When I woke up the next morning, he was gone. I had awoken in a panic, worried that my mother would barge into my room and see a boy sleeping on my rug. But as I sprang from the mattress, I realized he was no longer there. I ran to the window and lifted it open. There was no sign of Ethan. At first, I thought I imagined the entire thing. That it was lack of sleep mixed with a wild dream.

I spent the day convinced that it was all a dream, until that night a soft rock tapped against my bedroom window. I was sitting on my bed, re-reading the same paragraph in the most recent Harry Potter book over and over. I couldn’t focus. My eyes kept looking at the glass waiting for something to change. When the rock hit the glass, I nearly screamed. I hopped off the bed and opened the window, only to be greeted by his infectious smile. My heart did something it had never done before. I felt dizzy and my hands began to sweat.

“Hey,” he whispered, and my stomach twisted at the sound of his voice.

I could see the family room light was still on from the way it lit up my back yard, which meant my father was still watching TV. “Shh.” I motioned for him to come up.

Like he had done the night before, he ran, jumped on the railing of the deck, and pulled himself up on the extended room over the den.

Running to my bedroom door, I closed it and pulled my chair against it. It wasn’t locked but it would warn us if my mother decided to come in.

“Hey,” Ethan whispered. His hand brushed his soft brown hair away from his eyes. With the bedroom light on I could finally see his face. He was older than me, maybe by a year or so. I was turning ten at the end of August. His eyes were a mix of green and hazel swirled together in perfect harmony. He was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen.

“Leslie?” Ethan said, his eyes still glued on mine. “Are you going to scream?”

The nausea in my stomach and the rapid heartbeat in my chest made it impossible to breathe. Slowly I shook my head. “No, Ethan.” I ignored the way his name slipped from my mouth in the most perfect tone.  “I thought I made you up.” I confessed.

“Are you known for making up imaginary boys who crawl in through your window?” He smiled at me, and in that moment I promised myself that I would always be funny around him so I could stare at his smile.

I scoffed and nervously began to twirl my hair. What were these thoughts that were consuming my ability to think normally? “It’s not that. When I woke up this morning, you were gone and I wasn’t sure if I dreamed up the whole thing.”

Ethan chuckled and walked around my room like he had the previous night. This time, though, the lights were on and he could actually see the things that were scattered around. He took his time looking at the pictures I had on top of my dresser, and the ballet magazines. “You like to dance?” he asked as he lifted a picture of me from my first dance recital. I was three years old. My mother said she knew I was talented and I had a bright future ahead of me from a tender age.

Marching over to him, I yanked the photo away. “I don’t like it. I live it. It’s who I am.” I said just like my mother had taught me.

“You’re a ballerina? Is that even a real thing?”

“Yes and yes.” I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling defensive.

“I’m only teasing you.” Ethan ran his hand over my white furniture. “I actually came here to thank you.”

“Oh.” I sat on my bed. He continued to pace my room, his eyes roaming over the stack of CDs and books sitting on my bookcase.  

“No one has ever done something like that for me before.” He pulled his gaze away from the stacks of CDs and looked over at me. His eyes were hooded, and though I had seen a teasing glint before, this time I saw pain.

Nervously, I brushed my hair behind my ears and looked down at the carpet. “It was nothing, really.” I didn’t want to show him pity. He didn’t deserve that. “You know . . .” I paused until I found the courage to look up at him. “My window will always be open for you. If you ever need to get away, or if it gets too bad in there, you can always come here.”

“Thanks,” he whispered. “No one has ever been this nice to me before.”

“I’m sorry.” I didn’t know what else to say. “Can you get some help? Maybe you and your mother can go to the cops?”

Ethan chuckled and sat next to me on my bed. My cheeks warmed from his proximity. “My name is Ethan Prescott. Like the town we live in. My father owns everything and everyone. We moved from the other side of town since my mom felt that being so close to his garage made my father worse but in reality it’s who he is. He’s a horrible man who runs this city and hits his wife. No one would ever believe us.”

“What about running away?” The second the words were out of my mouth I regretted them. If he ran away, I would never see him again.

“I’ve thought about it, but I can’t leave my mom and my brother with that monster. He would make them pay for my actions.”

“Does he hit you?” My voice was barely a whisper.

“Sometimes, but I know what ticks him off so I stay away. He doesn’t touch my little brother anymore, either.” Ethan answered. “Charlie’s different from most kids. He’s special and requires more attention. I could never run away and leave him all alone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. We’ve been through worse, and besides, now I have you.” He looked into my eyes. “No one has ever shown me any kindness before.” He reached across and cupped my hand in his. My heartbeat intensified and the only logical explanation was that I was having a heart attack. “I owe you big.” A smile grew on his face, and I couldn’t stop my cheeks from burning. His hand felt perfect against my skin. It was warm and soft and I knew if he laced his fingers with mine it’d be a perfect match.

We sat like that for a few minutes. My neighbor. My first friend. I was deep in thought when my mother tapped against my bedroom door.

“Leslie?” she said and pushed against the door, but my chair temporarily blocked her from swinging it open. “Why is your door blocked?” Ethan and I sprang to our feet.

“Oh!” My heart rate sped up and I thought I’d be sick. “One second!” I called out frantically. Turning to Ethan, I mouthed the word. “Hide.”

I cleared my throat and walked over to the door. I pushed my chair aside and pulled open the door. Darlene stood on the other side, a warm mug of tea in her hand.

“Yes?” I said.

“Why was your chair blocking the door?” Her gaze scanned the room. “Why do you look flushed? Are you not feeling well?” She reached out and rested her palm on my forehead. “You know you can’t get sick. That will ruin the schedule for this month.”

“I’m fine, Mom.” I moved to the side and she dropped her hand. “I was . . . um, I was doing a few core exercises and needed the space.”

A wide grin grew on my mother’s face. “That’s my girl, always so focused on the task at hand.”

I nodded, afraid if I opened my mouth I would confess that somewhere in my room was a boy I desperately wanted to kiss.

“Don’t stay up too late, sweetie. Tomorrow we have an early start,” she added before she turned and headed down the hallway to her bedroom.

Closing the door behind me, I pressed my body flush against it. My breathing was irregular and a bead of sweat dripped down my back. “Ethan?” I said, my voice so low I doubted he could hear me. After replacing the chair in front of the door, I stepped further into the room.

His head popped in from the window and his beautiful smile greeted me. “Coast is clear?”

I nodded. “She’s off to bed.”

“What’s the task?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You told your mom that you were working out, and she said you were focused on the task at hand.”

My nervous hand reached for my hair as I tried to calm my breathing. My heart pumped the adrenaline and lust through my blood. “I dance ballet. It’s my life.” Ethan’s eyebrows furrowed and I realized I needed to explain. “My mother was a performer. She worked at the Lincoln Center in New York City in her early twenties. She met my father when he was in the city on a business trip. After a year of dating, my father asked my mother to marry him, and soon after that my mother found out she was expecting. A child meant she couldn’t perform for a year or two, so she quit before they let her go. After I was born, she devoted her life to making me the best dancer. She opened her own studio and I dance there six days a week.”

“Wow.” Ethan stretched his hands overhead. “Do you even like it?”

“Yes,” I defended my passion, but his question puzzled me. No one ever asked if I liked it. It was simply what I did. “I was made to be great.” I walked over to the dresser and took the photograph of my mother and me at my first competition. “See?” I said and handed him the photo. “At the age of four I was a better dancer than most of the teenagers.”

“That’s your mom?” He asked admiring the picture.

“Yes, I look more like my dad. He has the darker hair and what not.”

He chuckled. “Okay, Freckles.” I squinted at him. “What? You do have freckles.” His fingertip ran down my nose. “They’re really cute.”

My heart did a somersault in my chest. Turning toward my pillows, I began to strip my bed so Ethan couldn’t see the warmth that ran across my face. “Are you staying or do you need to go home?” I asked, afraid to look over at him.

“I’m staying.” His voice ran through my body like an electric current.

Unable to speak, I turned my light off and tossed his pillow on the ground. I slid under the covers and I watched as Ethan make a bed on the rug next to me.

“Goodnight, Freckles.”

“Goodnight, Ethan.”

I lay there for a few minutes, unable to speak. Unable to move. All I could hear was the rhythmic sound of our breathing.

“Leslie?” Ethan said after a few minutes had passed.

“Yeah?”

“Will you dance for me?”

“Maybe one day,” I whispered and closed my eyes. One day I would do anything he asked.