Chapter 7
Bridger was not wrong.
The day dawned bright and cold, as if the weather decided to skip fall altogether and dive headlong into winter. Bridger snoozed his alarm one too many times because he was so exhausted and stumbled from the house without breakfast. Without a ride from Astrid, Bridger had to catch the bus and he was stuck sitting next to a freshman with a tuba. Once at school, he stepped in gum and spent several freezing minutes using a stick trying to pry the mess from the grooves in the sole of his shoe. He managed to get most of it off, but not without cursing.
When he went inside to his locker, Astrid was not waiting for him. He had half-hoped that she had forgiven him and would be in her usual spot. He grabbed his things and made his way to the other part of the senior hall.
He spotted Astrid instantly.
“Hey,” he said, sidling up to her at her locker.
She glanced at him, but went back to pulling out her books for English class. She had all her piercings in—nose, ears, lip, eyebrow—wearing them like armor. Her shock of red hair was pulled up in a high ponytail. Her lipstick was battle gray, and her eyelashes were dark and curled. She wore her favorite comfy shirt and the jeans she claimed made her butt look amazing. It was her hurt ensemble, the one she’d worn last year after Lance Hoekstra turned her down for prom, and was similar to what she wore when they realized Kitty McKitKat was not coming back.
“Look, I know you’re upset with me, but I can explain.”
She slammed her locker shut and spun the combination. “Fuck off.” She turned on her heel, walked away, and disappeared in a swarm of field hockey players.
Okay, that went badly. He should’ve started with an apology instead of an explanation. That was his first mistake. He’d have to try again.
In English, he crafted a note with I AM SO SORRY written in big block letters at the top. He tossed it to her and it landed on her desk. She ripped it into shreds without even looking.
Ouch.
To date, Bridger and Astrid had had only one massive awkward interaction and that was the ill-advised truth or dare game when they were in middle school, when they thought they had to kiss because they were opposite genders and best friends. What a crock that turned out to be. They’d spent days trying to figure it out and not speaking to each other, because neither of them was attracted to the other and they didn’t want to date. But everyone kept telling them they couldn’t be friends without mutual romantic pining. It took parental intervention for them to realize that, yes, they could be platonic best friends.
Maybe Bridger should talk to his mom now. But then he’d have to explain and well, no. Still not ready for that.
He was on his own.
At lunch, Bridger didn’t bother with food. He slid into the seat opposite Astrid and leaned over the table.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” Astrid said. Turning her body away from him, she took a big bite of her sandwich and chewed loudly.
Well, that was childish. He scooted down a seat, squishing in with a girl named Mary. She glared at him and elbowed him in the ribs, but he was undeterred.
“Good, you don’t have to talk to me. I’m only asking that you listen.”
“I don’t want to listen to you, either.”
Bridger fumed, frustrated. He wanted to apologize. Why wouldn’t she let him? “Don’t you think you’re being a little unfair? It was a field hockey game, Astrid. It’s not like you don’t have fifteen others for me to come to.”
“Unfair?” She stood up suddenly and bent over the table. He cowered, almost falling off the chair. “Unfair?” she yelled, garnering the attention of the entire lunch room. “You think I’m being unfair? Screw you! You’re a shitty friend, Bridger Whitt.”
She grabbed her lunch tray, stalked off, and threw the whole thing into the trash. The rest of the field hockey girls followed, including Mary. They gathered their things in a flurry and fled, leaving Bridger at the table all by himself with the rest of the student body staring at him.
Great.
Bridger hid his face in his hands, then scrubbed his fingers through his hair.
He grabbed his bag and was off like a shot, banging his way out of the lunch room and into the hallway. He didn’t know where he was going; he only knew he had to move. Frustrated and sad, he stormed away, steps quick as he fled toward the doors to the athletic fields.
“Bridger.”
Someone tugged on his arm, and he stopped to find Leo next to him.
“Hey, are you okay?”
Bridger shrugged off Leo’s touch. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look okay. Do you want to talk about it?” Leo took Bridger’s hand and laced their fingers, and Bridger shivered. Bridger stared, awed, at their entwined fingers, sure he was having an out-of-body experience. Leo pulled gently, and no, he this was actually real. He definitely felt the warmth of Leo’s skin and his tight grip.
Leo held his hand.
Bridger looked up and saw a few kids down the hall not paying attention, but that didn’t stop the panic. They could look any second.
“Come have lunch,” Leo said with a smile. “With me and the team.”
A lump formed in Bridger’s throat—part regret and part anxiety. He shook his hand free of Leo’s hold.
“I really can’t. Not right now. I… have stuff to deal with.”
“Astrid?” Leo guessed.
“Among other things.”
Leo nodded. He let out a small sigh; his expression twisted into what looked like remorse. “I get it. I think.”
“Can we talk later? After I get home from work?”
Leo shrugged, crestfallen. “Sure.”
And damn, Bridger failed at words today. He was screwing everything up. He was Midas with the absolute-fail touch and he’d hurt Astrid and was in the process of hurting Leo. Why was everything so difficult? This was why he didn’t want to deal with any of it. He didn’t want this—the high school drama, the attention, the hurt that invariably came with growing up and figuring yourself out. And not just his own hurt, but the hurt he caused others—Astrid, his mom when he finally told her, Leo when they didn’t work out. He didn’t want to have to deal with this until he had left and was far, far away from everyone who knew him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Leo winced.
Absolutely the wrong words.
“I mean,” Bridger said, trying to course-correct, “I want to talk to you, but the lunch room is very public and I’ve been humiliated once in there already today. I’ll come over after work and knock on your door and everything.”
Leo smiled, soft and fond. “You don’t have to do that.”
“But I will.”
“Okay,” he said. “I look forward to it, just don’t get killed before then.”
“Nah, Astrid has plans. She can’t really take over the world behind bars.”
Leo raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Well, now I’m not.”
Laughing, Leo shoved Bridger in the shoulder.
And because Bridger had no self-control, he darted in and kissed Leo’s cheek. Leo let out a quiet “oh” of surprise, but Bridger didn’t hang around to witness anything else. He flashed a smile, his heart racing, and exited the building toward the fields.
Bridger forgot how cold it was and he shuddered when he stepped outside. He blew into his hands and wished he had worn a thicker jacket. He clutched the fabric tighter around him, and his breath hung in the air. He could go back inside, but he was on a mission now. He turned a corner and found five of the field hockey team huddled near the running track. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought they passed a cigarette between them, but… wait… no, that was exactly what they were doing.
He got there in time to see Astrid take a long drag, then pass it to the girl on her right.
“Hey,” Bridger said. “I’m an asshole.”
Astrid flicked him off, then turned away from him. The other girls reoriented themselves, and they all stood with their backs to him.
Bridger narrowed his eyes. It was one thing for him to be inconsiderate on accident, but this was getting out of hand.
“Fine! Don’t talk to me. I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for getting an urgent call from my boss and having to leave the game. I’m sorry that after I finished working I happened to run into Leo. I’m sorry that we had ice cream, and then Zeke brought us both home. Okay?” Bridger stepped forward, and the girls around Astrid dispersed. “You know, I love how it’s unfair for me to need to work in order to go to college and it’s unfair for me to have a friend who’s not you.”
And Bridger didn’t really know where that all came from. Saying it hadn’t felt good, but it must have been pent up inside him because it erupted in a volcano of words. Heat surged in his cheeks, and tears stung the back of his eyes.
Astrid scoffed. She looked at the other girls. “Give us a minute?”
They left. One of them flicked the cigarette to the ground and squished it out.
Bridger waited in the oppressive silence until the girls were far enough away, and then Astrid unloaded.
“If you think this is only about the field hockey game then, yes, you are an asshole.”
“Then what is it about, Astrid? What have I done wrong?”
“You lie to me. All the time.” Her voice was choked, and when Bridger stepped a little closer he could see the tear tracks on her cheeks and the smudged eyeliner. “That’s all you do. I thought we were friends, but we’re not.”
“We are friends.”
“Bullshit,” she spat. “When was the last time we hung out? Huh? Just you and me? And don’t you dare say the freaky apothecary day because that was a favor for your job.”
Bridger opened his mouth to respond and snapped it shut.
“Yeah. The last time was before school started. Back in August. Before Leo and your queer crisis.”
Bridger’s eyes widened and he furtively surveyed the area. “Jesus, Astrid. Could you not?”
“What? So you like a guy. Big deal.”
“It is a big deal. It’s a big deal to me, and you don’t get to tell me it’s not. And you’re the only one who knows. The only person I trusted to tell.”
She crossed her arms. Goosebumps bloomed on her skin, and she shivered. Her favorite shirt wasn’t doing much to protect her from the unseasonably cold weather. He would’ve offered his jacket, but she’d ball it up and throw it back at his head.
“Yep, I’m your secret keeper. I’m your ride in the morning and in the afternoon. I’m the person who holds your hand when you need help. But what about me? What if I liked someone?”
Bridger’s eyebrows shot up. “You like someone? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you never ask!” she shouted. “It’s always one Bridger crisis after another. And I get it, okay? You’re alone. Your mom is never home, and your dad is gone. But just because you’re lonely doesn’t mean you get to be selfish.”
Bridger stepped back. The words a slap in his face. He paled and he trembled, and it wasn’t only because he was slowly turning into a popsicle.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know, but you are. And I can’t be friends with someone who only takes and who doesn’t tell me the truth. I thought about it and I know you probably did get called by your weird boss and you probably did randomly run into Leo, but you lie so much, I couldn’t tell if it was the truth or not.”
Bridger frowned. “I don’t lie all the time.”
Astrid rolled her eyes. “You lie to yourself constantly, and it’s bled over to the rest of us.”
“So what are you saying? We’re not going to be friends anymore?” The thought made him incomparably sad; the words echoed in his middle, hollow and strange. His throat tightened, and the tears that had threatened spilled over.
Astrid wiped her eyes. Her makeup smeared. “I don’t know.”
Using the sleeve of his jacket, he scrubbed his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. And I haven’t lied to you.” Liar. Lying by omission was still a lie. And he had omitted so much.
“Uh huh? What’s the real reason you want to move away?”
The bell rang. Astrid didn’t move. She stared him down, tapped her foot and waited.
Bridger sighed and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m going to class.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. So I’m not late. I’ll talk to you later, I guess.” Huddling in his jacket, Bridger strode across the grass. His stomach churned, and everything was awful.
Stupid unicorn.
Bridger made it through the rest of the day without encountering either Astrid or Leo, for which he was thankful. Astrid wanted him to be the Bridger from last year, and Leo wanted Bridger to leap forward to something else. He wasn’t a caterpillar or a butterfly, and the chrysalis was constricting. But he didn’t want to go backward, and going forward meant tackling things about himself he wasn’t ready for.
Bridger left school at the bell and walked to the nearest bus stop. He hopped the first one that came and rode to the stop near Pavel’s office. When he arrived at the office, his fingers were nearly frozen, and his ears burned from the wind.
Mindy sat at her desk, and Pavel paced the foyer. Pavel startled when Bridger slammed the front door. Not even the sensation of magic could lift Bridger’s spirits. What he wouldn’t give to touch the unicorn again and have all the worry wash away in a deluge of pony magic.
His accent thick, Pavel launched into a flurry of words and gestures. Something about a sasquatch and the Jersey Devil, and Bridger could not keep up. He blinked and nodded in what he thought were the right places, but, honestly, he could not repeat what Pavel rambled on about if his life depended on it.
Ha. His life might actually depend on it. Better focus.
“And then Nia reminded me that, even though pixies do have a bit of a sweet tooth, they don’t normally gorge themselves the way her and Bran have been. Whatever is happening is affecting them as well and—” Pavel stopped short. “Are you all right?”
“Huh?”
Pavel frowned. “Have you been listening at all?”
“Sure,” Bridger said. But that was a lie. Astrid was right, Bridger’s propensity for untruths had gotten out of hand. “Actually,” he amended, “I wasn’t. I’m not having a good day, Pavel.”
“Oh,” he said. “Would you like a cup of tea?”
Bridger couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, that would be awesome.”
“Come on then.” Pavel motioned at the stairs and walked up. “I’m actually not very good at consoling, but I’ve been told I listen well.”
Bridger snorted.
On the third floor, Pavel started the kettle while Bridger slumped into one of the chairs in the study. The last time Bridger sat there his whole world had been rearranged so he hadn’t taken a good look at his surroundings. With Pavel puttering around the adjoining kitchen, Bridger took it all in.
The study had large windows, which allowed natural light to pour in—very different from the rest of the house. Large birdcages hung from the ceiling and further investigation revealed candy wrappers and small beds inside. There were a few bookshelves, a couch in the corner, a footstool, and a vintage-looking blanket. Bridger assumed a small curtained-off area toward the back was a private room for Pavel’s clients if needed. The only clutter was a few scrolls on the small wooden table.
Pavel brought Bridger his tea.
“Would you like to talk about it?”
“No offense, but I’d rather not. I think I want to be distracted.” He took a sip of his tea and was pleased to find Pavel had added honey. “Where are the pixies?”
“Off on an assignment.”
“So, the babble downstairs. What was that all about?”
Pavel slurped from his own tea. He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about whatever happened at school?”
“Perceptive. And yes. Positive.” Bridger squirmed in the chair; the leather creaked. “I’d actually like to know two things. One—why didn’t my mirror work when I tried to call you? And two—why did a rampaging unicorn tried to skewer me? I have bruises. I want to know why.”
“Did you ask it nicely?”
Bridger blinked. “The unicorn? Yeah, I talked to it nicely.”
“No, the mirror. Did you ask it nicely to contact me?”
Huffing out an annoyed breath, Bridger shook his head. “Let’s just assume I didn’t and move on to the unicorn question.”
Pavel nodded solemnly. “It’s not in a unicorn’s nature to venture out of the woods, and they’re not known to be violent creatures. Just as lake mermaids don’t play near the shore. And Elena doesn’t howl unless there is a full moon.”
Bridger raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying something is rotten in Denmark? That something weird is going on in an already really weird world?”
“Yes. Exactly.” Pavel crossed the room to the curtains. He flung them open to reveal a corkboard covered with newspaper articles, pictures, and a graph. A large map with pushpins stuck in various places took up one corner. There were pictures of different myths, notes in Pavel’s cramped block script, and little blurbs cut out from the complaints section of the local paper and several other papers from nearby towns.
Marveling, Bridger crossed the room. “Very serial killer of you, Pavel.”
“I thought it was the detectives who made boards to track the killers?”
“Point. You’ve been brushing up.”
“And Peter Parker is Spider-man,” Pavel said proudly.
“Welcome to last century. Now, what is this?”
“The reason I needed to hire an assistant,” Pavel said.
Bridger inched closer, gaze traveling over the mess in front of him. He pointed at a note card with Bridger drowned by mermaids written on it. “Aw, you commemorated my near-death experience. How sweet.”
Pavel ignored him. He tapped the lowest point on the graph. “About eight weeks ago, the toaster rang, and a very confused ghost appeared here.” Pavel moved and pointed to a blue thumbtack positioned about sixty miles north of town. “She didn’t know why she suddenly appeared at that moment in the middle of a crowded mall. But she had. She had been successfully haunting a bed and breakfast in Pennsylvania for the last fifty years, but, for one reason or another, she turned up here in Michigan. After a few hours, she and I got her sorted in a new spot. By the way, you might want to steer clear of the bakery on Fifth for a few years while she becomes acclimated. She likes to draw pictures in the flour.”
Bridger bit back a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind. I guess that ghosts changing their haunts isn’t a common occurrence?”
“No, not at all. They like to settle in and stay in the same place for centuries. All myths have their patterns and their cycles. It’s part of their nature.”
“Sounds boring. And so a ghost wanted to change it up a little. That doesn’t sound like a big deal.”
“Unusual, yes, but you’re right. No need for widespread panic. But two days later, the toaster rang again and I found an incubus draining half a night club here.” Pavel touched another thumbtack, a red one, southwest. “He didn’t mean to, but his urges had become uncontrollable. I had the pixies make him a potion to help.” Pavel pointed to another tack. “Harpy.” Then he pointed to another. “Fae.” And then another. “Manticore.”
Each time, the thumbtacks got closer and closer to the center of Midden.
“Troll. Werewolf. Mermaids. Unicorn.”
“The incidents are getting closer to town and closer together.”
Pavel nodded. “And more severe. As you said, a ghost moving haunts isn’t the end of the world. A unicorn running rampant in a highly populated downtown area is.”
“The end of the world?”
Hands in his pockets, Pavel studied the board. He furrowed his brow and his gaze darted from the graph to the map to the newspaper clippings. “The job that I’ve had for nearly a century is to keep the world of myth hidden from humans. I’m not the only one. There are hundreds of intermediaries around the world, all burdened with the same task. And I’m failing, Bridger.”
“Hey,” Bridger said, placing his hand on Pavel’s shoulder. “It was only a unicorn. A few mermaids. So what if someone knows that El Chupacabra is an actual thing?”
Pavel sighed. He rubbed his eyes. “You don’t understand. Can you imagine the chaos that would occur if the world at large knew about pixies? About ghosts? About heroes and legends and gods? The upheaval would be catastrophic. The spiritual, political, societal ramifications would be tremendous. And not only for humans. The myths would be hunted, persecuted, slaughtered, after surviving for so long.” He bowed his head and grimaced. “I have to determine why all the myths in my region are breaking from their normal routines, or we risk the discovery of the entire myth world.”
“Have you talked to the other intermediaries? Do they have any ideas?”
Pavel glanced away and blushed. “I talked with my mentor after the manticore. He suggested I hire an assistant to relieve part of the burden. Mindy made it happen.”
“And here I am.”
“And here you are.”
Bridger squeezed Pavel’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. I’m amazing at trivia and puzzles. This is right up my alley.”
Pavel gestured at the board. “Have at it. Maybe you’ll spot something I’ve missed. Meanwhile, I need to make Elena more aconite potion to control her howling.”
“Don’t worry,” Bridger said, rolling up his sleeves. “I’ve got this.”
Bridger was glad he had a project, a distraction to keep his brain occupied instead of spinning in circles about Astrid and Leo. He dove in with gusto and pledged to help Pavel and the myths any way that he could.
Three hours later, Bridger knew two things. One—he needed to read the guidebook. Two—he didn’t have enough information to solve the puzzle. He needed to buy a vowel. Manticores belonged in medieval bestiaries and far-flung forests on the other side of the world, not in urban Michigan, and trolls preferred natural bridges, not manmade interstates, and harpies, who were terrifying by the way, only targeted evildoers and not mild-mannered intermediaries. And don’t get him started on the complexities of mermaids.
Bridger pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I got nothing,” he said.
Nia, having returned from her mission, sat on his shoulder and patted his cheek. Her tiny hands were ice cubes against his skin.
“It’s okay. Pavel has been struggling with this for weeks. You’re not going to figure it out in one day.”
Bran hovered in Bridger’s field of vision. “You’re only human.”
“Thanks, guys.”
“Wasn’t a compliment,” Bran muttered.
Nia hissed at her brother and snuggled into Bridger’s neck.
“Go home, Bridger,” Pavel said, pulling the curtains closed. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. Mindy has your paycheck.”
Bridger pushed his body from the chair and stretched. His spine popped, and he yawned. “Does it include hazard pay?”
Pavel half-smiled. “Of course.”
Bridger chuckled. He waved to the pixies and clapped Pavel on the shoulder. He descended the stairs and stopped in the foyer. Mindy handed over his check, and he folded the envelope in half and shoved it in his pocket.
“See you, Mindy. Don’t work too hard.”
She huffed while drumming her long fingernails on the counter and went back to her computer.
Bridger shook his head, smiling, and went home.
He had totally forgotten about his promised conversation with Leo until he walked up the street and saw Leo sitting on the front stoop of his house across the street.
Bridger dropped his bag at his front door. His mom’s car was in the driveway, which comforted him, even though she could look out of the window and see what was about to go down. Bridger crossed the street and stopped on the path to Leo’s porch.
“Hey,” he said, hands in his pockets.
“Hey,” Leo echoed.
Bridger’s throat went tight, and his pulse pounded in his temples. He had worked out a little bit of what he wanted to say, but, faced with Leo’s warm smile, his mind went blank—utterly, completely void of anything coherent.
He settled for standing awkwardly and hoping the ground would swallow him. Then he remembered that there might be myths out there that could open a hole in the ground, and that train of thought derailed. Bridger scuffed his toe on the concrete.
“So,” he started.
“So,” Leo said.
Wow, this was going to be awful. Bridger needed an intermediary of his own to navigate awkward encounters with cute boys. “Want to go for a walk?”
Leo stood. “Actually, I’m kind of grounded from last night. If I so much as step off this porch, I’ll never speak to anyone again.”
“Oh, man. Brutal.” Last night. Wow, it seemed like ages ago.
“Yeah.” Leo shrugged. “But I can talk to you as long as I stay on the steps and as long as my parents don’t see you.”
Bridger snorted. “If we stay here, my mom is definitely going to notice and spy. Just so you know.”
“Parents.”
“Right? Embarrassing. You know, we could postpone until you’re more socially available?” That would be awesome. Please take what was behind door number one.
Leo ducked his head and blushed. “Well, you did kiss my cheek today, and we almost kissed last night. So I’d like to talk right now.”
Damn it. Door number two it was.
Bridger crossed the little distance between them and sat on the steps. His jeans did little in the way of protecting his butt from the cold, and he squirmed, but standing and having this conversation was an equally bad idea. He’d probably faint.
They sat on the concrete together, in the cold and the failing light. Their knees bumped, and Bridger’s heart double-thumped.
“I… uh… don’t know what to say, honestly,” Bridger said. “You start.”
“I like you. I have since the first day of school and you cracked that joke in English class. I think you’re funny. I think you’re cute. I want to go out with you.”
Leo’s blunt sincerity was addicting, and Bridger wanted to hear more. He wanted to hear everything—especially since he knew it would be the absolute truth. Leo was totally different from Bridger, and it was the best.
“That’s awesome.” Bridger shot a smile at Leo, and Leo smiled back, bright and beautiful. “I like you too. And you’re hot. Like really hot. Blazing, but… uh… you’re… the first…”
Leo’s eyebrows shot up. “The first person you’ve liked? I have it on good authority that Sally Goforth threw up in your mom’s car at junior prom.”
“Yes, she did. And I did like her until the puke. So no, not the first person. You’re the first guy. And that’s a lot to deal with right now.”
“Oh.” Leo slumped. “You’re not out?”
“You are?”
“Well, yeah. My parents know. The whole football team knows. Why do you think Zeke wanted to punch you after you backed out of our date?”
Bridger groaned. He buried his face in his hands. “I didn’t know it was supposed to be a date.”
“You didn’t know? I asked you to share popcorn at the movies. How much more date-like can it get?”
Mortified, Bridger pulled his knees to his chest and hunched forward. “I don’t have a lot of experience with any of this. I thought you wanted to be my friend.”
“Ah.” Leo nodded. “Is that what you want? Just friends?”
Bridger swallowed the lump in his throat. “I don’t know. I hadn’t planned on—” figuring this out in high school, acknowledging that he’d actually found guys attractive for a while now, confronting his own sexuality until college “—you.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.” Leo nudged Bridger’s shoulder with his own.
Bridger laughed and dropped his hands. “You should. You really should.”
“I feel a ‘but’ coming.”
Bridger’s eyebrows shot up. “What? I think something got lost in translation.”
“You know,” Leo said, flailing his hands, “you like me. I like you. You’re cute. I’m cute. Everything seems fine, so this is where the ‘but we can’t date’ comes in.”
Bridger’s heart sunk. “We can’t date.”
“Why?”
“I… haven’t told anyone. Astrid knows, but that’s it. And I guess, now you. And Zeke? That’s weird. But yeah, my mom doesn’t. And no one at school knows. And I… can’t deal with that right now.” Bridger winced. “I’m not ready to be anything other than regular Bridger—under the radar nerd. Senior year is hard enough without—” Bridger waved his hands. “—all this.”
“That’s cool.” Leo said at the same time Bridger added, “I’m sorry.”
Bridger blinked. “Wait, what?”
“Everyone needs to go at their own pace with these things. And that’s fine. We’ll take it slow.”
Bridger’s brain fuzzed out, steeped in disbelief and happiness, and snapped back online when Leo took his hand so his chilled fingers laced with Bridger’s own.
“For the record, do you like guys and girls or…?”
“Guys, for me. You?”
“Both? Both. Maybe all? Like everyone? I don’t know yet.” Bridger stared at their hands. “And you’re really okay with me not… being ready to tell anyone right now?”
Leo smiled. “I’m not going to hide myself, but I’m not going to take away your right to come out as you want to. It’s a personal experience, and if you need any help or advice, I’m here.”
“You’re the best person I’ve ever met,” Bridger said, not lying, not deflecting, not even stretching the truth a little. “Easily. You’re the code of chivalry in human form.”
Leo laughed, and his blush deepened. “I don’t need a pedestal.”
“Too late. I’m building you one.” They lapsed into companionable silence, and Bridger sighed. The anxiety eased out of his shoulders, and he relaxed. Full dark set in, and the street lamps flicked on, and Bridger knew he needed to go inside soon. He had a book of myths to read. “What do you want to do now?”
“I want to go inside. It’s freezing, and I’m not used to being this cold.”
“Cold? This is nothing. Wait until the real winter gets here. But… uh… I mean about us?”
“Oh.” Leo smiled. “I’m not in a hurry. I can wait. I guess this means no dual Homecoming kings, but hey, maybe we could shoot for prom?”
Prom gave Bridger plenty of time. Prom was in May and right before graduation. Prom meant a month of gossip at school and then the summer. And if he was okay before then, that would be a bonus. “That… that sounds like a good plan.”
Leo squeezed his fingers. “Good. And I wasn’t joking about the cold. I need to go inside before I’m too frozen to play and before more time is added to my sentence.”
Bridger’s phone buzzed. “Yeah, me too. But I’ll see you at school tomorrow.” He stood and held Leo’s hand a moment longer than needed before breaking away and stepping toward the street.
Bridger didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to walk across the street and slip into the house and lie to his mom. He wanted to stay right there and learn everything there was to learn about Leo and his family and his likes and dislikes. He wanted to kiss the mole on the right side of Leo’s jaw and wrap him up in a sweater and make sure he was warm. But reality sucked, and Bridger had responsibilities waiting for him.
“Good night, Bridger.”
“Night, Leo.”