The Before
“You did it!”
London throws his arms around my neck. His damp hair brushes my cheek. I breathe him in. He smells of chocolate and sea spray. The way he always does after going to Hendry’s Beach.
He squeezes me tighter. Like it’s been more than hours since we last saw each other. We’re standing in his driveway. It’s night and his neighborhood is gradually slipping into that drowsy stillness. Lukewarm early October air slides over my shoulders as London finally releases me.
“You got your license! Can you believe it?”
I smile goofily. “No.” I haven’t been able to shake the surprise since the instructor told me.
He huffs a breath. “I knew you would. You worked too hard for this.”
My lips curl higher. It’s because of him I even decided to try. He made me study. And practice. Recite every step of each skill to him over late-night video calls.
I would’ve done it, eventually. When I felt like it. But London’s extra push made this happen.
Leaning forward, I kiss him, quick and fleeting. No one can see us. His parents are inside. Dim lamplight glows fill the windows of neighbors’ houses. Yet, a curl of nervousness still grips me.
“What was that for?”
“Because,” I say.
He chuckles. “That’s not a real answer.”
But it’s mine. For now. London doesn’t fight me on it. Instead, his fingers tiptoe over my white T-shirt. “You know what this means? You can drive us to school now. And to the beach. Prom next year—”
“Prom?” I say with a laugh that echoes. “Let me guess. You already planned out what we’re gonna wear.”
His face lights up. The sun bursting through storm clouds. “Well, now that you mention it…”
Naturally, he’s already created a list on his phone. He scrolls through it. Everything from tux styles down to the boutonnieres. Marigold for himself. Orchid for me.
I arch an eyebrow, confused.
“You look amazing in purple,” he explains. I wouldn’t know. I don’t wear it often. Also, orchids aren’t one of my favorite flowers. But I trust him.
Excitement illuminates his eyes. “What do you think?”
His energy is contagious. A feeling that burns you from the inside out. It’s like the day he gave me the UCSB sweatshirt. Or that night a few weeks ago, in his bedroom. After we had sex.
I want nothing more than his happiness. Nothing more than him.
“It’s great,” I tell him.
A light breeze rustles through his hair. The house’s floodlights cast his face in cool ivory. He’s quiet. Studying me. As if my answer wasn’t what he expected.
What he wanted.
Instinctively, my fingers twine around my bracelet, tugging. When he catches me, I abruptly stop.
A glint flashes across his expression. “You know what you need?”
I blink, shaking my head.
“To practice.”
“Practice?” I repeat. “Prom?”
He shakes his head, then gestures behind me. A gleaming obsidian black Mercedes-Benz sits in the driveway. His dad’s car.
My eyes widen. London cuts off my protest before it fully forms. He grabs my hand.
“You’re nervous. It happens to everyone. This will help.”
“London,” I start.
“Just a quick loop around the neighborhood. Me and you.”
Groaning, I say, “I didn’t even drive myself over here.”
My mom did. She’ll be back in an hour.
“Which is all the more reason for us to do this,” London insists.
I pause to consider him. The electricity in his smile, a wildness behind his lashes. This spontaneity that’s so unlike him. London plans. He doesn’t do anything without thinking it through at least twice.
He gives my hand a squeeze. “Auggie, come on.”
“Will your dad be okay with it?”
His gaze flits back to the house. Up to the second floor. Shadows move behind gauzy curtains. The window is open. Tense voices drift down.
His parents.
A muscle in London’s jaw jumps. “He won’t mind.”
I wait until he turns to me. “Are they fighting again?”
Silence stretches. This is a part of himself he still hides. From everyone at school. Even from me, on occasion. I try not to pressure him.
There are things I should tell him that I don’t.
He licks his lips like he might talk about it this time. Then he grins and says, “Tonight’s not about them. It’s about you. You got your license! Let’s go for a drive.”
A desperation grows in his stare. “Okay,” I whisper, threading my fingers through his.
His mouth loosens into a genuine smile. It fills me. Washes away my own doubt.
“I’ll go grab his keys,” he says.
I nod, not wanting to let him go. But I do. Only for a moment.
London doesn’t get far before spinning around. He runs back to me. Drags me in for a hug that I relax into, squeezing him back.
His forehead rests against mine. Green eyes holding me.
“I love you, Auggie. Always.”
That last word strikes me. There’s a strange weight to the way he says it. But it beats like oxygen in my blood, sings like the mockingbirds hidden in the trees.
“I love you too,” I say, beaming. “Always.”
His kiss is enticing and too short. Ivory light frames him as he moves toward the house. The shadows can’t touch him. He is a sun. He is mine.
At the door, he watches me for a long moment. “Can you stay a little longer? After we get back? To”—he fidgets—“talk more?”
He beams at me, but it’s not the weird smile I’m used to. The one he had just a second ago. I hear more strained voices from the open window. London looks like he’s fighting a frown or a scowl. Is this about his parents or something else?
I nod for him. “Yeah. Of course.”
I want him happy, I remind myself. Always.