“I can’t believe you brought me here.”

My grip tightens on Blake’s as we slip down the hill to where the ground levels out. The engine of the ride-share car fades, until all we hear are crickets.

“Why?” he asks. “Surprised I remembered this, too?”

“No.” I finish my drink and wave the cup at the dilapidated barn in front of us. “Because it’s creepy. I hope you don’t expect me to go in there.”

“You used to.” He kneels down, feeling through the grass. We lose sight of the rock after he pitches it into the night, but can hear it hit the side of the barn with a thump. “In fact, I was always the one who told you it was creepy.”

The barn was a popular site for parties, when we were younger. When Fridays rolled around and no one’s house was free, droves of us gathered out here in the field. Someone would start a bonfire or two. Kegs were set up in the glow, grocery bags of cups and snacks strewn between groups. The barn itself—just as rundown now as it was then—was used for hookups and drunken daredevil acts. Swinging from the hayloft was how Carl Linkheart sprained his wrist before a big lacrosse match.

Whenever I was single, Blake and I stuck to the fringes of the party. He said the barn didn’t interest him; there were bats inside. When I was in a relationship with someone, the guy would always work me into the barn, one way or another, while Blake stayed by the fire.

It was always the same: my back pressed against the splintered wood of a post or wall, dodging the hands that fumbled up my shirt, my breath swamped with beer as I whispered, “I’m not ready for that.” Some of them took it well, happy to stick with kissing and over-the-clothes gropes. Most, not so much.

“It’s because of Foster, isn’t it?” Carl spat. He tore his hand off my back so fast, I felt his thumbnail scratch me. “You know, all the guys on the team think I’m a dumbass for dating you. Everyone talks about it.”

“Talks about what?” My fingers were too clumsy, joints softened from alcohol, to fix my bra. He’d unhooked it as soon as we came inside, without asking. It took at least a minute of kissing before I’d summoned the bravery to stop him from removing more of my clothes.

“You and him. Felix told me that’s why he broke up with you, because the guy is just…always there.”

That’s what I get, I thought, for dating teammates.

“Oh, yeah?” I straightened my shirt and edged away from the wall, so he couldn’t keep hemming me into the corner the way he was. “I’m guessing what he didn’t tell you is that Blake had to drive us on all our dates, because Felix failed his driver’s test nine times. He’s a dumbass.”

Carl cursed and pushed his hair back. It was sun-bleached and fell across his face in gelled shocks, which he often flicked away with a sporty jerk of the head. How did I ever find it sexy? Now, I understood why Blake was always saying, “It’s like a horse flicking flies off its ass.”

“Are you sleeping with him? Is that why you won’t let me get even close to touching you, after all these weeks?”

“What?” I pushed his shoulder away when he tried stepping closer again. “No!”

“Then why are you always at his house? Why did he drive you here tonight, when you could’ve ridden with me?”

“He’s my best friend. Of course we do everything together. I don’t bitch when you’re at Elliot’s house.”

“Exactly. Because Elliot’s a guy. If I did hang out with a girl the way you hang out with Foster, trust me—you’d have something to say about it. It’s weird. It’s…it’s not right.”

“Why, because you say it isn’t?” Finally, I’d managed to creep close enough to the door that I could make my escape. “I don’t even think of Blake like that.”

“Maybe not. But he does think of you that way.”

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Don’t blame him because you’re jealous and—and controlling.”

Carl blocked my exit attempt with his arm. I thought about ducking under, but knew he would just follow me out into the field. The last thing I wanted was an audience to what, I already knew, would culminate in a breakup.

“It’s not controlling,” he argued, “to get pissed when my girlfriend holds some other guy’s hand.”

“He was helping me down the hill! Jesus.”

“Okay,” he sighed, letting his hands slap down against his legs. “You don’t like him that way, fine. I’ll buy that. But he does like you. I’m a guy. We can tell when another guy is into a girl.”

“You’re insane.” I shoved past him and made it outside. The world was cool and open now, and I relaxed. Even Carl’s hand on my back, grabbing the hem of my shirt, didn’t bother me, because at least now I could run away. If I had to.

“Look at him.” His mouth appeared by my ear. “Right there, by the fire.”

“So? He’s just standing there.”

“Exactly. He’s not talking to Becca or Tanya or anyone, two feet away from him. He’s not dancing. He’s just sitting there, drinking.” Carl paused. I heard him grind his teeth, a nasty habit of his I would later cite as our reason for breaking up. “Waiting for you to come back.”

I shrugged, hard, and knocked my shoulder into his chin. He let go of my shirt and backed away.

“You don’t believe me? Go. Go over there and tell me he doesn’t, like, instantly change and get into the party,” he hissed after me. “You’ll see. I’m right.”

“No, you’re not.” I turned, stumbling backwards but still upright, and gave him the finger. “And even if you are, it doesn’t matter. We’re done.”

By the time I got back to the fire, Carl had begun spewing obscenities about me across the field. People glanced over, mildly interested, but it wasn’t like my breakup with Bastian: the world went on.

“What’s that about?” Blake asked. “Is Carl fighting with somebody again?”

I sat beside him in a patch of hay thrown over the mud and took his drink. “Just me.”

“You need me to shut him up?” He paused, listening. “Sounds like he’s saying some shitty stuff.”

“Nah,” I exhaled, lying back. Blake stretched out beside me. The fire warmed our feet; our faces were cold, tilted into nothing but the midnight sky. “Let him pout. I, uh…I dumped him. So he’s bitter.”

“Oh.” I expected him to ask why, but he didn’t. Not yet. That would come later, when we were sober and rigid in our roles. Best friends, and nothing else, the line distinct and stark.

Right now, the line was dug into the sand. Deep, and indisputable—but easily crossed, if we really wanted to try.

My hand slipped into his.

“Missed you,” he whispered.

I looked at him. The moon was huge that night, turning our tans chalk-white. “I was only gone, like…twenty minutes.”

Blake smiled and shrugged, “Still.” He put his free hand behind his head. I could see his eyes, darting from star to star. As if he could tell which ones would burn out first, and which ones already had. Or like he could count them, one by one, if we stayed here long enough, just like this.

* * *

Blake swings the ladder up into place against the hayloft and shakes it, testing the strength. He holds out his hand. “Ladies first.”

“Not in this scenario. That thing probably has dry rot.”

“It’s safe,” he insists, shaking it again for good measure. “Besides, I’ve got to be down here to hold it for you. Do you want to see stars, or not?”

I look up. Through the rafters, the fallen sections of roof reveal the exact same sky we could see outside the barn, safely on the ground.

“Mel.” His voice is a strange blend of reassuring and authoritative. He’s not just telling me I’ll be safe; he’s promising it.

My first steps are shaky. Instead of canceling each other out, I feel the alcohol and caffeine vying for first, and can’t decide if I’m sleepy or jittery, relaxed or keyed-up. When I feel Blake’s hand on my back, then my butt and thigh, as he pushes me up gently, I realize it might not be either of those ingredients at all, making me feel this way.

“Should I hold the top, while you climb up?” I call down, when I’m finally in the hayloft. Blake is already halfway up the ladder, so I decide it’s best if I just back up and get out of his way.

“Careful,” he warns, and pulls me away from a loose board. The entire thing creaks under our weight, especially his, but he tests each spot before choosing a seat. “Oh, hang on.” He takes off his suit jacket and lays it out for me.

“It’s going to get filthy, you know.” The loft is filled with old hay and a thick, gritty layer of dirt, most likely blown in from the roof.

“That’s what dry cleaners are for.” He pats the coat. I sit, then lie down beside him as he stretches out.

I find his hand. It’s just like the night I broke up with Carl Linkheart, when we watched the sky until the fire died, and kids drove home or called older siblings for rides, the sunrise cresting over the hill.

“Better than the fake stars, huh?” he asks.

I nod. Somehow, even just ten feet off the ground and staring through a patch of broken roof, the stars seem brighter. Closer. But even more than the stars, I notice the spaces between them: tiny windows of nothingness, navy and infinite, as empty as they are full of potential.

“No, really—I’ve wanted to bring you in here since we were fourteen.”

Mel’s laugh quiets. She turns in my arms, pulling her attention from the stars and putting it on me. “You said you’d never come in here,” she reminds me, “because of bats.”

“Well…I would have gone in, with you. I’m here now, aren’t I?”

She rests her head against my chest. “Everyone thought there was something going on between us, back then. That’s the real reason Carl broke up with me. And Felix.” Her fingers trail along my tie, loosening it. “They were jealous of you.”

“As they should have been. I was infinitely cooler.”

She laughs again. “Yeah, right. You didn’t make a move till we were eighteen. So that’s, what, four years?”

“Six,” I correct, reluctantly. “I, uh…I think my crush started when we were twelve. At track practice. Remember when the high school team came to share our complex?”

“Since we were twelve?” She turns more, propping her chin on my chest to look at me. “You liked me all that time, and never said anything?”

I could honestly cringe, thinking of how spineless I used to be. “Could we change the subject, please? I mean, it isn’t like I kept it under wraps forever. I did tell you, eventually.” I arch my eyebrow at her. “And I think I did it pretty smoothly.”

“Daring me to let you give me my first orgasm,” she scoffs. “That wasn’t smooth. That was cheesy.”

“Maybe a little.” We laugh together, this time. “But it worked.”

Her hair brushes my face as she lies down again. “So you started liking me at track practice. What did it? Like, was there a specific moment?”

“Just watching you run.” I tighten my arm around her when a breeze plummets in through the roof. “You were so fast, and…I don’t know. Graceful.”

“Was?”

“Oh, please. Don’t pretend you’re still pulling a five-minute mile.”

“I can still beat you.” She gets up and shakes out my jacket, then slips it on. “Let’s go. From the barn door to the edge of the creek.”

“I’m in a suit. And you’re drunk.”

“If I win,” she goes on, already starting down the ladder like I haven’t even spoken, “you have to take me to Cats. It’s coming to the Nelson Center this week.”

I groan to the ceiling. We both liked musical theater, growing up, but she knows I hate Cats with a passion.

As I start down the ladder after her, waiting until her feet touch the floor before I put my full weight on it, I ask, “And what happens when I win?”

She watches me descend. When I jump off halfway and land, right in front of her, the rattle of the barn doesn’t even faze her.

“If you win,” she says, reaching for my tie; this time, she tightens it, “we’ll go back to your place, and you can do all those things you talked about in the planetarium.”

Wind hits the side of the barn and whistles through the cracks. I put my hands over hers and loosen my tie again, then all the way. She watches me take it off and ball it up into my pocket.

“Deal.” I’ve never backed down from one of Mel’s dares before, and I’m not about to start.

The barn door screeches shut behind us. Mel stretches her legs and arms thoroughly while I make fun of her, until I decide to do the same. Running still isn’t my specialty, so some warm-ups definitely won’t hurt.

“Jumping jacks?” she muses. “Man, you really want to get me into bed, don’t you?”

“No.” I stop, roll up my sleeves, and get into starting position beside her, our heels braced against the side of the barn. “I just really hate Cats.”

She shakes out her hands and touches one to the ground. “Ready? One…two….”

I glance at her. The night has shaken her bangs loose from the clip; a piece feathers in front of her eyes, which are honed in on the creek we can’t see, but trust is still there. A lot changes in three years, but most things don’t.

“…three!”

Already, she has the lead. I could blame the fact I was looking at her instead of paying attention, but we both know the truth: I’m slow. I always have been, especially compared to Mel.

On top of that, I’m in dress shoes. She’s barefoot, flats kicked off and stuffed into the pockets of my coat, billowing behind her as she flies ahead into the field. The echo of her laughter reaches me like a bell through snow, and it isn’t until I catch up with her, hunched and panting at the creek, that I hear my own echo, pealing behind us.

“Memory…all alone in the moonlight,” she sings. Her voice is choked with more laughter as she catches her breath.

I wrap my arms around her waist. “Still fast,” I announce. “Still graceful.”

She licks her thumb and swipes at a grass stain on my wrist, where I stumbled after my late start. “And you,” she says, “are still slow as shit.”

“To be fair, I never denied that I was still slow. I was just skeptical that you were still fast.”

This time, it’s Mel who kisses me. I have to bend down so she can reach, her tiptoes sliding in the mud.

“Well,” I sigh, as she pulls back, “you won. I look forward to our terrible musical date.”

“Me, too.” The smile that forms on her face is small and sideways. I recognize it.

It’s the face she gets when she has a terrible idea. One that could be a lot of fun, or a total disaster.

“You know,” she whispers, spreading her hand across the side of my face, “we said from the barn, to the edge of the creek…and I didn’t officially touch the edge.”

I look behind me. Sure enough, there’s a foot of space between us and the rocks that line the creek, dried to nothing but a trickle through the mud.

“So the race is still going on, technically?”

Mel runs her bottom lip through her teeth. Another dare.

I let go of her and take a step backwards. My heel lines up with the very edge of the creek.

“Looks like I win, after all.”

“Yep.” Her eyes flash. I wish I actually did have a skylight in my bedroom, so I could see the moonlight hit them again, just like this, the entire night. “Fair is fair.”