Four Years

Everybody was calling it a white Christmas, but it was only a few inches of snow, much of which was already turning into slush. Many of the snowflakes started melting the second they hit the sidewalk, but some of it managed to stick to the grass and to the roads, giving my street a chic white makeover that you only see in the black-and-white Christmas movies they play on TBS. It was only four inches or so at the most, nothing to be overly excited about. But this was the closest thing to a white Christmas Carterville had ever seen.

For me, I couldn’t care less, as my job was keeping score of baseball games during the summer and fall. School had been out for almost a week when the snow hit, so I stayed inside, constantly refreshing Tumblr and switching back and forth between the Food Network and re-watching The Last Song—which would have been the same thing I’d have done to pass time without the snowfall.

Because it snowed just a few days before Christmas—which was a far cry from the usual holiday weather in Tennessee—my mom was hell-bent on getting a real pine tree instead of setting up the fake one we’d been using ever since my parents got married. I’d always wanted a real Christmas tree, too, like the one my Grandpa Norm always set up. The smell of pine in the house was always my favorite thing when visiting my grandparents during the Christmas break. Not the green bean casserole Nana made, or the couple of early Christmas presents my grandparents gave me. No, it was simply the smell of their tree.

So I was utterly heartbroken when my dad flat-out refused my mother’s idea to get a nice, small pine tree for out first snowy Christmas. Instead, as usual, we hauled out our old, six-foot tall plastic tree and hung the many homemade and store-bought decorations as my old boom box from the second grade churned out classic Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra songs that played on the Christmas radio station.

“Oh, sweetie, did you hear?”

My dad poked his head out from the box of stockings and old nativity sets, a dumb expression on his face. The cowlick in the center of his forehead stuck up as he ran his hand through his hair.

“What,” he flatly prodded.

“Mrs. Reynolds is having a Christmas party tomorrow.” He stuck his head back into the musky box, rifling through stockings of pets past. “You know her – she used to be the PTA president for Casey’s elementary school?”

My dad grunted as he finally sat up straight, a green and red spiraled Santa hat in his hands.

“Kind of spur-of-the-moment, don’t you think?” Dad said, walking up next to me and plopping the ungodly Santa hat on my head.

Mom shook her head, flattening out the swim trunks on the singing, surfing Santa doll she’d bought last year. “She has them every year, George.”

“Oh,” he sighed, sticking his thumbs into his back pockets. I pulled the hat off my head, shaking out its musky attic smell. “You going?”

Mom nodded, turning to the glass nativity set she’d set up on the coffee table. She stood up the singing Santa next to it, clicking the button on his surfboard. The Beach Boys’ “Little Saint Nick” quietly played through the speakers as a fish sharing the surf wave with Santa danced.

“We ran into each other last week at the super market and she invited me then. I told her that you’d come along,” Mom said, placing her hands on her hips as she smiled at the doll.

“Can’t,” he grunted again. He took the putrid hat from my hands and put it on himself, folding his arms as a crooked smile worked its way onto his face. “Got a dinner with the guys. You know, football and stuff.”

I avertedly scoffed, rolling my eyes.

“What? Can’t a guy watch football on Christmas Eve?” he said, the smile still on his face.

“No,” my mother and I deadpanned simultaneously.

Dad shook his head, running his fingers over his cowlick in a lame attempt to flatten it. “Well, the Titans are playing tomorrow. I don’t want to miss it. And Mattie’s dad’s making wings, so… Don’t want to miss that, either,” he said.

“Fine, I’ll go by myself,” Mom said, brushing past Dad and to the tree, reaching up to fix the star atop the fake, plastic top branch. “Casey, you’ll have to stay home, though.”

I rolled my eyes, tucking my hands into the pockets of the old sweatpants my dad had given me. “Like I wanted to go anyway. Old ladies with Christmas sweaters? And the smell of ten billion different kinds of perfume over cookies and pie? No way. And besides, Norah is coming over, remember?”

“Oh, I completely forgot.” My mom nodded, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. “Well, then I’ll be needing the mini-van since the truck is in the shop. Your dad can take your car.”

Dad’s eyes suddenly got wide. He shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck nervously and adverting his gaze to the couple of presents already under the tree. “I was actually gonna take the car ‘cause the… The guys made me the designated driver.”

“George,” my mom sighed, shaking her head. “You know I don’t like driving Casey’s car. My brother only just fixed it.”

“Yeah, I know. And I tried to get out of it, too. But we drew straws.”

I snorted, but turned my gaze from my dad when he gave me an odd look.

“Fine, I guess,” my mom sighed, crossing her arms.

There was a beat of awkward silence as “Little Saint Nick” faded to an end and the plastic Santa ended his dance.

“I’m just gonna go to my room,” I muttered, plucking the Santa hat from my dad’s head and tossing it back into the box it came from. “I think we’re done with the tree.”

|||

“No, way. Greg Reynolds’s mom?” Norah said, bouncing in place on the edge of my bed, popping another peanut butter M&M in her mouth.

“Yeah, I know, right? What are the chances of my mom running into Mrs. Reynolds?” I shook my head, running my fingers over the fleece blanket in my lap.

“So your dad’s watching the game with his buddies, and your mom…?”

“At Greg’s house,” I finished. I sighed, slumping further into the desk chair that I dragged next to my bed.

“And you guys seriously haven’t talked since he heard that rumor that you had a crush on him?”

I reached over and plucked the bag of candy from Norah’s lap, grabbing a few of M&Ms for myself. “Nope.”

“Harsh, man. Seriously.” I nodded in agreement, crunching another M&M between my teeth. “Wait, wait, wait. How did he find out again? You know I don’t know the whole story. You never really told me everything,” she said, crossing her legs under her knees.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Uh, well…” I grabbed another small handful of candy, nibbling on a rather large red one. “I met Greg on the first day of middle school—in math. He came in late, and the only seat left was right behind me in the very back. Our teacher had us stay where we picked for the rest of the year.

“Greg was the first person to talk to me.

“‘Casey?’ he said. ‘That’s a guy’s name!’” I mimicked in a lower voice.

Norah giggled for a moment before putting on a straight face. “Please tell me you punched him in the wiener,” she deadpanned.

I laughed, shaking my head. “No. No. I didn’t do anything. I just ignored him.”

“Then how did you become friends?” She furrowed her brow, tossing an M&M in her mouth.

“We had some classes together—about three or four others, which was a lot. But about a month later, we had a test in math, and we could only use pencils. I let him borrow one. He apologized after class when he gave it back.”

“Aw,” Norah cooed, grinning stupidly. “That’s so cute.”

“Yeah, okay, no.”

Norah giggled, waiting for me to continue.

“But anyway, we got closer over the next few years. We got put together for a group project in English with another girl in the seventh grade, and we started hanging out a lot after that. When he’d miss the bus for a tutorial or something, my mom would offer him a ride home. Since he had a pool, we’d hang out all the time during the summer and stuff.”

“So what happened?”

“I got a crush on him. And I was adamant that I was going to keep it a secret, because, I mean, c’mon. Who wants their best friend to know that they like them? But I, uh… I eventually told someone near the end of eighth grade.

“Greg always walked with me to classes we had together, and he’d follow me to history since it was on his way to some other class he had. Anyway, there was this girl – Jennifer Evergreen. I wasn’t entirely friends with her, but we sat at the same table in history and we got along pretty well. One day, she asked me point blank if I liked Greg after he gave me a hug before skipping off to his next class. And—for some reason—I told her, but I asked her to keep it a secret. And she promised she would.

“But the next thing I knew, the shit hit the fan. Everyone else knew about it. Including Greg.”

“God, what a bitch.”

I scoffed, chuckling as Norah innocently shrugged her shoulders. “What? It’s true.”

I shook my head and continued. “So anyway, Greg didn’t talk to me after that. He ignored me in class and over the summer. And after eighth grade, we went to different high schools.”

“You mean you guys haven’t talked to each other for, like, four years?”

“I haven’t seen him, either.” I pulled my blanket tighter over my shoulders as an involuntary shudder ran though my body.

“What was he like?”

I shrugged. “Nerdy, basically.” I fleetingly smiled. “He played the euphonium in band and was in Whiz Quiz. He also had this, like, super deep and scratchy voice back then ‘cause he had baby colic. Um… He was pretty tall and skinny. Taller than me, anyway. And he had black hair and these super-nerdy glasses.”

“Aw! He sounds like such a cutie.”

I rolled my eyes, a small smile creeping its way onto my face. “I guess.”

“It’s like Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley!” she added, still grinning excitedly.

“What?” I gave her a weird look, quirking an eyebrow.

“You have red hair, he has black hair and nerdy glasses. Boom! Albus, James, and Lily can finally grace the earth.”

“What the hell are you talking about? I don’t even have red hair!” I argued, trying not to laugh.

“It’s a shade of red, sweetie,” she said soothingly, as if she was telling me she accidentally ran over my cat. “It counts.”

“Whatever. You know what, as long as I don’t have to see him again, I—”

Before I could finish my sentence, my cell phone started to vibrate loudly on my desk. Norah and I both stared at it for a moment before I picked it up and checked the caller I.D.

“It’s my mom…” I muttered, flipping it open. “Hello?”

“Hey, sweetie. Um… I think your car’s broken or something. I don’t know.”

I cleared my throat, running my fingers through my hair. “Uh, Mom, it’s great that you’re calling me, but did you try Dad? He does have the other car.”

“I did, but he didn’t pick up.” I could hear a shout in the background, along with the ending of what I thought to be “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.” “I need some help with it, and you’re the only one who knows more about the car than I do—you helped Uncle Ned fix it up.” That wasn’t completely true, though I did spend most of my time at my uncle’s house that summer watching him fix up the car. I would park myself in his air-conditioned garage and watch baseball games, downing Capri Sun after Capri Sun as he worked on the engine. But the most I ever did was hand him wrenches and screw drivers. “And Mrs. Reynolds was nice enough to send her son to pick you up.”

“What?” I said, even though I clearly heard her.

“Greg Reynolds is coming over to pick you up so you can look at it, sweetie.”

“Well, what’s wrong with it? Was there smoke coming from the engine or something?” I asked, fiddling with the edge of my blanket. Norah gave me a confused look, and I waved it off.

“I couldn’t tell with how cold it is and all. But could you please come and check on it? You know more about it than I do.”

I begrudgingly nodded, then mumbled a yes.

“Thank you, Casey. Greg should be along in a few minutes.”

My mom hung up then, a string of laughter the last thing I heard until the line went dead.

My mother knew Greg and I stopped being friends after I transferred to a different high school, the one next door to the elementary school she taught at. But all I told her about it when she asked why we weren’t speaking was that it was difficult to be friends with someone you didn’t go to school with anymore. By that time, I was already going over to Norah’s house every other weekend, so it didn’t matter to her much.

“What’s up?” Norah asked, tossing a handful of candy into her mouth.

“Besides the number of cavities you’ll have next time you visit the dentist?” She gave me a sour look, rolling her eyes. “My car might be broken, and my mom wants me to come over to see if I can ‘fix’ it or whatever,” I said, standing up and sticking my phone into my back pocket.

“Do you need a ride?” she asked, tucking some of her unruly black hair behind her ear.

“No.” I walked over to my closet, pulling open the door.

“Then how are you getting there? Is Greg coming to pick you up or something?” she chuckled, licking her lips.

I gave her a quick look over my shoulder, and she guffawed.

“No way. No way.”

I grabbed a maroon cardigan by its hanger, closing the door.

“For the record, I wish he wasn’t.” I shrugged the sweater off the hanger, dropping it to the floor, and slipped on the cardigan, taking a sniff of the fabric to double-check if it was clean.

I grabbed my wallet on my dresser, sticking it into my pocket. I left my room, briefly catching a glimpse of myself in the tiny mirror hanging on the back of my door, and Norah followed.

“Do you think you’ll be back soon?” she said, plopping herself on the couch in my living room as I leaned against the side of the fireplace, running my fingers through my hair and checking my phone.

“Hopefully. Not only do I not want to be around Greg, I just want to hang out with you tonight. Jeeze,” I mumbled, running my tongue over my teeth. “Do you have any mints or something?”

“No. But it’s your house, boo. Go brush,” she said, turning on the TV, the first few scenes of It’s a Wonderful Life flashing on the screen.

In the middle of scrubbing off the chocolate staining my tongue, I heard the bell ring. I paused, my toothbrush hanging from my mouth. I could feel my heart rate start to pick up. “Norah!” I yelled, bits of toothpaste flying onto the mirror.

“Can’t hear you!” she shouted back. She obviously could, though.

“Norah, please get the door!” I called again, spitting and cupping my hands under the faucet.

“Fine!” she yelled back. I could hear the laughter in her voice.

I quickly dried my face and hands before briefly checking myself in the mirror again, running my fingers through my hair. I grabbed a small hair tie and slid it around my thin wrist just in case I might need it.

“Greg’s here,” Norah told me, passing me and heading into my room. She kept the door open, however, standing in the doorway and crossing her arms.

“Thanks,” I muttered.

“Yeah,” she said, smirking. “Now go show him what he’s been missing.”

I scoffed at Norah, then walked down the hallway and ambled into the living room.

It was all so quick. I stepped onto the carpet, my Christmas-themed socks scrunching up under my toes as I turned the corner. And there was Greg, sitting on the arm of our old, worn couch, his arms crossed in front of him. I took him in, and it felt as if I was back in the eighth grade again: his jeans were still old, slim, and faded, his hair shaggy and a bit long, falling over his forehead in a naturally fashionable way. He still had the same dimple in his lower left cheek, the same bright blue eyes. His glasses were different, however – no longer frameless and round, but boxy, black rectangles that gave him a smart demeanor. His jaw line was still prominent and his cheeks had hollowed out, revealing the sharp features that were hidden under his baby fat only a few years previous.

In a word, he was hot.

“Hey,” he simply said, standing up and picking up his beat-up jean jacket from behind him. “Long time, no see.”

I slightly smiled at the sound of his voice: if possible, it was even lower and scratchier than before, but somehow the same, just like his height. He had hardly grew and only had a few inches on me, making him around 5’6” or so.

“Um, Casey, you have… You have something on your chin.” He took a step forward, pointing to my face, a shy grin evident. “It looks like toothpaste or something.”

Crap, I thought, brushing my fingers under my lip.

“No, it’s—” He made a move as if he were going to wipe it off himself and extended his hand, but he took a step back, clenching his fingers into a fist and smiling. “You got it.”

I barely smiled, sticking a hand into my cardigan pocket. But my shy visage quickly disappeared after I reminded myself that he had ignored me after the rumor—erm, the truth of my crush came out. So I unscrewed any trace of grin and gestured to the front door, following after him and slipping on my sneakers, locking the door behind me.

|||

“So your dad gave you his Chevy Special?” I asked as Greg slammed his door behind him.

He nodded, sticking the key into the ignition and coaxing the engine to life. “He helped me install the stereo and new seats, too. But we had to have the carburetor rebuilt,” he added, chuckling as the dashboard lit up.

The thirty year-old truck still smelled like tobacco—a stiff, thick scent that covered the seats, the dash, the ceiling. Even Greg. I’d never admit it then, and I wouldn’t now, but I loved that about him. Not that I liked the scent—honestly, it made me gag any other time—but it just reminded me of Greg.

“Heavy snow, huh?”

I nodded, pulling my cardigan tighter over my shoulders.

“Sorry about the heat. You know it takes a while to warm up.”

I nodded again, clenching my jaw briefly. My mom didn’t know I used to have a mad crush on Greg, but it wouldn’t surprise me if she was just having him pick me up as a way to set us up. Besides, Greg was a guy. He probably knew more about Turtle, my green Toyota coupe, than I did.

“Do you mind if I turn on some Christmas music?” Greg asked out of the blue, shooting me a sidelong glance.

“No,” I said, licking my chapped lips.

He nudged the stereo knob, gripping the steering wheel as he hummed along to Frank Sinatra. I pulled out my phone, hoping for any sort of distraction—a text message, an email, anything—from the awkward mood floating over us like a daunting rain cloud.

“So, uh, how’s school?” he asked, gripping his thumb into a fist. A loud pop cut across the music, and he shook out his hand, resting his arm on the windowsill. In middle school, he’d always crack his knuckles when he was nervous. I quickly recalled the time when we stood up in front of our English class to give a presentation on Mark Twain. He kept popping his fingers so loudly that our teacher Mrs. Krug had to tell him to stop in the middle of the presentation.

“Fine,” I said, looking out my window and sticking my phone back into my pocket. Snowflakes dotted the cracked rearview mirror attached to the door, distorting the reflection of Greg’s glasses in the upper left corner.

He cleared his throat, easing to a stop at the red light in front of us. “Any idea where you’re going to college?” he tentatively prodded, shooting me a quick glance.

I simply shook my head. “No.”

Greg groaned, easing the truck forward and nudging the shift stick that stuck out from the floor of the truck. “Could you use more than just one syllable, Casey?”

I scoffed, my eyes still glued to the passing trees and houses outside. “Like you care.”

“What does that mean?” he nervously retorted. He abruptly cracked his index finger on the steering wheel when I didn’t answer.

I was about to reply with some senseless comeback when my words were cut off by the sound of something scraping against the tires. It echoed over the ad for Oxy-Fresh playing on the radio, completely scaring the shit out of me. I looked at Greg, his brow furrowed as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. He glanced from side to side, his eyes eventually landing on me. “Probably just some ice,” he gruffly mumbled, returning his eyes to the road.

All at once, I could feel it getting hotter in the cab. I felt my rising temper start to even out, giving me this eerie, calm feeling throughout my chest and fingers. My stomach churned as if I had a bum appendix.

And then we hit it.

“Shit!”

We skidded for a few seconds, and I could feel my heart pounding against my ribcage. Greg reached for the stick shift, pumping the clutch and brake as we finally slid to a stop. The truck lurched forward once more, the tires finally sinking into the muddy snow at the side of the road.

“Holy crap,” Greg sighed, gripping his temples between his thumb and middle finger. He looked at me, his brow furrowed. “You okay?” he stammered, quickly undoing his seat belt. He tossed the buckle over his shoulder, scrambling to my side.

“Yeah, sure,” I muttered, reaching down for my own belt. My fingers fumbled with the heavy buckle as I tried to push in the button to no avail.

“You can’t—”

“I’ve got this,” I insisted.

“Here, let me help.”

His fingers glided over mine, gently removing them from the cold metal of the clasp. “You have to nudge the button upwards,” he calmly explained, a click closely following his words. “You can’t force it too much or it won’t work,” he added.

I just stared at him speechlessly.

“What?” he said, running his fingers through his messy hair. “Am I bleeding or something?”

I sighed, shaking my head. “No. It’s nothing.”

But I couldn’t help to notice it felt like Greg hadn’t changed, as if we were back in the eighth grade again. Even though he’d always pop his knuckles when he was nervous, Greg was the coolest guy I knew. He never sweated the small stuff.

Not that sliding on a patch of ice was small.

A subtle grin grew, as well as the same familiar dimple in his left cheek. “Okay, then.” He scooted back to his side of the cab, yanking out his keys from the ignition. “I’m gonna go check if there’s any damage. I, uh… I doubt it,” he added, hooking the keys to his belt loop and running his hand through his hair again. “But just in case.”

I nodded, already feeling the cold air starting to creep in. But after he jumped out of the truck, his jean jacket in hand, I literally started shivering through my cardigan, goose bumps dotting my forearms. It was fucking freezing inside the truck, even with all the windows shut.

I snapped my head to my window at the sound of Greg tapping his knuckles on the glass a few moments later. His nose was already a bright red, his cheeks an even darker crimson. He motioned me to roll down the window.

It took a few good seconds to get it down with the squeaky crank by the door handle—just enough to hear what Greg had to say.

“Hey, there’s, um… We kinda landed in a pile of snow,” he explained, his breath swirling up above him in white puffs. “The tires are stuck. So, um… I think we’ll have to push it out,” he finally got out. He coughed and snapped his chin to the side with a loud crack. “I really need your help here, Casey. There’s an orange vest behind the seats, so you can wear that. And you can wear my hoodie if you want to.” He pointed to the Reed High sweatshirt under his jean jacket, the same stupid grin on his face. “What do you say?”

I shrugged my shoulders and reached for the window crank, rolling it back up before I yanked the rusty, old truck door open. I hopped to the ground, snow crunching under my feet, and folded my arms tightly around my sides.

“Anything to get out of this damn snow.”

|||

“You’re sure you put it in neutral?” I said, pushing the truck with my back as my hands gripped the bumper. I gave Greg a tight look as he pushed against the tailgate with his arms, his face red.

“You’ve asked me twice, and the answer is still yes.” He grunted once more, heaving a sigh and straightening up. He turned around and leaned against the bumper, folding his arms. I copied him, tucking some of my hair from my face as another sharp breeze blew.

“Well, excuse me for double-checking.”

“I think what you’re doing is called triple-checking,” he pointed out with a smug smile.

“God, will you shut up? And it would be great if you hadn’t even slid on the ice in the first place.” I shivered, my next few words stuttered. “It’s practically your fault.”

Greg groaned loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why are you so angry with me?” He sighed and pushed himself off the bumper, tucking his hands into his pockets. He walked past me and circled around the truck, checking the buried tires again. Clearly frustrated, he ran his fingers through his hair, taking his time with popping each of his fingers. “Huh? Why?” he gently urged, setting his hands on his hips as he stood in front of me.

I shrugged, racking my brain for some other excuse than the truth that I still held a four year-old grudge. “I just… I just really hate the cold,” I said, pushing myself from the back of the truck and taking a step closer to Greg.

“That’s not it.”

“What?”

“That’s not it,” he simply repeated, folding his arms.

“Greg, I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s not the cold that’s bothering you,” he simply stated, staring me down.

I started, about to brush off his guess, but I swallowed my words and bit down hard on my lower lip. I sighed, looking off to the side at the nearly empty street, to the lamp hanging over the road, the ice between the asphalt and weeds growing along the patch of land where the truck had landed.

“I still don’t know how you do that,” I bitterly admitted, tucking a strand of strawberry hair behind my ear, glancing fleetingly at Greg before fixing my gaze to the snow buried under my shoes.

“Then what’s up?” he said, taking a step towards me. “I… I mean, is it the truck, or…?” He trailed off, his eyebrows raised in silent confusion.

I grimaced to myself, still too embarrassed to explain to Greg that my hostility had nothing to do with the truck but the fact that even after four years, nothing had changed: not him, his bright blue eyes, the way he spoke—even the way I felt about him. And even despite that lingering feeling in the pit of my stomach—somewhat familiar but impossible to recall a specific moment I’d felt it before—I was still mad at him for ignoring me for the last month or so before eighth grade ended.

I took a deep breath, finally locking eyes with Greg. “Well, I wasn’t really expecting my car to break down.”

He slowly nodded, as if he wasn’t exactly following.

“And I had to leave my friend by herself at my house. And, well… That’s it,” I lied again, shrugging my shoulders.

“That’s it,” he repeated skeptically, still staring me down.

I sighed, rounding out my subterfuge with, “I just wanted to stay home and do nothing tonight, you know?”

Greg nodded again, then took a few steps towards me and reached for the tailgate handle. With a loud squeak that cut through another gust of wind, the slab of rusty metal collapsed into a ninety-degree angle with the bed. He heaved himself up, patting the space next to him, and gave me an easy smile.

I jumped up as well, though not as gracefully, and stuck my hands into the large pocket of his hoodie as another shiver shook my shoulders. I could feel Greg staring me down, and after a moment, he wrapped an arm over my shoulder, pulling me closer to him.

His jean jacket smelled like the cab of the truck, though the scent of laundry sheets and soap nearly covered up the stench completely. I cupped my hands and exhaled into them, my legs swinging back and forth over the edge of the tailgate, as Greg’s hand slid from my shoulders to rest on the tailgate behind me.

“Yeah… That’s total bullshit.”

“What?”

Greg chuckled dryly, bumping my foot with his. “You’re still lying, Casey.” He bit his lip, shrugging his shoulders. “And… Look, I’m sorry if I was distant there for a moment. It’s just… Weird. Seeing you. You know?” He scrunched his eyebrows in an innocent expression, his dimple growing as he squared his jaw.

I gave him a flat look. “What?”

“Look, just… What’s up?” he said, now bumping my knee. “It’s not the cold, seeing as you stole my Reed sweater,” he said, pointing to his maroon sweater, “and it’s not that you had to leave your Christmas Eve hangout sesh to check up on your car.”

“It could be,” I meekly added, playing with my fingers inside the huge hoodie pocket.

“You’re a shit liar, so no.” He chuckled, biting his lip.

I just sat there for a second, weighing my options. I decided that it was time to tell Greg that I still felt mad at him. It wouldn’t do either of us good for me to keep it bottled in. “Fine. I’ll tell you.”

Greg looked at me, his eyebrows perked up, waiting for me to continue.

“As long as we get in the fucking cab. It’s freezing out here,” I said, jumping off of the tailgate.

“You know,” he said, jumping off as well and slamming the tailgate shut, “we might as well walk to my house. There’s no use trying to push it out of the snow until it warms up in the morning.”

“How far is your house from here?” I asked, turning to look at Greg.

He shrugged, brushing his fingers down his nose as the wind ruffled his hair. “A little over three blocks.”

I nodded, chewing on the inside of my cheek as I rocked forward on my heels. “Okay. I’ll tell you on the way.”

|||

“Okay, since it’s been a while, I don’t exactly remember every single little detail,” I admitted, kicking a rock buried under some slushy snow as we made our way down the side of the road.

“A while since what?”

“Since… you know.”

“No, I don’t know,” Greg chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks were still a bright red even though I’d offered him the neon orange vest I’d been using, which now was zipped snuggly over his jean jacket.

I gave Greg an abashed look. “You know, after word got out about…?”

“About what?” He chuckled again, white clouds of air swirling above his head

“Oh, come on. How could you not possibly know?”

“Okay.” He cleared his throat and slowed down to a stop, now standing in front of me. “All I know is that, like, a month before summer started, you stopped talking to me,” he said. He started walking backwards in front of me, his hands deep inside the traffic-cone colored vest, and I followed. “So it would be great if you’d tell me what you are talking about.”

I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and my gut sank as I looked Greg straight in the eyes.

“Well, I mean… It was going around that I—that I had a crush on you,” I finally spit out. I could feel my cheeks turning beet red from embarrassment.

Greg stopped again, just in front of a little slab of sidewalk that stuck out from the edge of the street. “You had a crush on me?” He laughed, walking a few paces and punching the crosswalk button. I followed him, careful to sidestep a small patch of ice at the edge of the concrete.

“No, no. Well… I mean…” I trailed off, now standing next to him.

He gave me an amused look, his dimple growing. “So, it was just a rumor, then? You never actually liked me?”

I sighed, shaking my head, and threw up my hands. “Okay, you want to know?” He nodded, lightly smiling, as if he were enjoying seeing me flustered. “Of course I liked you, Greg. I mean, c’mon! You were like my only friend in the eighth grade.”

“Me, too,” he said, still grinning.

“Oh, come on. I wasn’t your only friend. You were in Whiz Quiz, for Christ’s sake.”

Greg laughed uneasily, running his fingers through his hair. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

Before I could even begin to respond, Greg started across the street. I had to run to catch up to him, my throat instantly running dry from the dry air as I picked up my pace. Even though he was short, Greg had a fast gait.

“You… You can’t be serious,” I said, my jaw still hanging open.

He laughed, shooting me a glace as he slowed down so we were walking together. “Yeah, I had a crush on you. You were pretty cute,” he added remissibly.

I swallowed hard, and it felt as if my heart jumped in my throat. Greg had a crush on me. Greg had a crush on me. I backtracked, suddenly stopping. He turned around then, seemingly muddled.

“Whoa, wait. Hold up. Cute?”

Greg laughed. “Yeah. I was crushing hard then.”

“What happened?”

“You stopped talking to me,” he simply explained.

I started, quirking an eyebrow. “No. No, you stopped talking to me,” I said, pointing a finger at him.

He narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms. “What do you mean?”

I tucked a wayward strand of hair behind my ear, wrapping my arms around myself. “I called. Your mom said you were sick, that you didn’t want to come to the phone. I got the message.”

Greg laughed. He laughed hard, his smile growing wide as clouds of air swirled over his head. He shook his head and stroked his chin, still grinning wildly. “Casey, I was sick. I remember. That was the first time I ever got strep. I was out the entire weekend.”

I stuttered unintelligible syllables, quirking an eyebrow as a horrified look grew on my face. “What?”

“I thought you stopped talking to me,” he said, shrugging his shoulders as a breeze mussed his bangs.

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold up. So you never—”

“No.”

“And you never stopped—?”

“Nope.”

“Whoa.” I gripped the bridge of my nose as a small lump rose in my throat. I swallowed hard, trying to grasp everything I’d uncovered in the past five minutes or so.

“Yeah. Whoa.”

I sighed, heaving a tired laugh. Greg just chuckled, the dimple under his chin growing, then swung his arm around my shoulders and turned us down a street I hadn’t seen for four years.

|||

Before I even looked inside the car, Greg dragged me by the hand and rushed up the steps onto the old wooden porch of his house. He pushed the screen door open, motioning me to go inside before him.

Mrs. Reynolds’ party had settled down from the laughter and music that I’d heard over the phone when my mom called, and as we passed by the living room, I could see an older married couple conspicuously act something out for Charades, wine glasses in hand. Words were shouted out, but the voices faded as Greg led me into the kitchen, his hand still enveloping mine.

“It’s fucking freezing,” he muttered, shedding the orange vest and jean jacket he had on. He tossed them onto the nearby kitchen table and exhaled into his hands cupped over his mouth. In the light, his rosy cheeks shone even more, and his ears and nose were turning pink as well. He ruffled the hair at the nape of his neck, screwing his mouth to the side.

“What?” I asked when he let his eyes rest on me for a moment too long.

“Nothing,” he said, taking a few steps to the cupboard and pulling out a box of instant hot chocolate packets. “Want some cocoa?” he asked over his shoulder, ripping the box open.

“Sure,” came a voice behind me.

I turned around then, my eyes wide. “Julian?”

“Hey, Casey.” Julian grinned and set her hands on her wide hips, nodding at me. “Haven’t seen you in forever. What’s up?”

I chuckled easily, a grin matching Julian’s growing on my face as well. “Nothing, really. How’s Texas?”

“Oh, you know. Hot.” She ran her fingers through her short, blonde hair, briefly nodding to the window above the sink. “Glad I could come up here, though. I missed the snow.”

“But her favorite cousin? Not so much,” Greg teased. The microwave was whirring behind him as he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Greg laughed sarcastically and turned back around, reaching for another mug.

Julian was Greg’s cousin. She was one year ahead of us in school, but only a few months older than Greg. She’d always hang out with us during the spring and summer, toting along her cheap acoustic guitar and playing whatever was popular on the radio. She moved to Dallas a month before we started the seventh grade. I hadn’t seen her since, though she still looked the same: short and stout, sporting a wide grin and cardigan.

“So what took you guys so long? It’s been, like, almost an hour.”

“No, it hasn’t,” Greg interjected. “It’s been twenty minutes. Tops.”

“Just tell me you guys weren’t making out in the truck or something,” she groaned, walking over to where Greg was making another cup of cocoa.

“W-what?” Greg stuttered, chuckling. His dimple grew with a familiar smirk. “Yeah. No.”

“Uh-huh.” Julian gave him a quick look, but it was soon gone. “So, Casey, what’s up with your car?”

“We haven’t looked at it yet,” I said, glancing at the oven clock. “Hopefully it’s not anything drastic. My uncle just fixed it up.”

“Hopefully,” she repeated, barely nodding.

The microwave beeped, and Greg popped the door open, tentatively pulling out a steaming cup of cocoa before sliding in another other mug. He walked around the island and handed me the drink, quietly reminding me that it was hot. I wrapped my fingers around the Christmas-themed mug, bringing it to my lips. Though the cup itself was perfectly warm, the cocoa was hot, so I let the steam wafting from the brim warm up my nose.

“How’s Texas? You’ve got to tell me what’s happened since you moved.”

Julian nodded, and I could see a small blush creep across her cheeks. “Well,” she began, glancing at Greg as he added some water to a third mug, “I’m going to college now. Cruising at home, hanging with friends—just taking it easy.”

“Any special friends you might’ve forgot to mention?” Greg prodded a moment later, smirking as the microwave beeped again.

“No,” she quickly shot back, blushing even harder.

“She met a guy,” Greg simply explained, shooting her a mischievous look as he pulled out the mug and handed it to her.

“I met Ray a long time ago, you idiot,” she muttered, folding an arm and resting her elbow in her palm. She accepted the cocoa and took a gracious sip, rolling her eyes.

“And it took you how long to start dating? Four years? Six different girlfriends? The same love song played how many times until you figured out it was about you?”

I nearly choked on my first sip of hot chocolate, and not because it still hadn’t cooled. “A love song?” I giggled, biting my lip. “Who is this guy? Some sort of rock star?”

“Hardly,” she said, rolling her eyes again. Greg nudged her shoulder and she grinned.

“He’s on tour right now,” Greg said. “He made a stop in Memphis a week ago and they met up.”

“First time in a good three months,” Julian remissibly added, taking another long sip of her hot chocolate.

“Greg, sweetie—”

I froze in place, immediately locking eyes with Greg. It was like people from my past kept popping up from behind. I could recognize that deep southern accent anywhere.

“Casey?”

I turned around, but before I could set my mug down, I was hugged tightly to Mrs. Reynolds’ chest, her fruity perfume overcoming the scent of cocoa filling the kitchen.

“Hey, Mrs. Reynolds,” I mumbled, smiling uneasily as she let me go.

“Oh, Casey! You’ve grown quite a bit! I haven’t seen you since… Oh, since you and Greg were in the eighth grade together.” I nodded, bringing my mug back to my chest and taking a tentative sip—perfectly warm. “What happened to you? It’s like you fell off the face of the earth!”

I started, glancing at Greg. He adverted his gaze, his eyebrows raised in concentration as he let out a dull “Uh…” Julian backhanded his shoulder, and he finally spit out, “Different high schools, Mom. You know how it gets.”

Julian eagerly nodded in agreement, shooting Greg a furtive glance. He just rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders, popping open the microwave as it beeped.

“Oh. Well,” Mrs. Reynolds said, briefly setting a hand on my shoulder, “I’ll see you later, then, I suppose?” She looked at Greg then, quirking a finely plucked eyebrow.

“Yeah. We were just going to check on her car,” Greg explained, sipping his cocoa. “We won’t be long.”

“Good. Great to see you again, Casey,” Mrs. Reynolds repeated, sending me a quick smile before she ducked out of the kitchen.

“Nice excuse,” I said a moment later, making my way next to Julian as I leaned against the island.

“So how did it really go down?” Julian set her empty mug in the sink, running it under the faucet before looking between Greg and me.

“Long story,” Greg explained, taking a huge gulp of his drink.

“That’s the lamest thing you’ve ever said, man. C’mon. I have time,” Julian said, crossing her arms.

They stared at each other for a second until Greg caved, shrugging his shoulders. “Okay. Fine. Here’s the short version: Casey had a crush on me.”

Julian bit her lip, looking between us as she tried not to laugh.

“And I thought this girl I told blabbed about it,” I said, taking a large sip of cocoa and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

“Yeah. So, she called to explain, but I couldn’t come to the phone because I had strep throat.” Greg took a tentative sip and then tipped his mug towards me. “Your turn.”

I chuckled, smiling. “But when his mom said he wasn’t feeling well, I thought that he just didn’t want to talk to me,” I said. “And Greg thought that I stopped talking to him because…” I paused, looking at Greg. “Well, actually, I don’t know why.”

“I thought word got out about my crush on you,” he explained, looking into his mug as he swirled it around by the handle. “I told one of my friends – Josh Hutchensen, you remember him? I told him, and he said he told his ‘girlfriend.’” He used air quotes, scoffing at the word. “I can’t remember her name… Jennifer Something-Or-Other. I don’t know.”

I let out a sudden laugh, and both Julian and Greg looked at me. A smile started growing on Julian’s face as she chuckled slightly.

“Care to explain?” Greg deadpanned.

“That’s the girl that figured out I had a crush on you.” I laughed again, shaking my head. “I can’t believe it. When she said she told… I thought she meant she told everyone. Not just her boyfriend. Wow.”

Greg outright snorted then, shaking his head as well. “What the hell, man.”

Julian rolled her eyes, crossing her ankles as she leaned against the counter. “So all of this was because neither of you could keep your mouths shut?”

“What can I say,” Greg said, gulping down the last of his hot chocolate, “I hate keeping secrets.”

“I’ll say,” Julian muttered.

“So!” Greg announced. “What say we go check on that car?”

“As long as you have an extra hoodie,” I said, taking the couple of steps to the sink and setting my mug at the bottom, “I’m game.”

|||

“Okay. Turn on the engine,” Greg yelled, leaning with his arm against the propped hood of Turtle, my old green coupe.

I jerked the key forward and the engine sputtered to life, but only momentarily as it stuttered to a stop.

“Come on, Julian. Keep the flashlight still. It’s like you’re getting tickled or something,” Greg said, cracking his fingers on either hand. Julian scoffed, shining the light in his eyes before aiming it back at the middle of the engine.

“Start it up again, will you?” he called, pulling back his hand from somewhere in the middle of the engine.

As the dash lit up, I scanned the lights and the blinking seat belt symbol. My eyes eventually landed on the gas dial, and I chuckled.

“Greg?” I said, a smile making its way across my lips.

“What!” I couldn’t see him anymore; his head was only a few inches from the grill as he examined the battery.

“It’s out of gas.”

Greg stood up then, his face blank, as Julian pointed the flashlight at his face and smirked.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I stood from the seat and gestured to the dash, nodding my head towards the inside of the car. Greg rushed forward, walking behind me and peering over my shoulder as his hand brushed against the small of my back.

“Well, how about that,” he muttered. I turned to look at Greg, but I started as our noses nearly brushed, my face going red. He adverted his gaze and cleared his throat, taking a short step back and leaning against Turtle.

“Now that you two geniuses finally figured out why the car crapped out—” Greg indignantly snorted, and Julian gave him a teasing look. “Who’s coming with me to get gas?” she said, setting a hand on her hip.

Greg and I looked at each other briefly, and I nodded. “Sure. I’ll come along. I’ll need to pay for it, anyway.”

“I’ll come, too,” Greg hastily added, slightly raising a hand.

Julian chuckled. “Why do you need to come along?”

“To catch up?” he half-asked. I gave him a confused look, one which he returned.

“Fine. But no drooling over each other. I’ve got to keep my car clean for the drive back to Texas.” She pointed to flashlight at Greg’s face, and he squinted as he looked at me, grinning. “Deal?”

“Deal,” he said, covering his eyes with his hand. “Just point that somewhere else, will you?” he groaned.

She clicked off the flashlight and jerked her head to her old, beat-up Honda parked next to the Reynoldses’ minivan. “Let’s get going, then. I’m freezing.”

|||

“Ray seems like a really cool guy,” I said as the laughter died down from Julian’s story about their first kiss.

“He is,” she said, glancing at me through the rearview mirror. The random mix CD she’d put in changed to a quiet country song. “Too cool.”

“Like me,” Greg added. He turned his head from the frosty window, grinning smugly. Julian guffawed.

“So how ‘bout you, Casey?” Julian said, skipping the song to a punk one. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Uh…” I stalled, glancing at Greg next to me from the corner of my eye. He looked disinterested as he checked the time on his phone. “Not really. No.”

Greg snorted. “‘Not really?’ What’s ‘not really’ supposed to mean?”

I just shrugged and tucked some hair behind my ear as we turned into a bright gas station, slush melting at each of the pumps. Julian stopped in front of the nearest one and cut the engine, but the music was still playing—some kind of smooth jazz song.

“I’m gonna get a Diet Coke. The canister’s in the trunk,” she said, tugging the key from the ignition and opening her door.

Greg gave her an annoyed look, one that she teasingly returned. He then slid across the seat right next to me, our legs touching. “Get the door, will you? Mine doesn’t open from the inside.”

“Uh, y-yeah. Sure.” I reached over and tugged at the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge. I checked the lock—it was open. “It’s not working,” I said, pulling it once more for emphasis.

“Here, let me try.”

Before I could protest, Greg set an arm behind my shoulders and reached across my lap, wrapping his fingers around the small latch. He was close enough that I could smell the tobacco smoke that clung to his jacket. He tugged at the latch twice before he gave up, sighing and shaking his head.

“You’re sure it’s not the other door?” I suggested.

Greg suddenly grinned, snapping his fingers and pointing at me as he shook his head. “You… You’re brilliant.” He scoffed and slid across the seats, opening the other door with one swift jerk. He rounded to the back of the Honda, snapping open the trunk door and lifting it up, peering inside.

“Ah! There it is,” he mumbled, pulling out the large, plastic gas canister.

I walked around the rear of the car and sifted through my wallet; Greg followed, canister in hand. I had pulled out my mother’s gas card, left over from when I last filled up Turtle, and was about to slide it in the scanner when Greg plucked it from my fingers. He set the gas canister on the ground, kicking it past my feet, and grinned.

I started, about to voice my objection once more, when Greg shushed me with one finger a mere inch from my lips, my card still clutched between his middle and index fingers of the same hand. “Ah-ahh. My treat.”

“But Greg—”

“Casey, it’s only two gallons.” I haughtily rolled my eyes. Greg chuckled, then started to shuffle his way between the gas pump and myself. But he suddenly stopped sidestepping and stood in front of me, the space between the car and the pump miniscule enough that we were almost touching. He just looked at me, his gaze unwavering.

“What?” I croaked. My throat was dry, and I swallowed hard as I scanned his face, my eyes lingering a moment too long on an old scar just above his lips.

“Nothing,” he said just as quietly, his dimple growing the slightest.

Until then, I had never been kissed. I’d never had a boyfriend, nor had I gone on a date. I was a dimwit when it came to dating and relationships and all that crap that went along with it. So when Greg gently ducked his head near my shoulder and brushed his fingers against mine, I panicked. My heart rate picked up and my stomach flipped as my throat ran dry. I could feel my face heating up, and I—

“Oh, my gosh.”

Both Greg and I took a step back. My heel hit the rear tire and Greg bumped his back against the pump’s long hose.

“The bathroom was a complete mess, man,” she drawled. Her eyes were set on her bottle of Diet Coke that she was struggling to open to no avail. “Not even any paper towels. I had to snatch some from the hot dog counter…” She paused, finally looking up from her soda. “What happened?” she said slowly, quirking her eyebrow. “Did you lock yourselves out of the car or something?”

“N-no,” Greg stuttered after a moment, finally making his way past me to the other side of the pump. He set a hand on my elbow and nodded to my left; I took a step to the side. “You just surprised us is all,” he explained. He picked up the gas canister, his head bent down as he took his time to unscrew the cap on the valve.

“Oh.” Julian shrugged and sauntered over to us, her soda now open. “I’ll be in the car,” she muttered, closing her door before either Greg or I could respond.

“Thanks again,” I said, leaning back against the rear of the car. Greg reached over to swiftly scan his own gas card and punched in his zip code.

“No problem,” he replied quietly, lifting the nozzle. “Hold the canister, will you?”

|||

“It’s cold. Seriously,” Julian mumbled, setting the car in park in the Reynoldses’ driveway. “My ladyballs are freezing off.”

Greg snorted, shaking his head. “That’s what heated houses are for, dumbass.”

“You’re right. But then I’d have to risk the throngs of old, drunk people. And you know how that is.” She shut off the engine, hooking her keys on her belt loop. “But whatever. It looks like most of them have stumbled off, anyway.”

She was probably right: most of the cars that had dotted the street only fifteen minutes before were gone, save for Turtle and a half-dozen coupes straddling the sidewalk.

“I’ll see you before you leave again, right Casey?” she said, turning around in her seat to face me.

“Yeah. Sure. I’m probably leaving soon, but I’ll try to catch you.”

“Awesome.” She stuck out a fist, beckoning me to bump it as she grinned. I stuck out a loose fist and Julian tagged it up and down as I let out a chuckle. She then backhanded Greg’s shoulder, promptly pointing a finger at him before sliding out her door and scurrying inside the house.

“She used to be so reserved. She’s changed,” I said, unbuckling my seatbelt.

Greg smirked, looking at me. “Yeah. Just a bit.” I cracked a small smile. “Okay, let’s get your tank filled. I’ll get the canister.”

Greg ambled up to Turtle’s rear, the plastic container clutched in his hands, as I finished unscrewing the cap on the tank. “Need help?” I asked, reaching for the hair tie I’d left on my wrist and bunching up my hair into a messy ponytail.

“No,” he said, setting it on the ground. He cracked his knuckles and reached down to pluck the cap off the nozzle. He grabbed it and tipped it forward, starting to fill in the tank, but stopped.

“Shit,” he mumbled. From the porch light, I could see gas seep out from the screw-on nozzle of the plastic gas canister, dripping onto the ground and falling onto Turtle. Greg put the canister back on the ground, kneeling down next to it.

“So, uh…” I cleared my throat, shoving my hands deeper into Greg’s Reed High hoodie that I was still wearing. “What was that?” I mumbled.

“What was what?” Greg said, standing up once he tightened the nozzle. “The leak? It was just—”

“No, no,” I quietly interrupted, tucking some wayward hair behind my ear as a gust of wind blew behind me.

“I’m confused,” he said.

I took a deep breath, letting it out through my nose. “The… the thing. At the pump. What… What was that?” I clarified.

Greg narrowed his eyes, and I could hear a dull crack as he popped a finger. “Nothing,” he said quietly.

“Greg—”

“Nothing,” he said again, turning around and kneeling to pick up the canister. “Okay? It was nothing.”

I curled inside myself then, bowing my head as my cheeks lit up.

“It’s just… You know, I really liked you. I really did. And I just thought that… I don’t know. Ignore me,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the canister as the gas sifted into the tank.

“Did? Or do?” I tried, eyeing him nervously.

He scoffed acerbically, worrying at his lower lip. “Both.”

I exhaled sharply, sardonically shaking my head and looking off to the two rocking chairs that sat on the Reynoldses’ porch. Even though I wanted to think that I couldn’t have figured that out for myself, I knew better.

Then I heard the canister drop to the ground, the empty plastic bin thumping on the concrete. I felt his fingers, cold and somewhat calloused, ghost over my neck. And Greg kissed me, his chapped lips easily capturing mine like any other first kiss.

“I feel… as though that was long overdue,” he said, his voice low. He was stoic, his eyes unwavering as his thumb brushed against my waist.

I cleared my throat and took a small step back, timidly adverting my gaze. His fingers left my jaw, trailing my neck as his arm dropped to his waist.

“Shit. Casey, I’m sorry,” he said then, taking a step towards me. “I shouldn’t have just… piled that on you.”

“No.” I shook my head, still keeping myself from looking at him.

I felt trapped. If I didn’t say anything in return, he’d hate me, and if I told him that I still had the crush I’d harbored from him in the eighth grade, we’d just fall apart again in time. And at that moment, I thought nothing was even worth having to relive losing Greg. I was stuck behind my own fear.

“No… no what?” he raucously asked, his words rolling from his lips like the clouds billowing above his head. I just shook my head, curling my arms around my stomach.

When it snows, the powder absorbs sound. It gets quieter. The traffic seems to be farther away, the wind nonexistent. And in the middle of a blanketed Carterville, I could really think to myself for a moment. Both lying to Greg about my feelings and just pouring myself out to him had the possibility to end badly. I knew he could break my heart, just like any other boy; and I knew that if I put him down, he’d probably never want to look at me again. Anything had the possibility to turn into shambles, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t go down swinging.

So I took that step and stood on the tips of my toes and kissed Greg.

I could feel him smile, his chapped lips moving against mine. He reached to cup both of my cheeks as his thumbs brushed against my jaw. I intertwined my fingers behind his neck as he reached down to set his hands at the small of my back.

And then there was cold air between us again. I could feel his breath, heavy and warm on my shoulder as he chuckled, tangling his fingers in the ends of my loose ponytail.

“Casey?”

“Yeah?”

“I missed you.”

I hummed in response, lightly smiling.

|||

“Oh, good. I thought you were gonna leave without saying goodbye or something!” Julian said loudly, rolling her eyes and reaching out to hug me. I chuckled and accepted her embrace.

“Naw, I couldn’t do that.”

“So, did you get it started?” she asked Greg, who trailed in behind me.

“Get what started?” he asked skeptically, quirking an eyebrow.

“The car, you idiot,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Greg sighed, about to say something. But before he could utter a word, Julian laughed.

“Oh, man,” she exaggerated. “You did, didn’t you?”

“Julian—”

“Do what?” I said, shooting her a confused look.

“Kiss,” she simply said. “It’s written all over your faces.”

I snorted. Greg gave Julian a dark look, his cheeks turning such a deep shade of crimson that it looked like he was sunburned.

“Finally! The sexual tension in the car was insane. I thought I was watching a rom-com or something.”

I stuttered a few unintelligible syllables as Julian walked between us and out of the kitchen, giving me a subtle wink.

“How did she—?”

“She’s, uh… She’s known for a while. She used to make fun of me when we were in middle school all the time. Kissy faces behind your back, all that crap.”

“Really.”

“Yup,” he sighed. “So…” I turned to face him fully, my hands tucked into my pockets. “My sweater fits you nicely. You wanna keep it?”

“You kidding me?” I laughed. “I’d get jumped the second I stepped foot inside my school,” I said, looking down at the American eagle across the front.

Greg chuckled, taking a few small steps until we were almost touching. Then, he ducked his head slightly, kissing me once as his hand rested easily on my hip.

“What?”

Greg bit his lip. “Nothing,” he chuckled. “I just wanted to do that.” I couldn’t help it—my neck burned red and I giggled like some lovesick schoolgirl.

Though, looking back, that probably wasn’t a far cry from the truth.

|||

While my mom polished off her third and last glass of white wine, Greg and I walked up the stairs and hung out in his bedroom. The same Eagles poster hung above the head of his twin bed, and out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw…

“Is that us?”

“What?” Greg turned around from tossing some of the clothes on his bed into an open cabinet drawer.

“That picture.” I pointed to a small Kodak photo that was pinned on a corkboard next to a concert flier for The Maine. “I can’t believe you still have it.”

Greg shrugged, sniffing a sock in his hand. “It was our first concert. It’s not like I could forget it. Or like I wanted to.” He tossed the sock into a nearby laundry basket and reached for a t-shirt.

We talked, mostly about what had happened the four years we hadn’t seen each other and how we were going to handle this: hanging out during the weekend, dates every few weeks. Because that’s what is was—a relationship. We exchanged phone numbers as well. Even Julian walked in on us talking in his room and gave me her number. She made me promise to text her any time Greg started acting like an ass (though she took me aside before she left his room to tell me that he hadn’t changed; he was still the same kid we knew in middle school).

“I still can’t believe you haven’t dated anyone before,” I said as Julian scurried out of the room and shut the door behind her.

“Me?” He laughed. “I was too busy stalking you on Facebook to notice anyone else.”

“Oh, Greg. You’re so funny,” I sarcastically said, batting my hand at him.

“Well, okay. No stalking on my part.” I laughed. “But I guess I just didn’t care, you know?”

I nodded then got up from his bed, my feet silently padding across his carpeted floor. I looked at the concert picture again, and then it hit me how long it had been. In the photo, Greg had his arm around me as we posed with Jared Monaco, who held up a “rock on” hand gesture. Acne dotted my face, and my hair was a lighter shade of red—almost blonde. Greg had a longer haircut, his shaggy hair reaching his eyebrows and falling over his ears. He had braces then, and I could see them under his wide smile.

There was a knock on the door, and then it opened.

“Casey, sweetie, I’m ready to go,” my mom said as she hitched her purse onto her shoulder. “Oh, hello Greg! I haven’t seen you in a while.”

Greg nodded, smiling politely. “Yes’m. It’s been a few years.” He cleared his throat. “Do you mind if I walk you out?”

My mother set a hand on her chest. “That would be very kind of you, Greg.”

It took everything I had not to laugh.

As we rambled down the stairs, I could feel Greg’s hand hovering over the small of my back. He kept it there until he walked ahead of my mother and me to the foyer, the jingle bell wreath bumping noisily against the front door as he slid it open.

“I’ll see you soon, Mrs. Bates,” Greg said, sending her a quick smile.

My mom smiled, then slipped on her old raincoat before walking out the door.

“Hey, so…” Greg reached out and set a hand on my elbow, then leaned over to kiss my cheek. “I’ll call you tomorrow if that’s cool, okay? Maybe we can catch a movie or something,” he said as his thumb moved back and forth against my skin.

I swallowed hard, adverting my gaze to my mother who was just opening Turtle’s passenger door.

“Oh. Um… when are you going to tell her?” he said, retracting his hand and sticking it into his jeans pocket.

“Maybe tomorrow. Maybe a week from now.” I shrugged. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Okay.” He extended his arms, and I took in his embrace. He wrapped an arm around my waist, smoothing his fingers over my hair with his other hand. “Night,” he hummed, and I could feel the rumble in my chest.

I nodded and he let go, smiling at me once more before I walked down the porch and unlocked Turtle, sliding into the driver’s seat.

|||

“Isn’t that Greg’s sweatshirt?” my mother observed.

“What?” I looked down at my sweater. Of course. Reed High. I racked my brain for anything to say to get us off the subject. “I’ll return it to him tomorrow or something. No big deal.”

“Why are you wearing it anyway?” she asked, checking her phone.

I groaned frustratingly in my head. “His truck got stuck in some ice and we had to walk the rest of the way,” I said, bumping on the radio.

“Is that also why he kissed you on the cheek?” she said smugly, grinning as she dropped her phone into the cup holder.

“Mom!”

She laughed. “You know what, I’m glad. I was always wondering when you would start dating when you were in middle school.”

“Oh, my god, Mom. Just…” I shook my head, glancing at her as I slowed at a stoplight, grinning despite myself.

She chuckled, turning down the Christmas music. “I’m just glad you’re happy. Greg was a nice kid. I still think he is. Though…” She paused, fiddling with her wedding ring. “Humor me. How did this come about? You’ve only been out of the house for an hour or so.”

“It’s a long story,” I muttered. I flipped on the wipers as a light blanket of snow began to fall.

“Well, we’ll have all day tomorrow.”

I nodded, and continued down the street once the light turned green.

|||

“Finally! Do you know how long it’s been? Your fu—” Norah stopped short when she saw my mother walk in behind me and shut the door. “I mean, your dad came home when I was here. It was weird.”

“Jeeze, Norah. It’s only been, what? An hour? Come on.”

She snorted, and followed me as I headed down the hallway to my room. “Yeah, but an hour in someone else’s house by myself. Do you know how weird that is, man? It’s weird,” she exaggerated.

“Yeah. Okay,” I said, plopping back into my computer chair and pulling up Tumblr.

“Whoa, whoa, wait. Hold on a second here.” Norah turned my seat around and rested her hand on an armrest, pointing a finger at my face and then the maroon hoodie I was wearing. “Whose sweater is this?”

“Well—”

“What the hell happened, Casey?” She laughed, shaking her head and sitting on my bed, crossing her legs under her knees. “Don’t tell me…” She trailed off, a smirk growing on her lips.

“Tell you what?” I said defensively. Help it or not, I could feel a light blush tinge my cheeks.

“Well, shit.” Norah snorted and crossed her arms. “You kissed him, didn’t you?”

“What?”

Norah laughed loudly, slapping her knee and shaking her head. “I need details. Now.”

I filled her in, from the skidding of Greg’s truck to our walk to discovering that my crush was once requited. I told her about Julian and the gas station almost-kiss and my mom figuring out on her own what was going on, all between her coos and her squeaks and her squeals. And she enjoyed every last bit of my story telling, even though it was sporadic and stuttered and embarrassing.

“Ugh. It’s like straight out of a Dessen novel or something,” she muttered, smirking as she shook her head. “Oh! Do I get to meet him?” she said, bouncing up and down on my bed, making the mattress quietly squeak.

“You already met him.”

“Yeah. But do I get to, like, approve of him and all? I mean, it’s practically my duty as your best friend,” she smugly pointed out, shrugging a shoulder.

I laughed, rolling my eyes. “I guess. Sure.”

I heard a buzz then, and turned around. Norah’s phone was vibrating loudly on my desk. I picked it up and tossed it to her.

She didn’t even glance at the screen before answering. “Hello?” She paused, furrowing her brow. “Why?” She snorted. “Again? Okay. I’ll be there in ten.” She hung up, slipping her phone into her back pocket.

“What’s up?”

“Eli needs stitches again,” she said, flipping her wrist to check the time.

“What happened this time?” I groaned.

“Slipped on a spilled glass of milk,” she said, reaching for her hoodie that she left on my bedpost. “And my dad’s out of town, so I have to go home and babysit Daniel.”

“Jeeze. That sucks, Norah.” I ran my fingers though my ponytail and stood up from my seat, letting out a quiet yawn.

“It’s cool. You seem tired anyway, boo.” I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “Text me, though. I want to meet Greg before you two start your romancing,” she said, pointing a finger at my sweatshirt.

I laughed and followed her out my bedroom, closing my door behind me. “Yeah. Maybe we can catch a movie tomorrow or something.”

“And cockblock you in the theater? Please.” I had to cover my mouth from letting out a laugh, as my mother was probably already asleep, if not already my dad. I gave Norah a hard look. “I’m kidding!” She held up her hands defensively, her brow arched. “Maybe,” she added after a beat.

We got to the front door, but when I reached to open it, I almost screamed when I saw who was behind the glass.

It was Greg.

“Greg?” I exhaled loudly. “You scared the crap out of me.”

His cheeks were rosy, and his fist was held up as if he were caught right before he could knock. “Hi,” he stretched out, quirking an eyebrow. He looked as if he didn’t know why he was on my front porch at 11:00 on Christmas Eve.

“Hi,” I repeated.

“Hi!” Norah said enthusiastically, popping up from behind me. “Greg, is it?”

“Yeah…” he said, making it sound almost like a question. “Norah, right?”

She nodded, then made her way past him, planting herself on my front porch. “Nice to finally meet you. But I’ve got to run.”

“She was just going home,” I added, giving her a quick smile.

“Yeah. Well…” She cleared her throat, a cloud of air curling above her head. “I’ll leave you two love birds to it.”

“Norah!”

She giggled. “Hey, text me, boo. About that thing. Okay?”

I chuckled. “Yeah. I’ll see ya.”

She only smirked in response before scurrying down my sidewalk to her car, Greg watching her with a blank look.

I cleared my throat then, and Greg looked back at me. “So… first off, why are you, y’know, here?” I stuffed my hands into my pockets, tensing my shoulders for a split second. “I mean, not that, it’s-it’s not, y’know, or… Or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” he chuckled. “No, I just… When I took your gas card from you at the pump, I put it in my wallet. And I was gonna give it to you later, but I… I forgot until now.”

“And you came all the way over here in your cousin’s shitty car just to give it back? Couldn’t you wait?” I laughed.

He just shook his head and took the step onto the threshold of my house, tucking some of my hair behind my ear. “It’s been four years. Of course not.”