Page 33 of When Ben Loved Tim

“Yes, but she doesn’t know that we’re friends.” I swallow. “Or whatever.”

Tim is shaking his head. “That’s a bad idea!”

“How come?” My brow knots up. “You said yesterday that you didn’t care if your friends knew.”

“Yeah, but that was before…” He checks the entrance to the kitchen, making sure we’re still alone. “You know.”

“So we’ll keep that part a secret,” I press.

His expression is guarded. “We’ve gotta keep the whole thing a secret, Benjamin.”

I frown at this. “How come?”

“Because my friends… my parents… they’ll only get in the way.”

“Of what?”

He sets the sodas on the counter and reaches for me, his touch cold from the refrigerated cans. “Us.”

I wrap my hands around his to warm them again, which shouldn’t take long with all the blood coursing through my heart. I can handle a secret or whatever, because he’s given me what I needed. There’s anusnow. We’ll figure out the rest later.

I lean toward him.

He laughs and pushes me away. “My girlfriend is in the next room! And I’ve got morning breath!”

“Good!” I say. “Maybe that’ll scare her away.”

“Speaking of which, I’m out of toothpaste downstairs. Can you run up and get more?”

“Nope!” I say. “Have fun with your girlfriend.”

“But what if she wants to—”

“See ya!” I say, already heading for the door.

“Wait!” he calls after me. “One more thing.”

I turn around, hoping for a hug, or even a stinky smooch. Instead he holds out his hand. “Give me back my damn keys!”

I pretend to be confused. “But how will I drive you to school tomorrow?”

His face contorts until I laugh.

“Will you call me?” I ask, wanting a little more reassurance. “When she’s gone.”

“Yeah,” Tim says. “I’ll call you.”

I dig the keys out of my pocket and place them in his palm, the tips of my fingers brushing the side of his hand as I pull away. I barged into his life and have barely left since. Now it’ll be up to him. I won’t have a key to his front door anymore. He can lock me out if he wants. But judging from the affectionate way he ruffles my hair, I don’t think this is the end. Not for either of us.

Chapter Eight

Allison drives us to school the next day, part of me wondering if it was all a dream. I don’t have any souvenirs. No photos or handwritten notes to prove that some hunky guy kissed me. That hadn’t felt necessary when I was driving around in his car. Now I wish I had something tangible to hold on to, because I’m worried that everything will revert to the way it was. Tim will be hanging out with the cool kids again. He’s already told me about getting drunk at Darryl’s house after school and some party that’s coming up. I can’t compete with those sorts of things. Tim doesn’t really need a nurse anymore. He already has someone to kiss. I almost wouldn’t blame him for ignoring me from now on.

And yet, when I see him and his friends walking down the hall, Tim’s eyes meet mine and he winks before returning his attention to the girl on his arm. That’s how it goes all week. Sometimes it’s a subtle smile, or an eyeroll like he’s miserable, but he always acknowledges me in some small way. We haven’t seen each other outside of school. On the first couple of nights, his friends wanted to hang out with him, but he always calls me once he’s home. I don’t hear from him at all on Wednesday, when his parents are due back. I figure he’s enjoying the family time. But on Thursday, when I see him in the hall—and yes, I now go out of my way to ensure that I do—Tim pretends to scratch the hair above his ear with a thumb before letting a pinky drop to his mouth, like he’s talking on the phone. He wants me to call him! Or he’ll call me. I’m not sure, but I practically push down on Allison’s foot when she’s driving us home after school. I dial his number as soon as we reach the privacy of my room but don’t get an answer, so now I’m waiting while we hang out. Allison is wonderfully patient about how divided my attention is between her and the phone. Then again, she has distractions of her own.

“So this is the note Ronnie slipped me during class,” she says, unfolding a torn-out sheet of notebook paper. Allison clears her throat. “It says: ‘Would it be okay if I sit with you at lunch from now on?’ And then there are options below.”

“With check boxes?” I ask.