The unspoken laws

Rule number one: no lingering looks. Rule number two: no sharing beds, even during movie marathons. Rule number three: never, ever talk about the what if. Those rules were Daniel’s idea, which already told you everything you needed to know. People don’t make rules about falling in love unless they’re afraid it might actually happen. Daniel and I have been best friends since sophomore year, since the day I lent him my notes in chemistry and he told me my handwriting looked like it was “running away from itself.” We survived pop quizzes, terrible cafeteria pizza, and the humiliation of group projects together. We knew each other’s moods by the way we walked down the hallway. Best friends. Safe. Simple. Except it wasn’t. Daniel had a girlfriend. Her name was Lila. She laughed too loudly, wore perfume that gave me headaches, and always clung to Daniel’s arm like she was afraid he’d float away. I tried to like her. I really did. But every time she kissed his cheek and shot me a tight smile, something sour curled in my stomach. That didn’t mean I wanted Daniel. That’s what the rules were for. Rule number four: no jealousy. If Lila sat in his lap, I looked away. If Daniel canceled plans because she wanted him, I smiled and said, “No problem.” I was very good at pretending. After school, Daniel and I sat on the bleachers while the soccer team practiced below us. He tossed me a juice box like we were ten years old again. “You’re quiet,” he said. “I’m always quiet,” I lied. He glanced at me, like he knew better, then looked back at the field. “Lila might come by later.” “Great,” I said, too quickly. Rule number five: don’t sound disappointed. The sun dipped lower, turning everything gold, and for a moment it felt easy again—just us, like always. I hated that moment most of all. Because moments like that were the reason rules existed. Because if we didn’t have them, I wasn’t sure where we’d end up. And some lines, once crossed, can’t be uncrossed.