When I saw him wandering around, looking everywhere, I knew it had to be for that kid. The one with the curly black hair and brown eyes. Danny.
I thought about letting him be.
Forgetting about trying to talk to him.
To tell him that I lo—about my feelings.
It seemed pointless, stupid even at this point.
Until I saw my book bag in his hand.
Me.
Is he looking for . . . me?
Something happened to my stomach, a flutter, heart constricting at the thought—stupid. It was so stupid to feel this way over him bringing me my book bag.
I’d left it at his house.
After we’d . . . after . . . I grit my teeth, trying to calm down.
Doesn’t matter.
Either way, we should talk.
Even if I don’t confess, even if . . . we should still . . . talk,
