When the mosquitos started attacking us, we went inside to find Frank waking up from his nap. Sloane heated up a frozen pizza, bemoaning the lack of delivery options in River Port. We ate standing around her kitchen counter, and after Frank polished off three slices, he headed to bed in the guest room that Sloane had made up for him. We discussed—but I was trying not to think about—the fact that we were going to have to be on the road again by seven. I needed to get back before my parents, so they wouldn’t realize I’d left to travel over many state lines with a boy.

Sloane lent me sleep clothes and a toothbrush, and when I unfolded the T-shirt, I realized it was actually mine—the Bug Juice movie shirt.

We were sleeping on the screened-in porch, where she’d set up an ad hoc bedroom during the heat wave that River Port was currently going through. Sloane was on the porch’s couch, and she dragged in a foldaway bed for me, and we pushed them close enough so that we wouldn’t have to raise our voices to hear each other when we talked.

“Okay,” she said, when we’d turned out the last of the lights and I could only see her by the moonlight coming in from outside. “Frank. Start talking.”

I smiled against my pillow and filled her in on the broad outlines—our friendship, my crush, the kiss, the Lissa-breakup bombshell. And us, together, here. Now.

“Oh my god,” she said, once I’d finished. She had reacted just as I’d hoped she would throughout. She’d been responding at the right moments, making me realize how much I’d missed telling her things—her enthusiasm, her complete lack of judgment, the way that, even when you were wrong, she was on your side. “I mean,” she went on without waiting for me to answer, and though I couldn’t see it, I could hear the smile in her voice, “what are you thinking?”

“I don’t know,” I said slowly. If Frank and I tried to be something, it would be real, in a way that was scary—but also really exciting.

“He did just get out of a really long relationship,” Sloane pointed out. “Is this going to be a rebound thing?”

“No,” I said automatically, without even having to think about it. And I realized as I did that Sloane didn’t know Frank. And she didn’t know the me I was with him. “It’s more than that.”

“But . . .” She propped herself up on one elbow. “Frank Porter is like the most serious guy we know. If you’re going out with him—you’re committed.”

“But that’s what I want,” I said, again without thinking about it.

“Really?” Sloane asked. Not skeptically, just with surprise.

“I know things might not work,” I said. “And I know it’s scary, but the things that are worth it are. It feels right.”

“What is that like?” Sloane asked, her voice quiet, genuinely curious.

I knew the answer to that immediately. It was like swimming under the stars, like sleeping outside, like climbing a tree in the dark and seeing the view. It was scary and safe and peaceful and exciting, all at the same time. It was the way I felt when I was with him. “Like a well-ordered universe.”

We were silent for a few minutes, and I realized it was okay. Maybe we didn’t have to share every single feeling we were having, and analyze it. “Em,” Sloane finally said. “I’m only asking because I don’t want you to get hurt. But what if it doesn’t work out?”

When I answered her, I could hear the hope in my voice. “But what if it does?”

I woke up when it was still dark out, and reached underneath my cot to check the time on my phone, cupping my hand over the screen to shield the light from Sloane, who I could tell was still asleep, her breath coming slow and even. It was five-thirty in the morning, and I was amazed I was awake, considering that Sloane and I had talked for hours.

There had just been too much to cover, and every time one of us would mention that we should probably stop talking and get some rest, something else would come up that had to be addressed. As we talked, trying to fit three months’ worth of conversations into a few hours, it felt like we were fighting against the dawn that was coming, and if we just kept talking, and filling up the hours, maybe we could hold it off.

But then the pauses had gotten longer, until there was just silence between us, and I drifted off with the knowledge that if I thought of something else I needed to say to Sloane, she would be right there to hear it.

But as I climbed out of bed now, I was trying my best not to wake her as I walked onto the back porch. It was still dark out, but the stars were fading, and I had a feeling the sun was going to be up before too long. I looked over and saw my list, folded up, where we’d anchored it under one of the candles. I picked it up, planning on putting it back in my purse for safekeeping, when I had an idea. I ducked back into the screened porch, retrieved my purse, and brought it back outside with me. I found a pen and my schedule for next week at Paradise in my bag. I turned it over to the blank sheet on the back, lit one of the candles so that my handwriting wouldn’t be too illegible, and started to write.

1. Call your best friend twice a week.

2. When your phone rings, answer it.

3. If you meet someone you like, wait two weeks before kissing him.

3a. (Okay, one week.)

4. Date someone who’ll wait to make sure you get inside before driving away.

5. If you’re mad at someone, tell them. I promise nothing bad will happen.

6. Get your license. (This way, you can drive me when I come and visit.)

7. Hug a Carl.

I kept on writing, filling the list out, trying to do for Sloane what she’d done for me. When I’d finished, I added at the bottom, When you finish this list, find me and tell me all about it.

I heard the door from the screened porch slam, and I turned around to see Sloane, in her vintage silk pajama set—I’d been with her when she bought it—crossing the porch and sitting next to me on the top step.

“Hey,” she said, around a yawn. “I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“Yeah,” I said, raising my eyebrows at her. “That’s really awful, isn’t it?”

Sloane laughed and I saw she’d understood me. She nodded at the paper in my lap. “What’s that?”

“It’s for you,” I said, handing it to her. She unfolded it and I watched her expression change as she read it. “I just thought I should give you something to start on,” I said. “You know, since I’ve finished all of mine.”