Prologue #2
He is quiet for so long, I think he might not answer. Then: “Sometimes I wonder what would happen if I just… stopped.”
“Stopped what?”
“All of it. The pressure, the constant need to be perfect.” He lets out a shaky breath. “Sometimes I lie awake at night and imagine what it would be like to be a normal teenager.”
My heart clenches at the wistfulness in his voice. “What would normal teenager Ben do?”
A small smile tugs at his lips. “Probably fail calculus.”
“Scandalous.”
“Learn to play guitar, maybe. Join the drama club. Ask someone to prom without calculating whether it would hurt my class rank.”
The mention of prom makes something twist in my chest. Who would he ask to prom? I’ve never seen him talk to any girl other than myself for more than two minutes. Is there someone he’s interested in?
“You didn’t ask anyone to prom because of your class rank?” I ask, hating the way my voice cracks.
“Among other reasons.”
I want to ask what the other reasons were, but something in his expression stops me. Instead, I reach over and squeeze his hand. “For what it’s worth, I think normal teenager Ben sounds pretty great.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. But I also think the Ben lying next to me right now is pretty great too.”
He squeezes my hand back, but it feels too intense for us. Too far compared to our usual touch. So even though I like it, I find myself withdrawing my hand.
My heart, though? It’s still beating frantically.
“Thank you,” Ben says quietly.
“For what?”
“For…” He gestures vaguely. “This. Forcing me to be human occasionally.”
“That’s what best friends are for.”
“Is that what we are?”
The question catches me off guard. It’s so strange. Of course we’re best friends. We’re basically each other’s only friend. He’s always buried in textbooks, and I’ve never found a group I really fit in with at school.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Sometimes I feel like we’re…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”
“Ben.”
“It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.”
But I can’t forget it, because now I’m hyperaware of his shoulder brushing mine, of the way his breathing has changed, of the space between us that suddenly feels charged with possibility. Something has shifted.
I need to know what it is, need to know if it’s what I think it might be.
But before I can say anything, the first firework explodes overhead in a shower of gold sparks. I feel him relax completely beside me. For the next half hour, we watch the sky light up in brilliant colors—red, white, blue, green, purple—each burst more spectacular than the last.
“Look at that one,” I whisper, pointing at a particularly impressive explosion that spreads across the sky like a giant chrysanthemum.
When I turn to see if Ben is watching, I find him looking at me instead of the fireworks. There’s something in his hazel eyes I’ve never seen before, something that makes my heart skip a beat and my breath catch in my throat.
“Uh, hi,” I say.
The colored lights dance across his features as he shifts closer, his face inches from mine. I can smell his soap, the same one he’s been using for several years, which I would recognize as his anywhere. My pulse pounds so loudly that I’m sure he can hear it.
“Freya, I…”
But then another firework booms overhead, breaking the spell. Ben jerks back like he’s been burned, his walls slamming back into place so quickly it’s like the moment never happened.
“We should head back soon,” he says, his voice carefully neutral. “I really do need to review my notes.”
The magic of the evening deflates like a popped balloon. “Right. Of course.”
I sit up and begin folding the blanket with sharp, efficient movements, trying to hide my disappointment.
What did I expect? This is Ben—the same Ben who probably has his entire life planned out in color-coded spreadsheets.
There’s no room for spontaneous moments or feelings that can’t be quantified.
As we pack up and walk back through the neighborhood, I can’t shake the feeling that something important has slipped through my fingers.
But Ben is already back in his head, probably calculating how many hours of study time he lost tonight and whether this small rebellion will somehow derail his entire future.
“The fireworks were beautiful,” I say, trying to recapture some of the earlier magic.
“Yeah, they were.”
But he’s not really listening. I can practically see his mental to-do list reforming, all his responsibilities settling back onto his shoulders like a familiar but heavy coat.
At his driveway, he turns to me with a grateful smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Thanks for tonight. I needed it.”
“Anytime,” I say, forcing brightness into my voice. “That’s what friends are for, right?”
“Right. Friends.”
The word hangs between us like a barrier neither of us seems brave enough to cross. He heads around the side of the yard, probably to sneak back up the trellis to his room, and I walk home alone under the stars.
There’s the sound of the TV in the basement, where my parents and sister are watching a movie, but I tiptoe inside so they don’t notice me. I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone. Upstairs in my room, I collapse onto my bed and stare at the ceiling.
For a moment tonight, I thought maybe Ben and I could be something more than best friends…
but it doesn’t matter what I thought. Ben has dreams bigger than our small suburb, bigger than whatever this feeling is between us.
And I’ve learned that when Ben sets his mind on something, nothing, not even the possibility of love, will stand in his way.
Still, I can’t stop thinking about the way he looked at me in the colored lights, or the question he almost asked. What if things were different? What if he wasn’t so afraid of letting someone in?
But those are dangerous thoughts for a girl who’s already halfway in love with her best friend. And Ben doesn’t do love; he does goals, achievements, and carefully calculated risks.
I’m definitely not one of those.