“What’s that?” Ryan asks.

  “It’s my hiding place. Let’s go.”

  Avery crawls in, and Ryan follows. The red-blanket ceiling is too low to allow them to sit up, and Ryan’s legs are a little too long to fit entirely inside. So they put the pillows under their heads and lie there like they’re sharing a single bed. Avery stares up as the light breaks through the blanket in places, fabric starshine. Ryan is on his side, watching as Avery gazes.

  “It’s great,” Ryan says. “Although maybe not the most subtle hiding place?”

  “Oh,” Avery says, “that’s where the invisibility powder comes in. There’s some right by your elbow.”

  “Of course.” Ryan reaches over and throws some invisibility powder in the air. “Did I do that right?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “And when you used the invisibility powder as a kid, your parents weren’t able to find you?”

  “Um…most of the time. It depended on why I was using the hiding place.”

  “I honestly can’t imagine my parents going along with that. Respecting a hiding place.”

  “Mine are good that way. And in general,” Avery says. “But there were still plenty of reasons for me to need a hiding place.”

  Ryan finds this hard to believe. “Like what?” he challenges.

  Now Avery turns to him. “I mean, some stupid things. My parents were always telling me not to run through the halls, but there wasn’t anything I loved more than sliding around in my socks, so I kept doing it—and, sure enough, one time I slammed into the wall hard enough to make the picture that was hanging there fall. The glass of the frame just exploded. I was probably seven or eight—I had no perspective whatsoever. I thought I’d be sent to jail. So I ran in here, built the hiding place, and waited.”

  “I imagine the invisibility powder didn’t work well then?”

  “It did for a time. I think my parents let me calm down a little before talking to me about what had happened. I was probably more upset than they were.”

  “So many things seem like the end of the world when they’re not.”

  “Exactly. And even with the more serious things…I know I told you my parents were cool about the whole gender thing, and they were. But that doesn’t mean there weren’t moments when it was hard. I get it now—kids change their minds all the time about things, so when your kid says, ‘I’m a boy and you need to help me get my body to match that,’ there has to be uncertainty. They never expressed it to me outright, but my dad, especially, was always full of questions. Most of all, ‘Are you sure?’ And honestly, I was always pretty sure. Like, it was obvious to me. But I still needed to come here sometimes as they debated it, as they decided whether my choice was going to be their choice. Which didn’t feel fair to me at all, that it had to be both. I mean, it all worked out. But I didn’t always want to be present for the deliberations, because they only frustrated me or, worse, made me feel like it was possible they’d say no, and I’d be stuck.”

  “Again, I’d say you’re lucky you have your parents and not mine,” Ryan says.

  “You never know. When I get my first tattoo, I think it’s going to be this quote from Virginia Euwer Wolff’s book True Believer—‘We will rise to the occasion, which is life.’ Maybe your parents would have risen to the occasion.”

  Ryan knows Avery wants him to agree here. And who knows? While they weren’t thrilled about him being gay, they didn’t try to stop it, either. But Ryan’s still trying to figure out what to make of what Aunt Caitlin told him. Was his parents’ silence a respect for his desire for privacy? Or were they just happy that it was the school nurse and counselor who had to deal with it, not them?

  “You’re not allowed to hide within the hiding place,” Avery says, drawing Ryan back from his thoughts. “What’s on your mind?”

  “I’m just very happy to be here,” Ryan replies.

  Avery reaches out and pulls Ryan closer. Soon they’re kissing quietly in the hiding place, kissing like their kisses are a secret they’re sharing.

  Ryan loses track of time, but Avery doesn’t. After they’ve been making out for about fifteen minutes, he pulls back and says, “I really should go to sleep.”

  “I know, I know,” Ryan says, nestling into his pillow. He’s forgotten that this isn’t where he’s supposed to sleep.

  Avery looks at him again in the blanket starlight.

  “What?” Ryan asks.

  “I just want to figure out how to help you,” Avery answers. “That’s all.”

  It’s like Avery’s words are a key to a lock Ryan didn’t know was inside him. And when it turns, emotions come out. Powerful emotions. Because Ryan realizes this: He isn’t used to a boy wanting so wholly to tell him the truth, to be on his side.

  “I appreciate that,” he says, trying to control the mix of gratitude and confusion in his voice, trying not to overwhelm Avery with how overwhelmed he feels. “I appreciate you taking me in. I appreciate you inviting me to see your show. I appreciate you building me a hiding place. I appreciate all of it.”

  “You deserve nothing less,” Avery tells him. Then they hug again, and kiss again, until tomorrow’s obligations once more intrude.

  Avery is the first to slide out of the hiding place. Reluctantly, Ryan leaves, too. He helps Avery disassemble the fortress, turning the sofa back into a sofa and then into a bed. Avery helps him unwrap his toiletries, and they go brush their teeth together.

  When they’re done, Avery says, “I probably won’t see you in the morning. I have to leave here before seven. And I don’t want to see how you’d react if I woke you up that early to say a quick goodbye.”

  “You could.”

  “I won’t. Nor should you ever, ever do that for me.”

  “Got it.”

  They share a goodnight kiss. Then they say the words they can usually only text.

  “Sweet dreams.”

  “Sweet dreams.”

  Ryan tiptoes down the hallway, no idea if Avery’s parents are still awake or can be easily awakened. Back on the sofa, he can’t help but feel he’s still in a place that Avery’s built, a shelter offered, an enclosure with soft walls. Even though they’re not in the same room, Ryan imagines Avery breathing beside him. It feels better to be closer to him. So much better to be so much closer.

  This must be what it’s like to fall in love, he thinks.

  Then he corrects himself.

  No.

  This must be what it’s like to be in love.

  River, Be My Friend

  (the second date)

  Ryan hasn’t experienced this since he was a Santa-believing kid on Christmas Eve. But the symptoms are clear, as is the cause.

  He is too excited to go to sleep.

  This boy he’s just met—Avery—only left a few hours ago.

  And in a few more hours, he’ll be back.

  Date number two.

  When he left the dance, he wanted to call right away, continue the conversation even though Avery was driving. He cautioned himself to be cool, to take it slow…but that only lasted two hours, tops. He called. And when he heard Avery say hello on the other end, it was a lifting of clouds, a power surge within his nervous system. How else to explain why he invited Avery back to Kindling the next day? And Avery’s response—so welcoming, so eager.

  “I warn you,” Ryan said. “There isn’t much to do here.”

  Then he went on and on about how little there was. He could’ve gone on even more, but Avery interrupted and said, “As long as you’re there, it will be enough.”

  Who says that?

  More specifically: Who says that to Ryan?

  Nobody. Ryan is positive of this.

  The unreal part isn’t that he’s found someone awesome.

  The unreal part is that someone awesome wants to see him again.

  This is what keeps him up most of the night: He has no idea what he did right at the prom, and because he can’t figure that out, he doesn’t know how to do it again. He is sure he’ll be a disappointment to Avery, because at heart he believes he’s been a disappointment to everyone else, including himself. It doesn’t occur to him to question why something to get excited about also provides a reason to beat himself up. The two things should be separable, but in his mind they aren’t.

  The only reason he invited Avery back to Kindling was because there was no way he could invite himself over to Avery’s town. But now he’s stuck, so stuck, because there’s nothing at all about Kindling he wants to share.

  He can feel his heart beating faster, and knows it isn’t love but fear stomping on the accelerator.

  Calm down, he tells himself. You have to calm down.

  Like other nights when he can’t sleep, he imagines himself away from his bed. He imagines himself floating on his back, riding slowly down a river. He feels his limbs untense. He feels his mind getting control of his heart. He rides it along and along…and there, right before he finally falls asleep, he realizes what they’re going to do.

  * * *

  —

  Avery drives to Kindling the next morning with the fervor of someone retracing his steps to pick up something important he’s left behind. Only it’s not his wallet he’s going back to get, or a suitcase. No, it feels a little like his future fell out of his pocket as he was driving away last night, and now he needs to go back to reclaim it.

  On one level, he feels ridiculous, upending his Sunday to see a boy he’s only just met. There’s homework he needs to do. There are lines he’s supposed to be learning for tomorrow’s rehearsal. He isn’t being responsible at all.

  But, truly, he doesn’t care about any of that.

  He is trying desperately not to overthink it, anticipate what will happen, or script what he’ll say ahead of time.

  No. He’s riding a spontaneous tide here, a tide that didn’t hit last night as much as it welcomed them both in, carried them onto the dance floor and then into conversation.

  What he feels is faith. Faith that Ryan likes him, too. Faith that Ryan is a gentle soul who won’t hurt him with games or lies. Faith that when he gets to Kindling, the future will be there, right where he left it.

  He is nervous to hope. Nervous to expect.

  But underneath the nervousness is the tide, and the tide is telling him he’s driving in the right direction.

  Hope needs to be earned. But you can’t know if it’s earned until you offer yourself to it and see what happens.

  * * *

  —

  Ryan doesn’t know what kind of car Avery drives, but he’s pretty sure there’s no one else with pink hair who’d be pulling into his driveway.

  His parents are off at church, which is about enough to make Ryan believe in God. There’s been no one to witness his vigil at the window, the number of times in a minute he could check his phone to see that a minute hadn’t yet passed. And now he alone is here to welcome the car, to welcome the driver.

  He walks up as Avery steps from the driver’s seat. Both of them are too happy to realize they are smiling.

  “I just happened to be in the neighborhood…,” Avery says.

  “I’m glad you dropped by,” Ryan replies.

  Then they teeter, because they’re in front of each other now, and neither is certain of the second-date protocol. It’s Avery who widens his arm, making Ryan smile even wider, because, yes, here it is: the welcome hug, the reunion hug, the this-means-something hug. They’ve passed the point of anticipation.

  “Do you mind driving?” Ryan asks.

  “Not at all,” Avery says. “I love to drive.”

  There’s no clear logic behind this decision on Ryan’s part. Maybe in Avery’s car, they’ll be more anonymous, more free. And also, Ryan secretly admits to himself, if Avery’s driving, then Ryan can watch him, and not the road.

  “Where are we headed?” Avery asks once they’re both strapped into their seats. “What’s the best Kindling has to offer?”

  It would make sense to start the day with coffee, to go to the Kindling Café. But there are bound to be other kids from the high school there, and Ryan doesn’t want to see any of them, friend or foe.

  Avery is honestly expecting Ryan to suggest coffee, or maybe a diner. So he’s surprised when Ryan says, “The river. How do you feel about heading to the river?”

  “I feel great about heading to the river,” Avery replies. “Show me the way.”

  Ryan tells Avery where to turn, and also apologizes, because there’s a call he needs to make.

  “It’s related to our plans,” Ryan assures him.

  Avery appreciates how sincere this is. “It’s fine. Go for it.”

  Ryan knows Aunt Caitlin is bad about checking texts. Now that the plan has been sanctified by Avery’s enthusiasm, it’s cool to make a call.

  “Hello, dear nephew,” Caitlin answers. “What’s up?”

  “I’m riding here with my friend Avery, and I was hoping we could park in your yard and take the canoe onto the river. If you’re not using it today.”

  “Of course. Have I met this friend Avery?”

  “Um…no.”

  “Is he from Kindling?”

  “Nope.”

  “Ryan…are you on a date?”

  Ryan could just say yes. But instead he draws it out, so Avery can hear it. “Yes, it’s a date.”

  “Well, that’s exciting. When you’re done, if you want to drop by for a snack or something, please do. I’ll be around.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  Avery is completely taken with the sound of Ryan’s voice as he says this. He has no idea who Ryan’s talking to, but the affection he has for them is abundantly clear.

  If you are hoping for someone’s affections, understanding that they have the capacity to be affectionate is always a good start.

  “That was my aunt,” Ryan explains after hanging up. “We’re going to borrow her boat.”

  “You two are close?”

  “I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  “That’s awesome.”

  “I know. Oh—you’ll want to turn right on the next street.”

  * * *

  —

  When Avery imagines rivers, he pictures Mississippis and Hudsons, or maybe white-water rapids with death-defying challenges at every turn.

  The river Ryan is offering is nothing like any of those. Those are highways and this is a country road; Avery takes it on faith that it’s actually a river, but to his eye, it’s more like a stream.

  Still, even though the current isn’t strong and the space between the shores isn’t wide, the presence of water registers, that alchemical interaction where your body feels like a tributary and your heart eases into the pace of gentle waves.

  Avery immediately understands why this is a place Ryan loves, and is glad to have been brought here.

  Ryan remains too nervous to read Avery’s contentment as Ryan walks them over to the canoe, a boat big enough for two. Together they carry it to the makeshift dock Caitlin’s put at the edge of her yard, and then Ryan supervises as they lower it into the water and step inside.

  “No life jackets?” Avery jokes.

  Ryan, not realizing it’s a joke, looks stricken, and says, “It’s really not that kind of river. But if you feel uncomfortable, I can go see if Caitlin has one.”

  “It’s totally fine,” Avery assures him. “I trust you to dodge the rapids.”

  “Dodge the rapids. Check,” Ryan says, scribbling it on an imaginary list and, yes, checking it off.

  Avery sits in the front, Ryan in the back. There are two paddles in the bottom of the boat. Avery is excited by the feel of one in his hands.

  “Do you prefer the left or the right?” Ryan asks.

  “I’ll go left,” Avery replies, putting the paddle in the water.

  “Excellent. Let’s go.”

  Ryan has faced them upstream to begin; at this hour, there isn’t much resistance, and it’s always better to have the current on your side on the way home.

  They head off, and fall easily into a rhythm. Avery delights in guiding the paddle through the water, the way he can feel his arms working, the pull that’s required to leverage against the water and the release when the boat glides under their lead.

  Ryan is the one keeping pace, measuring his strokes against Avery’s to keep them in sync. While Avery moves his paddle like a spoon, Ryan directs his more like a knife. The light hits Avery’s hair in fascinating ways, sometimes making a halo, other times a cloud.

  There isn’t much for them to see at first. Mostly the backs of houses, the detritus of backyards. In the past few years, the river has risen above its banks a few times; not a flood, really, but definitely a warning. Some people like Caitlin have pulled back from the river, shored up their possessions. Others let things fall where they fall, so you can’t tell whether the river took them there or whether it’s just the flotsam of human laziness.

  Ryan feels he isn’t being a very good tour guide, so he tells Avery a little bit about the river’s rise. Then Avery says, “Wow, what’s that?” and Ryan looks to his left and sees the only yard around here that looks cultivated, deliberate.

  “That’s The Garden Lady’s house,” he explains. “For all I know, she’s a witch, because she can get just about anything to grow, even after the soil is flooded.”

  “A good witch, then.”

  “Definitely a good witch.”