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This time, he spoke with his mouth full, because it was one of Brougham’s ongoing life goals to be as endearingly irritating as possible. “We coo shet roo up wiv a webshite.”

“Do you know how to do that?” I asked, unwrapping my own sandwich at last.

“Yeah, easy. We just need a web host and a URL; there’s a bunch of hosts that have simple site-building tools. I know a little HTML, that should get us most of the way there.”

“And could we do a little section where people can send in anonymous questions for me to post? And maybe even like a donation section?”

“Definitely. We’re not here to fuck spiders.”

I stared at him for the longest pause on record.“… What?”

He rolled his eyes likeIwas the one who didn’t know how the English language worked. “If we’re gonna do it, we’re gonna do it right.”

Huh. Do it right…

Then it hit me. “I could ask for feedback,” I said slowly. “All I had to go off to know if I’d messed up was my refund rate, but I never found out if I’d messed up little things that weren’t worthy of a refund. But if I left a section for complaints, or reviews, or something, I could learn from my mistakes. Actually improve, instead of just assuming I nailed it.”

Amusement touched the corner of Brougham’s lips. “How do you think you’ll do if someone writes and says you got it wrong? Can you handle that?”

He had a point. A few months ago, I probably couldn’t have. Maybe even as recently as a month ago. But these days, getting something wrong didn’t seem like the catastrophe it used to. And it definitely didn’t seem as bad as messing up and never fixing it. “I think I can handle it. Maybe I could do blog posts, too. Like, a general advice sort of thing, as well as personalized responses.”

Brougham nodded, eyes widening. “Ilovethat. And you know, being online means you’ll have awaybigger reach, too. It could get big. Maybe Ainsley could even push you on her channel?”

“Maybe. Shehasbeen begging me to join in on a video sometime.” The more I thought about the idea, the more excited I got. This was actually achievable. And I’d been missing the letters, badly. The rush of realizing I knew exactly how to help someone. The fulfillment I got as I saw my demand increase, as word of mouth snowballed. The sense of purpose.

And the extra cash hadn’t hurt, either.

Brougham and I finished our lunch as quickly as we could, then hurried to my dad’s.

“Hey guys,” Dad said as we burst through the front door. He was sitting at the kitchen counter eating his own lunch, a turkey and pickle sandwich, because he had the same taste in food as Satan himself. “How was the race, buddy?”

“Really good,” Brougham said. “I shaved a second off my two-hundred-meter freestyle.”

“Hey, great job.” Dad held out his hand for a high-five, and Brougham met him in the middle.

After Dad adjusted to the idea of me dating a guy instead of a girl—and honestly, for a minute there it looked like Dad was adjusting to thedisappointmentof me dating aguy instead of a girl—Brougham and I had made a point of spending as much time with him on Dad weekends as we could. I saw Dad so little as it was that if he was ever going to have a relationship with the people in my life, we had to be kind of a package deal.

Thankfully, when Dad found out about Brougham’s commitment to swimming—the day Brougham picked me up to go see Oriella live, in fact—he revealed he’d been on the swim team back whenhewas in high school, which I hadn’t even known myself, and the two of them were off. Sometimes I had to tear Brougham away from talking to Dad when he came around so we could get some alone time. I got it, though. Brougham didn’t get many chances to speak to an adult who had the time of day to hear about, let alone validate, his achievements. I was hardly going to begrudge him that.

… Like now, for example.

“That reminds me of my senior year,” Dad was saying to my enraptured boyfriend, who’d just finished recounting the final relay. “I knew the guy next to me would be far and away my biggest competition, so I ignored everyone else and stuck neck and neck with him the whole way, then with the last few seconds to go,boom, I sprinted with everything I had, and got in front of him by a hair. And, of course, it turned out we’d been in the lead,and the crowd went wild!” Dad waved his half-eaten sandwich in the air for emphasis. A pickle fell out the bottom and landed on the floor.

“That’s awesome, Dad, but can we please continue this in a bit?” I asked, grabbing Brougham’s arm to steer him away. “We werejustabout to do something.”

“You have my blessing as long as ‘something’ is PG-13 or lower.”

Brougham snickered as I flung around to glare at Dad. “Um, can younot, please?”

“Go, get out of my hair, you’re bothering me,” Dad said with a mischievous grin.

Brougham’s smile faltered, and he scanned my dad’s face. To make sure his lighthearted tone wasn’t hiding a threat, I guessed. I was getting familiar with Brougham’s micro-expressions—with a face like his, I had no choice but to get fluent in them. I squeezed his arm reassuringly, and we headed to my bedroom. “He’s joking,” I whispered as we got inside my room.

He waited in place as I turned around after closing the door, and his hands went straight to my waist, his eyelids lowering. I was also becoming well-acquainted withthisexpression. My breath immediately started feeling thick in my chest.

“You did sogoodtoday,” I gushed, cupping my hand around his cheek. He leaned into my touch and kissed me. Though I kissed him back, my mind wandered instantly.

How would I get the word out about it, I wondered? Maybe I could do a mass BCC email with my locker email to all my previous contacts. That way, everyone who ever cared would know, and word of mouth would do the rest… but was that ethical…?