I hit my blinker and turn off 114, headed toward the sleepaway camp facility KidFUN maintains on Sebago Lake in Standish. It’s a bit of a drive, but there’s very little traffic mid-morning. And anyway, I love coming out here in the summer and watching the kids splash around and do all the fun summer camp things. It’s so cheerful, and I really need that right now.

It’s over two weeks now since I’ve seen Garrett. Really long, really sad weeks.

We text, and he sends me just as many memes as ever on Messenger. I respond, and if you only read our messages, you wouldn’t know that there was anything up with us. Hell, maybe even he doesn’t know. It’s not like there haven’t been periods in our lives before when we were both busy and didn’t get together for a while.

But each day that passes feels awful to me, because I know the truth. I know that every time I close one of his messages without answering, or answer with something casual, the chance to fix our friendship and go back to how we were before fades. I’m not being honest with him, and what kind of friendship is that?

He’s suggested getting together a couple of times, and I’ve brushed him off. I’m not ready to see him—not when every time I close my eyes, I see him as he was that night at the Monroe, looking at me like I was the most beautiful thing in the world.

But that was the booze, right? On both our parts. And I need to let it go, but I can’t.

Subsequently, there’s a big, Garrett-shaped hole in my life. Worse, I’m running out of excuses. He knows me well enough that, even if he hasn’t figured out yet that I’m avoiding him, he will.

And even worse than that, my parents keep bringing him up.

Last night, at dinner, as she spooned potatoes onto her plate, my mom said, “I haven’t seen Garrett around.”

“We’re both busy,” I said, keeping my eyes on my plate. “He’s got that internship, and I’m at camp a lot.”

“Oh, okay,” she said. “Well, good for you both. I just wondered.”

“All work and no play, et cetera,” my dad piped in. “You two should make some time to hook up.”

I literally choked on the piece of chicken I was eating, so that was smooth.

“Yeah, Dad, probably,” I said.

Sure thing, Dad. Hooking up is the whole problem, but okay.

Fortunately, Mom changed the subject, but it bothers me that other people are noticing the disruption in our friendship. If I don’t do something—face this, deal with it, whatever—I’m going to have to come up with some way better excuses. And I don’t think there’s any excuse that would put off my parents forever.

Maybe I need to meet him someplace neutral, have a serious talk with him about this. Work out whatever this is. Because that’s the main problem, isn’t it? I don’t know what this is anymore, what we are. We crossed a line that night, and despite saying things would go back to how they were, we haven’t and they can’t. Because no matter what Garrett said the morning after, I don’t think we made a big mistake. I think maybe—just maybe—we might be making a mistake now, trying to act like it didn’t happen.

Thinking that, really acknowledging for the first time that I think that, I feel better than I have since that moment I woke up to see Garrett sitting there on the bed beside me. I need to face this head-on, rather than let it just happen to me. I’ll talk to Garrett, and we’ll sort this out. I don’t know if it truly was just too much booze and we were scratching an itch, or if Sam was right and Garrett and I should be together, or what. I know that having sex can make your feelings all kinds of messed up, and this feeling I have in my gut might just be that. Or it might be that Garrett and I could have something real.

Yeah, right. Something real—for what, a month?

But the thing is, if we can’t go back, maybe going forward is the only way. Even if it could mean heartache in the end.

I mean, let’s be honest. My heart’s been aching since I woke up that morning at the Monroe.

We have to talk, and I have to be honest with him.

I’m running through variations of the possible conversation in my mind—I’m not sure how I feel about what happened, Garrett, or, I don’t like that you called it a mistake, Garrett, or, scariest of all, I think maybe I don’t want to just be friends anymore, Garrett—when I look up, and there he is, standing at the doorway to the camp office.

He’s wearing a light gray suit—God, he looks so good in a suit—and a pair of Ray-Bans that probably cost as much as my whole outfit. Hands in his pocket, a half-smile on his face. No, make that a tentative half-smile. For the first time ever, he looks like he doesn’t know what kind of reception he’ll get from me.

Garrett Crawford, looking unsure of himself. That’s a new one.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.” I put a smile on my face and try to ignore that scary breathless tightness in my chest. Funny how it showed up just when he did.

Pull yourself together, I think. This isn’t ideal, but I was planning on calling him today anyway, right?

He shoves his hands further into his pockets. “I had to stop by to drop off some paperwork for my dad.”

Bullshit. Yeah, his dad’s firm is the attorney of record for KidFUN, but Garrett’s not working for his dad this summer. He’s interning for another law firm in the city.

He came to see me, I realize. There’s no other explanation. I smile at him—really smile at him—because honestly, could this be any sweeter?

“You got a minute?” he asks.

I look at my watch. “Literally like two minutes. I’m running late to supervise a kickball game.”

He laughs, and my heart squeezes. I haven’t heard his laugh since—

Well. Not going to think about that. Not right now.

“You want company?” he asks.

“It’s sure to be one for the record books,” I say. “Boys against girls, no pitcher, matball variant.”

“Now this I have to see,” he says.

“Wait here.” I duck inside, drop my things on my desk, and grab a couple of refillable water bottles from the fridge by the door. Back outside, I hand one to Garrett, and we stroll toward the kickball field.

On the way, I ask him about his internship. Like I mentioned before, Garrett’s not working for his dad this summer. Mr. Crawford decided he should get some experience in different environments, and set it up so Garrett will intern for a different firm each summer while he’s in law school.

Garrett’s uncles, who also own part of the firm, seem to think that’s really weird, but Garrett shrugs it off.

We get to the kickball field, and Angie, one of the other counselors, pats a spot beside her on the nearest bench. The kids are lining up behind the home plate mat.

“I’ll place the ball before each kick,” she says, “and call the safes and strikes. You just make sure no fights break out when I’m looking the other way, and no one sneaks off, ’kay?”

“Sure thing,” I say, and we sit down as she heads off to start the game. There’s a slight breeze that carries the smell of new-mown grass over to the bench.

Garrett strips off his suit jacket and lays it beside him. “How have you been?” he asks, his eyes on the line of kids at home base.

“Just working.” I shrug. “Busy—you know how it is here.”

Angie sets the ball in front of the first kid in line, and he manages to send it wobbling pitifully toward third. He takes off for first, and I notice that his kickball skills may not be anything to get excited about but wow, can that kid run.

“You still like working in the office?” Garrett asks.

“I do, actually.” The kid on third snags the ball and, since the other kid is already safe on first, tosses it to Angie. Some of the kids are shouting; I can’t quite make out what they’re telling her, but they clearly think it’s important. “It’s really great when we’re able to bring on new sponsors. I showed a couple around a few days ago. I love seeing their faces when they realize that we really do put the money where it does a lot of good.”

“Schmoozing the donors?” He pats my hand, which is resting between us on the bench. “You’re moving up.”

I shift, pull my hand into my lap. I don’t want him to touch me. Not right now. My heart still hasn’t unsqueezed from earlier.

“I like it,” I say. “I mean, sure, it’s fundraising, but it’s so low key, and look at this place. It pretty much sells itself. If people aren’t interested, I just move on.”

“Maybe you should go into fundraising with a national charity or something.”

“Maybe,” I say. “So what’s been going on with you?”

“The usual.” He leans back, crosses his ankles.

I try very hard not to appreciate the view, but it’s sprawled out in front of me, and I’m only human. He looks good.

“It’s nice to talk to you again,” he says. “It feels like we haven’t talked since we got back from Boston.”

“That’s probably because we haven’t.”

“I’ve been calling you,” he says. I can’t tell if his tone is neutral or mad. “Trying to get together. I have to play errand boy for my dad to have a reason to see you?”

He did come here to see me. My heart unsqueezes, just a little.

“Well, things got a little weird—” I begin.

“Not with me,” he interjects. “There’s no weirdness on my part.”

“You weren’t the only person there,” I say.

There’s silence for a long, long moment. I hold my breath, completely unsure what happens next.

“Anyway,” he says, and I know when he starts with that word that I’m not going to like anything that comes after, “that’s why I came out here to talk to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. If we don’t get back to normal soon, we never will, Beck. Let’s do something.”

“Do something,” I say. “Get back to normal.”

“Exactly.” He turns to look at me, but I can’t see his eyes because he’s still wearing his sunglasses. “I swiped right on this girl the other night, okay?”

My heart contracts so painfully that for another moment I can only blink at him.

“Good for you,” I say when I find my voice again. “Not sure what that has to do with me.”

“Well, she and I are getting together this weekend,” he says, as if I want to hear that, as if I want to hear any of this, “and I suggested we should double date with my best friend.”

You mean the one you just slept with? I think, but very carefully do not say. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself, but the words stay inside my head. I’m holding my breath again. Is he kidding? Or is he actually just this painfully stupid?

He’s smiling, not in a hilariously jokey way but in an actual, genuine way. Almost hopefully.

The verdict is in: Painfully stupid.

He’s fucking serious. He doesn’t see anything weird in this scenario he’s proposing. He’s come all the way out here to ask me to go out on a double date with him and some chick he matched with on Tinder.

Out on the field, there’s a gaggle of kids, maybe five of them, all standing on the first base mat. They’re never going to break for second, I think, and let out my breath. Sometimes you just have to run for it. You can’t stay safe on first forever.

“What did she say?” I ask. My lips feel numb, but I’m going to keep my game face on if it kills me. This is almost the worst thing that could possibly happen, but you know what would be worse? Any scenario where he realizes that, in my most secret heart of hearts, I actually entertained the idea that we might talk this through and decide to make a go at being more than friends.

“She thought it was a little strange,” he admits, “but she said okay.”

That’s supposed to sell me on this shit? The shittiest fucking idea I’ve heard in, like, my whole life?

“Do you have someone you can ask?” Garrett said. “Because if you don’t, Levi might know someone who—”

Oh my God. This isn’t bad enough, and now he wants to set me up, like I can’t find a damn date?

“No, thanks,” I say, maybe a bit too forcefully. “There’s a guy I’ve gone out with a couple times recently.” This is a flat-out lie, but a girl has to have a little pride, right? “I’m sure he’d be game.”

“Oh.” Garrett frowns. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

“Yeah, well.” I leave it at that.

He stands up, sort of abruptly. “I’ll call you when I know when and where, okay?”

“Sounds great,” I say. It sounds anything but great, but here we are. I’m in this now.

And I have to find a date by the weekend.