and the other part refuses to believe it’s happening.”

  “Oh,” Avery replies. “In that case, feel free to keep staring. I was worried my shirt was inside out or something.”

  Ryan momentarily forgets he’s giving directions, and they miss a turn. He decides if he doesn’t mention it, Avery won’t notice. He tells him to make a left now. Then, eventually, another left.

  “What are we doing?” Avery asks.

  Ryan has also forgotten he hasn’t told Avery the plan. Now he says, “I figured we’d start with pancakes. Do you want pancakes?”

  “It’s hard to imagine a scenario where someone would say no to pancakes. I’m guessing that’s our destination?”

  “Yup.”

  The Pancake Century Diner is like a flamingo sitting in a row of hens, the most colorful thing this stretch of interstate has to offer. Avery parks, and as the two of them walk past the diner’s locally legendary sign, he says, “I don’t understand why they have to do that—put eyes and mouths on food you’re about to eat.”

  “You know, in all these years, I’ve never thought of Mr. Hot Stack as a sentient being,” Ryan admits.