“That was fun,” the blue-haired boy says.

  “It was,” the pink-haired boy replies.

  Both feel these words are inadequate.

  For hours, Avery has been thinking about kissing Ryan. Impossible to do in the boat without a lot of awkward rocking to get there. But now…now…

  Ryan thinks it’s like they never left the dance last night. It’s like they’re still dancing.

  “Hey!” a voice calls out—Aunt Caitlin, coming down from the house. “How was the river?”

  She walks a little closer, sees how they’ve moved a little bit apart, but are still holding hands. They’re not looking at each other now; they’re looking at her.

  “So, Ryan,” she says, “are you going to introduce me to your friend? I’m guessing you boys are thirsty. I have just the thing. Pull that canoe up to where it was, okay?”

  The canoe. Ryan feels like an idiot; they left it in the water, and it’s fortunate the current was so gentle that it wasn’t carried off. After Ryan makes a quick introduction between his aunt and his date, Caitlin goes back inside and he and Avery lift the canoe and dock it in the enclosure where Caitlin keeps it.

  “You up for a drink?” Ryan asks Avery.

  Avery is wiping the sweat off his forehead again. “Hell yes,” he says.

  Even if Ryan and Avery had no sense of time on the river, no sense of when they’d arrive back, Caitlin somehow knew. Because not only is there pink lemonade ready in a pitcher, but there are oatmeal raisin cookies only minutes out of the oven. Countless times, Ryan has sat at this kitchen table when the world has felt like too much for him, when he’s wanted to sit inside a house that fully feels like a home. This table, he thinks, has seen so much of his anguish. But now, with Avery, it’s witnessing the opposite of anguish. The table’s presence makes it more real, because it makes it more a part of Ryan’s life.

  Avery wants to make a good impression, and is too nervous to realize this won’t be hard. When Caitlin asks how they met, he turns it into the longest story in the history of humankind, telling her everything short of the amount of gas that was left in the tank after he and his friends drove home to Marigold. Halfway through, he knows he’s talking too much, but Ryan and Caitlin don’t seem to notice it as much as he does, so he goes on. When it’s over, Caitlin asks, “And this was how many weeks ago?”

  It’s Ryan who smiles and says, “This was all last night.”

  “It makes sense,” Caitlin says. “With some people, the minute you start talking, it feels like you’ve known them for years. It only means that you were supposed to meet sooner. You’re feeling all the time you should’ve known each other, but didn’t. That time still counts. You can definitely feel it.”

  Avery knows he should be trying to get Ryan away, should be trying to get him alone, get him close enough to kiss. Time is quietly ticking down to the moment he’ll have to leave—he promised his mother he’d be home before dark. But he is enjoying the company, the lemonade, the cookies. He feels it’s probably wrong to think of this as more worthy than kissing and making out. But right now, it is.

  “Do you want to see some embarrassing photos of Ryan dressed up as Britney Spears for Halloween?” Caitlin asks.

  “I was six, and I was playing dress-up,” Ryan clarifies. “I didn’t go out trick-or-treating as Britney.”

  “Because if you had—”

  Ryan groans. “Maybe we would’ve figured out things sooner?”

  Avery laughs and says he’d still like to see the pictures.

  Caitlin runs to her room and comes back with a few snapshots—some embarrassing, some sweet. Avery enjoys this, but also has the tug he sometimes gets when he knows that if the situation were flipped, he’d feel very different about Ryan seeing photos of him early on.

  He doesn’t feel any scrutiny from Caitlin. Or any from Ryan, either, after all he said in the boat. While intellectually he understands this is possible, emotionally he’s still not ready for it, and has to accept it gradually rather than immediately.

  What’s clear to him, as three of them eat cookies and two of them feel the satisfying soreness in their muscles, is something both simple and extraordinary, something that exists beyond doubt: Last night, Ryan appeared in his life…but today, he has truly entered it. And Avery has entered Ryan’s life as well. The rest is still to be determined.

  Avery can try to ignore the clock, but it’s harder to ignore the sun lowering outside. Avery asks where the bathroom is, and once inside calls his parents, asking for an extension. But it’s pointed out that he’s only had a license for a little while, and he was already out late last night.

  “I think I have to head home soon,” he says when he gets back to the kitchen.

  “It’s been so wonderful to meet you,” Caitlin says. “Here, let me give you some cookies for the drive. And do you want a Coke, too, for some caffeine?”

  Avery thanks her a few times, accepts her care package. He and Ryan both hug her, then head to Avery’s car so Avery can drive Ryan home.

  The ride goes too fast. It feels like all they’ve managed to do is sum up the day, talk about how well it’s gone, without a chance to really add to it. Ryan asks Avery to pull over a few blocks away from his house. He’ll be coming from the direction of Alicia’s house, which is where he’ll say he was, if his parents bother to ask.

  “This is a good spot,” he tells Avery. “I don’t want to say goodbye in front of my house, if you know what I mean.”

  Avery thinks he knows what Ryan means, knows what Ryan wants to do, and immediately all his senses are reaching out for it. The radio is on low, the dashboard glowing dimly in the increasing twilight.

  “I’ve had a great time,” Avery says, because he feels it needs to be said again.

  “Me too,” Ryan murmurs.

  It is the shift into that murmur that marks the turn. Avery suddenly feels like he is breathing electricity, and it is through this air that Ryan is leaning. Avery leans into it, too, leans into all of it, and that is when their lips touch for the first time, that is the consecration of everything they’ve already known. Every serious kiss says at least ten things at once—I want you and I’m afraid and I want this and I hope this isn’t all there is and so many other feelings. All of those are present in this kiss, but one word rises above them all, one word moves from one boy’s lips to the other’s, and back again.

  Welcome, the kiss says.

  Over and over. Back and forth.

  Welcome.

  The Cast Party

  (the ninth date)

  As Avery takes his calculus exam, and again as he takes his history exam, he tries not to be distracted by the fact that right now Ryan is alone in his house. He feels he’s getting to know Ryan well, and he certainly knows his house well, but somehow his imagination fails when he tries to put the two of them together.

  Ryan was still asleep when he left, and Avery didn’t have the heart to wake him just to say goodbye. Instead he did what any young lover would do—he stood beside the door for a very short time and watched the object of his affections softly dreaming. Even asleep, Ryan had an expression of mild surprise, his eyes closed but his mouth looking to be on the verge of speech. His arms curled one way (gathering) while his legs curled the other way (a leap). His blue hair pointed in what felt like an infinite number of directions.

  When we speak of tenderness, sometimes it’s caused by the raw vulnerability of the person being seen, and sometimes the source is the raw vulnerability of the person who is seeing. Ideally it is a match between the two, where the open weakness in one inspires an open weakness in the other. That’s what Avery felt, seeing Ryan asleep on his couch, the uninvited guest he wanted to make perfectly at home.

  But was that possible? As Avery goes through calculus and history, he knows that Ryan’s reprieve is only temporary. At the end of the weekend, he’ll have to go home. And now Avery feels the exasperation that lines the pockets of love, frustration that even if he gives Ryan all the affection he has to offer, he cannot control how much affection anyone else provides. He can give Ryan a home for a weekend, but when it comes to Ryan’s real home, Avery is powerless. And that gets to him.

  His friends see that he’s distracted, and they assume it’s because of the play. At lunch, Avery texts Ryan and finds he’s been getting assignments from his friends, starting homework now so he doesn’t have to do it the rest of the weekend. Ryan asks Avery if he’s getting preperformance jitters, and Avery is surprised to realize the answer is no. Possibly this is because of denial—it seems unbelievable to him that in a few short hours he will be on a stage with an actual audience. But also, he feels ready. Ready to be up there. Ready for Ryan in particular to see him, to take this further step into his ridiculous world.

  “When will Romeo Ryan be here?” Pope asks.

  “Tonight,” Avery answers. “He’ll be in the audience tonight.”

  * * *

  —

  Ryan texts Alicia throughout the day. Besides conveying what happened in his classes, she is full of advice.

  Whatever you do, don’t seek out his diary. That never ends well.

  and

  Even if they say to help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge, don’t take too much and don’t zero in on anything that’s expensive, because odds are they’re saving that for themselves.

  and

  Even if you’re sleeping there again tonight, make sure you take the sheets off the couch before they come home, so if they look in, it will look like their living room and not like your campout site.

  He has no idea how she knows these things, but the advice feels sound, so he follows it.

  There are also texts from his mother. He doesn’t read those.

  When Avery’s parents come home, Ryan knows he has to put his phone away. They tell him they’ll be leaving for dinner at five-thirty, since the show starts at seven-thirty.

  Ryan is comforted by the fact that when it’s just the three of them in the car, they don’t seem any more acclimated to the situation than he does. Years of carpooling have put Avery’s mom more at ease, or at least more able to project ease from behind the wheel. Avery’s dad, though, can’t help but study Ryan every time he turns to ask an innocuous question.

  Ryan is glad he bought a new shirt to wear, because the restaurant they go to is a pretty nice Italian place, much nicer than anywhere his own parents would take him and his friends. It’s a table for ten, and soon they’re joined by Avery’s aunt and uncle and two young cousins, as well as three family friends. When Avery’s mom introduces him by saying, “This is Avery’s boyfriend, Ryan,” Ryan has to try hard to keep it together. It’s not only that her saying it makes it more real (which it does), but he also can’t imagine a universe in which his mother introduces Avery in the same way. It’s a lot. And maybe Avery’s mom sees this, because after hands have been shaken and the introductions are over, she reiterates, “It’s really wonderful to have you here, Ryan.”

  He knows that this is Avery’s stage debut, but seeing everyone else’s reaction to that fact really brings it home. Avery’s mom, so calm in the car, is more nervous now. The cousins, ages seven and nine, are bouncing with excitement. The other adults are saying everything’s going to be fine, that Avery conquers any challenge he sets himself. They don’t ask Ryan for his opinion, and he doesn’t volunteer it; he agrees, but that agreement is based on guesswork, not history.

  Ryan notices that the younger cousin is wearing Pokémon sneakers, so that opens up one conversational path, and by the time his main course arrives, Ryan feels secure that he’s won over at least two members of Avery’s family.

  One of the family friends asks Ryan if he’s an actor as well, and Ryan laughs in response, then quickly explains that performing in front of other people is the last thing he’d ever want to do.

  “I can barely get out the words when they’re my own words,” he tells the table. “As you can see.”

  One of the family friends says, “I used to think that, but,” and then launches into an account of her “blossoming” during a community theater production of The Miracle Worker. Ryan listens politely, but he enjoys the way Avery’s mom rolls her eyes, having clearly heard this story many, many times before.

  Avery’s dad asks if anyone has seen Don’t Forget Your Shoes! before.

  “I think our great-great-great-great-great-grandmother was in a production when she was a girl,” Avery’s uncle jokes.

  “Wasn’t there a movie?” one of the family friends asks. “With what’s-his-face. You know. The one who isn’t Clark Gable.”

  “I’m sure it’s going to be wonderful,” Avery’s aunt says.

  “I’m Clark Gable,” Avery’s younger cousin proclaims.

  Ryan settles into his food, happy to overhear for the rest of the meal.

  * * *

  —

  It is chaos backstage. Controlled chaos, but chaos nonetheless.

  With only half an hour until curtain, Pope’s dowager wig can’t be found, the living room settee is refusing to roll smoothly, Tara James is cramming lines because Sara Lane has the flu, and Dennis is driving everyone up the wall with his “vocal exercises,” which sound a lot like the chorus of “Old MacDonald Had a Farm” fed through a meat processor. Mr. Horslen, who never yells, is yelling. Only Liz Macy seems unfazed by the hullabaloo, so Avery makes his way over to her.

  “It’s even worse with the spring musical,” she tells him after they both take a look around. “People are even more insecure and precious about their singing. But don’t worry—everything will sort itself out. We just have to stand out of the way of the mayhem and let the clock take care of it.”

  They finish getting into costume—Liz puts on her stockings, and Avery clips on his tie. (He wants to put on his fedora as well, but he doesn’t need it until the croquet scene.) True to Liz’s word, the clock sorts things out, because while curtain time can be held for seven minutes so people can get to their seats, it can’t wait much longer than that.

  Avery offers a passing thought to who’s in the audience, and he certainly hopes that Ryan has survived dinner. But his phone is back in his locker and his mind has now entered the play. The curtain rises, and the family in the audience is no longer his family. No, this misfit ensemble, from Lavinia Stranglehold down to Baby Winston, is his family. He is now, he thinks, happily engaged to a woman who will end up in an attic.

  They get laughs. Sometimes intentional, sometimes by mistake. But what a good feeling, to hear people laughing in the dark. While Avery’s head is in the play, his heart feeds off this laughter, and the satisfaction when the dialogue zings the way it was meant to zing, and the physical comedy is pulled off without anyone losing an eye.

  The only missed stitch is Dennis, who continues to rage like a thespianic plague. The laughter makes it worse, because laughter has never been Dennis’s goal. The more the audience laughs, the angrier he gets. When the confrontation scene arrives and Lucius and Laurent discover both-and-neither of them are affianced to Betty Lou, Dennis is channeling all the fury of Medea, to a degree that Avery wants to tell Baby Winston to hide, even though Baby Winston isn’t the object of Dennis’s onanistic volcano of acting. Avery must stand his ground as Dennis spits and rends and howls. He is only saved when Pope-as-dowager runs in and says, “What in tarnation is all this commotion?” This gets a big laugh, and Avery expects Dennis to rip the couch from the stage and throw it at the audience.

  Somehow he resists.

  * * *

  —

  Ryan doesn’t really know what to do with what’s playing out in front of him. As a kid, it was always much more fun to play dress-up than to watch other people play dress-up…and isn’t this dress-up? He’s not entirely sure why a high school would put on a play where nobody is even remotely high school age. There are laughs, for sure, but when Ryan is laughing, it’s mostly when things are going wrong, or when Pope does such a spectacularly out-there version of dress-up that the showbiz gods are summoned.

  Every now and then, Ryan sneaks glances at the rest of their party, to see if he’s the only one feeling this way. Avery’s father looks perfectly happy and Avery’s mother looks a mix of nervous and happy. Avery’s uncle looks bored and his aunt looks utterly charmed. The most enthusiastic are Avery’s cousins, because they figure all high schoolers are adults, so it makes perfect sense for them to dress up as other adults. Every time Pope puts some whipped cream and cherries on top of a line reading, the cousins eat it up.

  The one thing Ryan does love is how queer the play is. With no disrespect meant to Avery or his performance, it’s very clear to Ryan that the whole kit and caboodle—the fiancée, the inheritance, even Baby Winston—should be given to the sarcastic lesbian aunt. (They keep calling her a spinster, and because he’s never heard the word spinster before, Ryan imagines that in her free time she does something involving thread, like Penelope from The Odyssey, or the princess in “Rumpelstiltskin,” whose name he can’t remember.)

  It’s fun to see how much fun Avery is having. But it’s starting to seem like a bad idea to sit through all four performances.

  * * *

  —

  As soon as the standing ovation is through, as soon as the curtain closes after the final bows, everyone in the cast starts hugging each other, euphoric. They’ve done it. Somehow all the cogs, all the gears, were in working order. No lines were majorly flubbed. No entrances were majorly missed. No scenery fell, and Dennis didn’t pop any of his own arteries.

  It’s a success, and everyone’s giddy to do it again, twice tomorrow.

  They change back into their street clothes quickly, handing over the sweatier parts of their costumes to Penny’s mom and dad, who are in charge of cleaning the wardrobe. (Penny hasn’t been able to do anything to stop the rumors that her parents’ dry cleaning business was the reason she was cast as Baby Winston, and her parents’ presence backstage makes matters even worse.)