Chapter 7
SEVEN
THEO
It was tucked under my pillow.
I didn’t find it until later that night, after Caden left.
After I waited too long in his room, staring at his dresser like he might come back just to grab one more thing.
After his parents had driven off down the street, I descended the stairs back to my house like I’d aged twenty years, my body weighted down, each step carrying the ache of something I couldn’t name.
Then I crashed onto my bed, flipped the pillow, and there it was.
A folded-up sheet of notebook paper. My name written in his all-caps, slightly slanted print. My throat closed up the second I saw it. I didn’t even open it right away. Just held it for a while.
And yeah. I cried.
He’d drawn a little comic. Stick figures, obviously.
It was us—him with a basketball, me with a book (okay, fine, it looked more like a square with legs, but I got it).
In the first panel, we were lying on my trampoline from last spring, stargazing.
In the second, I was snort laughing while he tried to kiss me with his mouth full of popcorn.
In the third… we were kissing. Just us, no distractions.
A word bubble from me said, “Can I say it now?” and his said, “Not yet. Wait till Kentucky.”
I taped it inside my closet door.
It’s been two weeks since he left, and every time I look at it, I feel everything all over again. The ache. The missing. The hope. It’s also been the longest we’ve ever gone without seeing each other. I thought maybe I’d settle into it. You know—school starts, life gets busy, I’d get used to it.
I haven’t.
Classes are full-on. Senior year isn’t chill like I hoped. AP Lit is basically emotional warfare, and calculus just stares back at me like I’m the problem. Add that to basketball practice every afternoon, and I should be distracted.
But I’m not. Not really.
I’ve been playing phone tag with Caden all week. Between his training schedule and classes and God knows what else, we’ve mostly just swapped missed calls and slow-ass texts.
Seriously, texting should count as a sport. T9 predictive text is not a gift from heaven like people think. It’s a punishment.
Case in point:
Me (2:47 p.m.): u good?
Caden (5:01 p.m.): yeh srry just done w practice. Dead
Me (5:03 p.m.): same. calc is trying to murder me
Caden (5:15 p.m.): u win. my legs hurt so bad i forgot my name
It’s been like that for days. Bite-sized glimpses of each other.
But tonight, finally, he calls.
I’m stretched out on my bed with a paperback balanced on my chest, eyes skimming the same paragraph for the third time without taking it in. I keep pretending the words are enough to distract me, to make me forget how empty the room feels without him here. But they blur together, restless as I am.
Then the Nokia buzzes against the cover, startling me.
Caden.
I snatch it up like it might disappear and hit the green button so fast I nearly drop it. “Hey.”
His voice comes through a little staticky but warm and familiar. “Took you long enough.”
I grin. “I answered on the first ring, don’t even start.”
“I know. I’m just talking crap.”
My smile softens. “Hi.”
He sighs. “God, I miss you.”
I close my eyes, pressing the phone tighter to my ear. “Same.”
There’s a quiet beat between us. The kind that says everything we’re not saying. Then he says, “So, I made it through week one of classes.”
I sit up a little. “And?”
“And… it’s wild, Theo. Like, the campus is huge, my dorm smells like Axe and microwaved noodles, and I have a professor who legit swears in class.”
“That’s your dream professor.”
“Right? She said bullshit today and no one even blinked. I nearly applauded.”
I laugh. “Please don’t get kicked out of class for clapping.”
“No promises.”
He tells me about his classes—Introduction to Business, a required history class about Southern politics (“Why do they hate us so much?”), and a writing seminar that’s already making him rethink using contractions.
Then there’s basketball. That one makes his voice shift slightly—lower, a little heavier.
“Training’s brutal,” he says. “It’s not even official season yet, and I’m already sore in muscles I didn’t know I had.”
“You’re gonna kill it,” I say, trying to sound more sure than I feel.
“I don’t know. Everyone’s good. Like, really good. I’m just hoping to make it past tryouts.”
“You have a scholarship, Cam. You’re already in.”
“Yeah, but that just means they expect more.”
He doesn’t say it, but I know what he means. A Black freshman from a public high school in South Carolina—people expect him to prove he belongs every second of every day.
“You will,” I say again, because I need him to believe it.
He doesn’t answer right away. Then, quietly, he murmurs, “Thanks.”
There’s shuffling on his end, probably him lying back in bed. “I’m going to a party tonight,” he says after a moment.
My stomach twists. “Oh?”
“It’s just a team thing. Nothing crazy. But yeah. First party.”
“Nice.” My voice sounds a little too neutral. I clear my throat. “Wear deodorant. Don’t fall for the Jungle Juice scam.”
He laughs. “I’ve been warned. It’s probably Gatorade and regret in a bucket.”
“You know it.”
We’re quiet again, and I can tell he’s about to say something, so I fill the space first. “I’ve got four weeks left,” I say. “Until my birthday. I already asked my mom, and she said I can take the car.”
“Yeah? That’s amazing.”
“I’m coming up Friday afternoon and staying till Sunday. Nonnegotiable.”
He exhales slowly. “God, I can’t wait to see you.”
My heart pounds. “I want to kiss you so bad it hurts.”
He groans softly. “Don’t start.”
“You started it.”
“I said I was going to a party, not that I needed to hear about your thirst.”
“Too late.”
He laughs again, but I can hear the ache underneath it. “You still got the comic I made you?” he asks, voice low.
“Of course I do,” I say, no hesitation. “It’s taped inside my closet. I see it every day.”
“Still holding up?”
“Couple of creases, but yeah. It’s my favorite thing.”
There’s a pause—one of those soft ones that stretch and breathe. Then he says, “I really wish I could touch you right now.”
My whole chest tightens. “Me too.”
We don’t say more. Not the big thing. Not yet. We don’t have to. Not when it’s folded into every breath, every word, every beat of the line between us. Still holding. Still strong.
When I finally put my phone down, I head downstairs. Amelia’s sprawled on the couch, scrolling her phone. “Wow,” she says without looking up, “you’re actually leaving the house? What’s the occasion—lonely hearts club meeting?”
“Shut up,” I mutter, pulling on my sneakers.
She smirks. “Don’t sulk just because your boyfriend’s off at college and you’ve got no other friends.”
My ears burn. “I so do,” I correct, a little too quickly.
“Mm-hm,” she says, clearly not buying it, then goes back to her screen. The worst part? She’s not entirely wrong. Thankfully, I’ve got Kurtis, and I like some of the guys on the basketball team well enough, but it’s not lost on me how much of my time—years of it—has been spent orbiting Caden.
I didn’t really plan to go to the lake, but I can’t stay in the house either. Not after that phone call. Not after hearing Caden’s voice, full of noise and random people as students outside his room were gearing up for the party, knowing I can’t be there. That I’m not there.
It’s almost nine by the time I make it to the lake.
The lake’s one of those unofficial spots.
No signs, no security, just a patch of sandy shoreline off a gravel road where teenagers go to pretend they’re in a music video.
There’s a firepit burning low near the rocks, a couple of old lawn chairs, and someone’s Jeep parked too close to the water blasting Lil Jon through tinny speakers.
I park a little ways off and walk the rest.
A few people nod at me as I pass—kids from school, some upperclassmen, some juniors I recognize from gym or assemblies. There’s drinking, low-level flirting, some folks paired off and sitting too close on someone’s tailgate. It smells like cheap beer, bug spray, and humidity.
I find my friend Kurtis near the back, sitting on a log and nursing a Coke like it’s something stronger. He’s been my friend since middle school, when we both got cut from soccer and sat on the bleachers talking trash about gym class.
He sees me and lifts his drink. “Thought you bailed.”
“Nah,” I say, sliding down next to him. “Just got caught up.”
He snorts. “Caught up with what? Practicing your dramatic stare into the distance again?”
“Maybe. It’s my signature move.”
“You need better hobbies.”
“You need a better face.”
“Touché.”
He tosses a pebble at my sneaker. We sit in comfortable silence for a minute, watching the fire flicker and someone nearly fall off a cooler trying to impress a girl.
“Can’t believe we’re seniors,” he says after a while. “Feels like we were just freshmen getting shoved into lockers.”
“I was never shoved into a locker.”
Kurtis gives me a side-eye. “Dude, you’re five-nine and delicate. You absolutely could’ve been.”
I laugh, not even offended by his description. “Fair.”
Kurtis sips his Coke. “You ever think about what you’re doing next year? Like, after graduation?”
“All the time.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean… I don’t have it all figured out, but I know I want to teach. English, probably.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Look at you, Mr. Hawkins. Inspiring the youth.”
“Don’t make fun,” I say, though I’m smiling. “I like it. The idea of showing kids how words matter. How they can carry you places.”
“I’m not making fun,” he says, holding up his hands. “I think it fits. You already tutor half the team anyway.”
I duck my head, tracing patterns in the dirt with my sneaker. “The hard part is where. What school. How far.”
He smirks knowingly. “Where Caden goes, right?”
I force a laugh, like it’s an obvious joke. “Yeah, something like that.”
He chuckles and lets it go, attention drifting back to the fire.
But inside, my chest is tight. Because it isn’t a joke. I do want to follow Caden to UK. Desperately. But I also want college to mean being out, living honestly, not hiding in shadows. And I don’t know if those two things can coexist. Not with him. Not yet.
The uncertainty sits heavy in my gut as Kurtis takes another sip of his drink, oblivious.
I also want to be able to go wherever he is once he’s finished college.
Whatever city Caden ends up in, whatever team picks him up—if it happens, and I believe it will—I want to be able to follow.
Not like a tagalong. Just… near enough that we don’t have to do this again. The distance. The silence. The ache.
Teaching’s been floating in the back of my head for a while. I’m good with people. I love stories. And schools always need teachers—everywhere. But I can’t say that out loud. Not to Kurtis. Not yet. So I just sip my drink and say, “I’ll figure it out.”
And I will. Because I’m not letting this—him—slip away.
Kurtis nudges me with his shoulder. “You’ll kill it, man. You’ll have your pick of schools and courses.”
“Thanks.”
“What about a girl?”
I stiffen, just a bit. “What?”
He shrugs. “You know. You’ve been flying solo since like forever. Just wondering if there’s anyone on your radar.”
My throat dries up. He doesn’t mean anything by it. Kurtis is chill. He’s not the kind of guy who makes jokes at someone’s expense. But still. I’ve never said the words I’m gay to anyone outside my family and Caden’s. And especially not around here. Not in Gomillion.
I force a half shrug. “Not really.”
He studies me for a second. “You sure? ’Cause you’ve had this whole mysterious thing going on lately. Like you’re always texting someone but pretending you’re not.”
My face heats. “Maybe I’ve just got talented thumbs.”
He laughs, but he doesn’t press. I appreciate that.
He leans back on his hands, eyes on the water. “Sometimes I think I want to go to Atlanta. Just start fresh. Get outta here. I love my family, but this town… it’s too small for my brain.”
I nod. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and for a second, my heart jumps.
Caden: Night good. u okay?
I smile and type back.
Me: at lake. miss u.
Then I click the screen off and slide the phone away before I get too obvious.
Kurtis is watching me. Not nosy, just curious. “You good?”
“Yeah.”
“You seem… I don’t know. Different, lately.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “Maybe I am.”
He nods like he gets it, even if he doesn’t. “Well, whatever it is, I hope it’s good.”
We sit in silence for a bit longer. The fire pops. Someone yells from the water. A truck revs, then cuts off again.
I look around at the couples leaning into each other, at the people stumbling around with red Solo cups, the silhouettes laughing like this is the best night of their lives.
And I feel like I’m here but not really part of it, because the only person I want to be with is a little over three hundred miles away.
Probably at some party with sweaty walls and sticky floors, surrounded by people I don’t know—people who don’t know him the way I do.
And maybe it’s dumb, but I still feel him. Like some thread connects us, stretching thin but unbreakable.
“Four weeks,” I murmur to myself. Kurtis doesn’t hear me. He’s distracted by someone trying to freestyle near the fire. I stand up, brushing dirt from my jeans. “I think I’m gonna head out.”
“Already?”
“Yeah. Gotta help Dad out tomorrow with something.”
Kurtis nods. “All right, man. Be good.”
I snort and shake my head. “You too.”
I walk back to Mom’s car, air cool on my face, the lake behind me reflecting nothing I want to hold on to. And as I drive home with the windows down and Caden’s CD in the stereo, I don’t hit Skip when his voice comes through between tracks.
Because, yeah, I may have burned him a CD for his drive, but the asshole went all out and made me one too.
It arrived in the mail a few days back. Of course he did.
Caden’s ridiculous like that—ridiculously romantic in a way that sneaks up on you.
All low-key and casual until suddenly your heart’s on fire and you’re trying not to cry at a stop sign.
“Hey,” he says. “So, I picked this one for you to play when you miss me but don’t want to say it out loud.”
A beat.
“It’s okay to miss me, by the way. I miss you too.”
My hands tighten on the wheel. Four more weeks. Just four. And then I’ll get to see him again. Not through a screen via Skype. Not with delays and dropped calls. Just him. Real and close and mine.
I press Play on the next track and drive through the dark, the music holding me like a promise.