Page 7 of Caden & Theo

“I thinkyoufollowit.”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

A breeze stirs through the yard, lifting his curls. He looks over at me, relaxed and glowing under the string lights, and I get that same stupid urge again—to just lean over and kiss him.

I swallow it down like I have been.

He bumps my knee with his again. “You’re not planning on working this summer, right, Mr. Scholarship?”

“Nope. Coach lined up that summer training program. Strength stuff. Film sessions. Basically they’re gonna break me down and rebuild me with kale and protein powder.”

He grins. “So, like, Athlete Frankenstein.”

“Exactly. Biceps first, soul later.”

“You’ll be eating egg whites like breath mints by the time you start college.”

“I already am.”

Theo snorts. “Gross.”

But then he smiles at me—really smiles—and I forget how to breathe for a second. It’s stupid. It’s dangerous. And it’s getting harder to ignore.

I’m about to say something—anything—just to break the tension when a shriek splits through the night.

Not the horror movie kind. The “what the hell did you just throw at me” kind.

We both turn toward the house as a glowing cloud ofsomethingcomes barreling through the side gate like a rogue weather system. A half-dozen people are fleeing from behind it, some covered in bright neon pink and green.

“What the hell is that?” I ask, half standing.

Theo cranes his neck. “Is that… foam?”

Then someone yells, “FOAM BLASTERS!” like it’s the last thing they’ll ever say, and a geyser of pastel bubbles explodes from the patio.

“Why is there always a foam machine?!” Theo groans, but he’s already moving, grabbing his cup and abandoning the lawn chair.

“We should run,” I say.

“Definitely.”

And thensplat—a foamy clump of something cold and lavender-smelling lands squarely on Theo’s shoulder.

He freezes. Looks at me. “Theyhitme.”

I try not to laugh. “It’s barely a graze.”

“They. Hit. Me.”

And then a second splat lands across my back, soaking through my shirt.

“Okay,” I say, “now it’s personal.”

We both bolt.

Laughter and foam trail behind us as we take off across the yard, cutting around the house. There are shouts and more bubble grenades flying through the air. Someone’s got a water gun full of paint. It’s full-on prom after-party warfare now.

Theo grabs my arm at one point to steer us around a kiddie pool (why is there a kiddie pool?), and my hand finds his without thinking, fingers interlacing.