Fireworks don’t just happen. They need to be carefully arranged and then ignited slowly.

I don’t know how Angela will react to that, and this is why it’s so hard telling the truth. People don’t have a standard reaction. People aren’t a chemistry experiment you can tinker with until the proportions are just right. People are terrifying that way.

Faye closes the inch between us. “Snow angels are vastly overrated,” she says. “And you could never be just a number.” I’m close enough to smell her lip gloss, something fruity and sweet. My heart slams against my ribs. She’s going to kiss me, right here in the bathroom. I was right. I wasn’t making it all up in my head. She likes me. She wants me.

I feel like the world just moves too fast for me to keep up.

I feel fragile, like if somebody looked at me the wrong way I might shatter into a million pieces and never be whole again.

Always lift your chin up high when you did something wrong. Because you might know you did something wrong, but nobody else has to.

It’s funny how giving up control can actually end up putting things back in place. But that’s what I’m learning, that too much of something ends up yielding the opposite reaction.

And her smile isn’t fake. It’s open and loving and I know she probably smiles like that at everybody, but it feels like that smile was meant just for me.

Next Wednesday is part of our routine, another chance to spend lunch hour doing it somewhere else in Kim’s immaculate house. Maybe on the white leather couch next time, the one she loves too much to even let me sit on.

I want to be just fast enough for Zach to have to run to catch up, because if I stay ahead, I won’t ever have to see his retreating back.