Chapter Three
More Than a Friend
Emma
Age 16
I ’m waiting on my front porch, scrolling through my phone, pretending like I’m not glancing toward the end of the street every five seconds. My stomach feels weird, like I drank way too much soda, and I can’t tell if it’s excitement or nerves—or maybe both. It’s been months since I’ve seen Ethan in person. Football camp swallowed his whole summer. We FaceTimed a few times, and he’d send the occasional text about how sore he was or how insane the workouts were. But it wasn’t the same.
I got used to him being here—knowing he was just a text or a short walk away. Now, after a summer of being half a world apart, or so it felt, I don’t know what to expect. He’s still Ethan… right? But the thought doesn’t settle the fluttering in my chest.
The low rumble of his dad’s car snaps me out of my thoughts. My heart skips, and I stand quickly, brushing off my jean shorts even though they’re perfectly clean. The car pulls up to the curb, and the jittery feeling amps up, my nerves are doing somersaults.
And then Ethan steps out.
For a second, time stops. He’s taller, broader—his shoulders filling out the way you only see in movies. His hair’s longer, falling over his forehead in a way that makes him look older, more grown-up. But it’s not just how he looks; it’s the way he carries himself now—confident, sure, as if he’s stepped into some version of himself I don’t quite recognize yet.
I try to swallow the lump rising in my throat, but it doesn’t go away. My best friend. That’s all this is. So why does it feel like something’s shifted?
“Hey, stranger,” he says, his voice deeper than I remember. He slings his duffel bag over his shoulder and heads toward me, his eyes twinkling in that way they do when he’s up to something. Nothing but a troublemaker.
“Hey yourself,” I say, managing to keep my voice steady even though my heart feels as though it’s about to leap out of my chest. “Long time no see.”
“Miss me?” He raises an eyebrow, stopping just a few feet away. There’s something playful in his tone, but also something else—something I can’t quite put my finger on. Is he testing me, waiting to see how I’ll respond?
I roll my eyes, trying to act unaffected, even though I’m sure my face is giving me away. “Maybe. You know, a little.” I hold up my fingers, pinching them together.
He grins, that lopsided smile I’ve seen a thousand times before, and yet it feels brand new. “I’ll take it.”
He drops his bag on the porch and steps closer, pulling me into a hug. It’s nothing unusual—we’ve hugged a million times before. But this time, there’s a shift I can’t ignore. His arms wrap around me, solid and warm, and instead of the quick squeeze I’m used to, he lingers just a beat longer.
The scent of his cologne hits me—warm and spicy, and nothing like the Ethan I remember. It’s new and familiar all at once, and it makes my stomach do this strange, fluttery thing.
When he pulls back, his eyes meet mine for a second longer than normal, and I feel the heat creeping up my neck, settling in my cheeks. I glance away quickly, pretending to adjust my hair, but I can still feel the ghost of his touch, the faint warmth of where his arms were.
“So,” he says as we plop down on the porch steps, our arms brushing against each other. It’s something we’ve done a thousand times before, but this time, it feels different. His arm against mine sends this warm, fuzzy sensation through me, like I’ve just touched a live wire. I try to ignore it, but it’s there, humming beneath my skin. What is that?
“What’d I miss?” he asks, glancing over at me with that easy grin of his.
“Not much,” I say, trying to sound casual, even as I lean in just a little, close enough that our knees bump. My heart gives an embarrassing little flutter, and I hope he doesn’t notice. “Just a typical summer, I guess. You were busy, remember?”
He nudges me with his shoulder, his grin turning playful. “Yeah, yeah. But I’m back now, so we’ve got plenty of time to catch up.”
His words are simple, almost throw-away, but there’s something about the way he says them that feels like a promise. Like he’s telling me, without really saying it, that he’s here, that he’s not going anywhere. The thought sends a little jolt of relief through me, mixed with that strange, warm tingle I still can’t figure out.
I nod, trying to keep things casual, but it’s hard when he’s looking at me that way, his gaze a little too intense, as if he’s noticing things about me he hasn’t before. “So, football camp. Did you survive?”
He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Barely. It was brutal, but worth it, I guess. Coach said I’ve got a shot at Captain this season. ”
“That’s amazing, Ethan,” I say, genuinely impressed. “I mean, I knew you were good, but…wow.”
He shrugs, though I can tell he’s excited about it. “Yeah, well, I had some pretty good motivation.”
“Oh really? And what was that?”
He leans in, his eyes gleaming. “Knowing I’d get to come back and show off for you, of course.”
I blink, taken off guard. He’s never really talked to me like this before, and I don’t know if he’s joking or if there’s something more behind it. “Well, I’m impressed,” I say, trying to keep my tone light, though there’s a knot of something unfamiliar twisting in my chest. I glance up at him, studying his face for a moment before adding softly, “You seem… different.”
“Different, huh?” He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head as he studies me. “Good different or…?”
I swallow, suddenly feeling in over my head. “Just…different. You look…older.”
He smirks, clearly enjoying this way more than he should. “Guess that means you look younger than me now, huh?”
I roll my eyes, trying to act unaffected. “Right. Because you’re so mature now.”
“Hey, I could be,” he says, laughing. “You’d be surprised.”
I laugh along with him, but there’s this strange feeling between us, something I can’t quite put my finger on. He’s been my best friend for five years, but now it’s like everything’s shifted, almost as if I’m noticing things I’ve never noticed before. Or maybe it’s me—maybe I’m the one who’s different, and being around him just makes it harder to ignore.
We sit on the porch, catching up about camp and summer, and the whole time, I can’t stop sneaking glances at him. The way he leans back, his arm casually draped over the step behind me, looking so completely at ease. His smile, a little too confident, sends a flutter through my chest, making me wonder if he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. And maybe he does. But again, maybe it’s just me.
As he talks about camp—the grueling practices, the unbearable heat—I focus on his voice, low and steady, the kind of voice that makes everything else fade into the background. I try to act normal, pretending I’m just listening to my best friend, but my heart’s racing for reasons I don’t fully understand.
My eyes drift, catching the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he talks. It’s such a simple thing, something I’ve probably seen a hundred times before without a second thought. But now? Now it feels different. My cheeks heat up, and I look away quickly, not sure why I’m noticing that or why it suddenly feels…hot .
What’s wrong with me? I’m supposed to be listening to his story, but instead, my brain’s stuck on things that never even registered before.
We’re halfway through one of his football camp horror stories when his hand brushes against mine. It’s barely a touch, nothing anyone else would notice. But to me, it’s like the air shifts, my skin has been set on fire with something electric. My breath hitches, and before I can stop myself, I pull my hand back, fingers curling into my palm as if that will somehow calm the storm brewing inside me.
I glance up at him, praying he didn’t notice, but he pauses mid-sentence, his eyes flicking to mine. There’s a question there, unspoken, and for a split second, time feels frozen.
He grins, that lopsided, devil-may-care look that’s somehow different from the Ethan I remember. “What’s up with you?” he asks, tilting his head. “You’re acting weird.”
“I’m not acting weird,” I say, probably a little too fast. “You’re the one who’s acting weird.”
“Me?” He laughs, raising an eyebrow. “Nah, I’m exactly the same. You’re just seeing me through fresh eyes, that’s all.”
I snort, even though his words make my heart do a funny little flip. “I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean. ”
“It means you missed me,” he says, nudging me with his shoulder. “It’s okay to admit it.”
I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the butterflies in my stomach. “You’re impossible, you know that?”
“Yeah,” he says, smiling, “but I’m your best friend, so you’re stuck with me.”
Best friend.
The words echo in my mind, grounding me a little. That’s all this is, right? Just best friends catching up after a summer apart. Why does that kinda hurt then?
I try to shake off the strange, tingly feeling in my chest, reminding myself that this is Ethan. But every time I look at him, I can’t unsee the changes. The way his muscles shift under his shirt when he stretches, the way his eyes linger on me just a little longer than they used to.
……………………………………………………………
We fall back into our old rhythm over the next few days, but something between us has changed. It’s subtle, a thread pulled too tight, ready to snap if I make one wrong move. He’s always been touchy—an arm slung around my shoulder, a casual hand on my back when we’re walking—but now, every touch feels charged, like there’s a hidden message behind it that I can’t quite decode .
I’m at the park one afternoon, sitting on the swings and reading, when he shows up out of nowhere, dropping into the swing beside me. “You’re still reading those fantasy books?” he teases, leaning over to peek at the cover.
“Of course,” I say, lifting my chin. “Not everyone spends their free time tackling people and lifting weights.” I grin at him.
He laughs, pushing his swing back and forth lazily. “Hey, I bet you’d like tackling people. You’d get out all that pent-up aggression. Lifting also does the same thing. You should try it sometime.”
“Right. No thanks and as if I’m aggressive.” I scoff.
“Oh, you definitely are!” he says, grinning.
He’s clearly enjoying himself, and I’m rolling my eyes, but there’s a part of me that can’t help smiling back. I push off with my feet, swinging a little, trying to act casual. “So, is this what you missed all summer? Bugging me?”
“Oh, definitely,” he says, smirking. “You’re a way better challenge than any linebacker.”
I snort, giving him a skeptical look. “Right, because sitting on a swing and annoying me is somehow harder than tackling people twice your size?”
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short,” he teases. “I’ve missed this—our talks, you know? You giving me a hard time, keeping me humble. ”
I can’t help smiling. “Well, someone has to.”
He chuckles, his expression softening just a little. “Guess that’s why I kept thinking about you while I was gone. No one else would have dared to keep me in line.”
He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve been gone all summer. You must have missed me at least a little.”
“Ethan,” I say, half-annoyed, half-amused, “don’t you have, like, a football to throw somewhere?”
He chuckles, kicking at the ground to keep his swing going. “Maybe. But then I’d miss out on all the fun of bugging you.”
I roll my eyes again, but there’s no denying the thrill that goes through me every time he leans in close, every time his eyes meet mine. It’s like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and I’m left trying to act as if it doesn’t affect me.
We talk for a while, about nothing and everything, and eventually, he walks me home, his shoulder brushing mine with every other step. When we reach my house, he pauses, looking down at me with that same easy smile, but there’s something else in his eyes. Something that makes my breath catch.
“Goodnight, Em,” he says, his voice soft. “Don’t miss me too much tonight.”
I laugh, shoving his shoulder. “In your dreams, Ethan.”
I think I hear him say, ‘definitely in my dreams’, but I’m not sure if I heard that or if I imagined it.
As he walks away, I watch him, trying to untangle the confusing swirl of thoughts in my head. Is there really something between us now, something that’s shifted without either of us saying a word? And if there is…what am I supposed to do about it?
The next few days feel like some strange balancing act. Ethan and I hang out the way we always do, and on the surface, everything’s the same. We’re back to our old jokes, back to sitting on my front porch in the evenings and sharing snacks at lunch. But underneath all that, there’s something different—something simmering just below the surface.
It’s late one evening when he shows up out of nowhere, tapping on my window. It’s dark, but the porch light casts enough glow to show his face showing that playful grin he always gives. I push open the window, not even pretending to be annoyed.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, half whispering. “It’s late.”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he says, shrugging. “Figured you’d be up. ”
I want to roll my eyes, but a part of me knows he’s right. “Well, you guessed right. Give me a sec.” I meet him outside, grabbing my hoodie as I tiptoe through the house so I don’t wake mom. Then step out onto the front porch, pulling it on against the evening chill. He’s already sitting on the porch step, looking up at the sky.
“What, no big plans with all your football friends?” I tease, nudging his shoulder as I sit beside him.
He laughs, shrugging. “I dunno. They’re okay, but they’re not you.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I just look away, pretending to focus on the stars. But my heart’s racing, and I feel this warmth that has nothing to do with my hoodie. Because he looks really… hot. Which is NOT something I usually think about Ethan. Sure, it’s not hard to notice he’s good looking. All that dark blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, but to me he’s always just been… Ethan. My best friend, but now, for some reason, I see him… differently. Maybe it’s just because he was gone so long and I missed his face.
“So…” he says, leaning back, his blue eyes on me. “What do you think it’d be like if we…didn’t live here?”
“Didn’t live here?” I look at him, caught off guard by the question.
“Yeah. Like, if we got out of here. Just…went somewhere. Somewhere else, somewhere different.” He sh rugs, his eyes thoughtful. “Sometimes I think about that—just going somewhere, starting over, y’know? Away from all the football and the same old routines.”
There’s a seriousness in his voice I’m not used to, and for a moment, I wonder if he means it. “You’d really leave?” I find that shocking actually, he’s never mentioned this before. He loves football, well, I thought he did, he’s been playing since 6th grade.
He looks at me, his gaze steady. “Not without you, I wouldn’t.”
The words are so simple, so certain, that they take my breath away. I look down, fiddling with the hem of my hoodie, not trusting myself to say anything. He’s my best friend—I know that—but suddenly, that word doesn’t feel big enough to explain everything I’m feeling.
“Well, then, I guess I’d have to come with you,” I say, trying to sound casual.
He smiles, his expression softening, and for a second, the world feels like it’s standing still. He reaches over, his hand resting on mine, just for a second—a touch so light I can barely feel it, but it’s there, grounding me, making me feel as if maybe there’s something more here.
……………………………………………………………
It’s been a few days since the conversation on my porch and we’re lying on our backs in the park, looking up at the clouds drifting overhead. It’s something we used to do as kids, back when everything was simpler. But now, every time his arm brushes against mine, every time he laughs and nudges me with his shoulder, I feel this strange sensation I don’t know what to do with.
“Look at that one,” he says, pointing at a cloud vaguely shaped like a dragon. “Reminds me of that book you used to read.”
I laugh, squinting up at the sky. “Which one?”
“The one with the dragon and the forest fire.” He grins, glancing over at me. “We only talked about it a hundred times.”
“I know what book you goof, I meant which cloud?” I say, nudging his shoulder. “I could never forget that book, it's fine literature.” It’s also the book that made him my best friend.
“Oh, I know,” he says, his voice dropping a little. “Not sure what’s better—the book or watching you get so into it.”
My cheeks heat up, and I turn my head away, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my pulse is racing.But when I glance back, he’s still watching me, his gaze steady and warm, as if he notices something in me that I don’t see in myself. For a second, I wonder if he feels it too—the shift, the way everything between us is…changing, becoming something I don’t know how to name yet.
“Ethan,” I say hesitantly, my voice quieter than I mean it to be, “do you ever think about…if we’d still be friends if we met now? Like, if we hadn’t met five years ago?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he props himself up on one elbow, his expression thoughtful, serious in a way that makes my heart stutter. “Honestly? If we just met now…I think I’d be doing everything I could to make you notice me.”
I let out a nervous laugh, trying to mask the way his words make my stomach flip. “Yeah, right. You don’t have to try to impress anyone, Ethan.”
“I mean it,” he says softly, his voice losing the playful edge. “You’re… incredible, Em. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their life.” His eyes pinging between mine as he says this.
His words settle over me like a blanket, warm and heavy, and I can’t breathe for a moment. There’s something in his eyes, something raw and unguarded, that makes my chest ache in a way I don’t understand. He looks as if he’s holding back, one word away from shattering the fragile balance between us.
But instead, he lies back down, staring up at the sky as if he didn’t just say the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever said to me. And I’m left sitting there, my heart pounding and my thoughts tangled, wondering—hoping—that this is more than just friendship. That maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to see me the way I’ve started to see him.