Still, the three of us and sometimes the seven of us take selfies and make plans to go to the Capitol Hill Block Party in a couple weeks. I don’t know if we’re going to be okay in college. But we have the summer, and after that, we’ll try our best. I can be content with that for now.
A squawk of feedback drags our attention to the stage.
“Good morning, Westview!” shouts the neon-haired lead singer, earning a whoop from the audience. “We’re so glad you stayed up all night for us. This first song is called ‘Stray,’ and if we don’t see you dancing, we’re packing up and leaving.”
They’re pretty fantastic live, like Neil said. He brushes back my hair to plant a kiss below my ear, and as I’m wondering whether he knows exactly how sensitive I am there, he gives me this wicked grin that proves he does.
I didn’t know it could feel this way.
When the band takes a break, Neil and I wander through the crowd, accepting congratulations and playing a few games, though after about ten minutes, we’re a little gamed out. My knee is starting to ache, and I’m not sure I can stand for much longer.
“I’m trying to think of a clever way to say this, but… do you want to get out of here?” I ask him.
“I do,” he says, “and I actually have somewhere in mind, if you’re up for one more adventure.”
I give him an emphatic yes before following him through the crush of our almost-former classmates. There will be more parties over the next week. I’m sure of it. But there is so much out there beyond high school, so much that I cannot possibly begin to wrap my mind around. I’m trying my best to keep it that way. This summer, I will say plenty of goodbyes—to my friends, to my parents, to the gum wall and the Fremont Troll and cinnamon rolls as big as my face. They won’t be forever goodbyes. I’ll be back, Seattle. I promise.
So when we get outside, I take one last look at the school. Later, Neil and I will talk about what this means, about what we’ve done tonight and what happens tomorrow. But right now I want to savor this moment with him, both the quiet and the way he looks at me like he’s counting the seconds until we can kiss like we did in the museum.
Maybe this is how I’m supposed to say goodbye to high school: not with an arbitrary list or a preconceived notion of the way things are supposed to be, but by realizing we’re actually better together.
Neil squeezes my hand. “Ready?” he asks.
“I think I am.”
Then I take a deep breath… and I let it all go.
THE TOP 5 FREE PUPPIES! SONGS, ACCORDING TO NEIL MCNAIR
“Pawing at Your Door”
“Enough (Is Never Enough)”
“Stray”
“Darling, Darling, Darling”
“Little Houses”
2:49 a.m.
“THE BEST VIEW in Seattle,” Neil says as we get out of my car on the south side of Queen Anne Hill.
Kerry Park isn’t big, a narrow strip of grass with a fountain and a couple sculptures. The view of the Space Needle completely sneaks up on you. It looks unreal from here, huge and bright and glorious, especially at night. He’s right: it’s the best view in Seattle.
“This is where you went earlier?” I ask, and he nods.
I limp along with him to the edge of the lookout.
“I cannot believe you did that.” He gestures to my leg. “Are you sure you don’t need some ice or something?”
I shake my head. “Sacrifices had to be made.”
We position ourselves on the ledge, our legs dangling onto the grassy hill below. Again I’m struck by how normal this feels. He’s been part of my life for so long that there’s a comfort mixed with the newness, and I can’t wait to know him in all the ways we missed out on.
“When did you know?” I rest my head on his shoulder. “That you didn’t despise me.”
“It wasn’t one singular event,” he says, his arm settling around my waist. “Early junior year was when I started having feelings for you, but I figured it was pointless. You couldn’t stand me, and I seemingly couldn’t stand you.”
“You hid it so well.”
“I had to. If I suddenly acted differently, you’d get suspicious.”
“So you liked me even during that student council meeting that lasted until midnight, that White Man in Peril incident?”
“The what?”
“Oh—A White Man in Peril. It’s what I call your classics, since they’re all about, well—”
“White men in peril,” he finishes, laughing. “And yes. Yes I did. What about you?”
“Three hours ago?” I say, and with his free hand, he clutches his heart as if in pain. “Fifteen hours ago, when I saw your arms in that T-shirt?”
“God bless my rigorous workout routine.”
“Is that what you call those eight-pound weights on your desk?”
“I—um—I keep the bigger ones in my closet,” he says. “Really massive ones. Fifty, sixty pounds. I don’t want anyone to get too intimidated, you know.”
“That’s very thoughtful.” I snuggle closer. “If I’m being honest, though… I’m not sure. I realized it today, but I think I’ve liked you for a while.”
After a few moments of quiet, he asks, “Do you remember that election for freshman-class rep?”
“Of course. It was a landslide victory for me.”
“As I recall, you won by a pretty narrow margin.” He twirls a strand of my hair. “I won that essay contest, and you won the election. And then we kept at it, trying to one-up each other.”
“All these years, we were fighting when we could have been… not fighting.”
He pulls back, and when I lift my head, he’s eyeing me strangely. “I was actually thinking the opposite. That I’m not sure we were ready for it. I definitely wasn’t.”
“Maybe not,” I admit. Still, it’s shattering, thinking of what we could have shared. Visions of an alternate timeline pass through my mind—football games and homecoming dances and awkward photos and—
I force it away. That’s not our reality.
“It’s kind of poetic that it’s happening tonight, though,” he says. Then, with a thread of worry in his voice: “It’s not just tonight for you, is it? Because I’m really in this, if you are.”
“I am. This… this feels real. I want to be with you.” I’m aware, again, of all the conversations we haven’t had yet. The conversations I’m suddenly afraid to have when he feels so right next to me.
He traces the outline of my eyebrow with his fingertip. One, and then the other, as though he is trying to memorize what I look like. “I wanted to tell you. I decided I’m not going to see my dad this summer. Maybe one day I’ll change my mind about it and want some kind of relationship with him, but it’s still too raw. I’m not ready.”
“You feel good about that?”
He nods. “I do. And—I made an appointment online. To change my last name. It’s time.”
“Neil,” I say, placing my hand on his knee. “That’s… wow.”