"So...in the end he rejected you?"

"Yes, no, I don't know!" It's Friday and our school's annual bonfire. Silas and I are standing off to the side of the flickering flame, chatting while other students mill about. I have Jason's sweatshirt (washed) with me and in my agitation my fingers dig into its cottony fluff.

"Have you seen him since then?"

"No, we didn't have any classes together today."

"Has he contacted you at all then?"

"Yeah."

"Really? What did he say?" I give him a deadpan expression.

"He sent me memes. All night."

"Nothing about the confession?"

"Nada."

"Well...damn. I seriously thought he liked you."

"It's not your fault." I aim an exasperated sigh towards the dark sky. "I guess..."

"Hey Grace!" It's Chris, coming over from the north parking lot.

"I'll make my exit now." Slias mutters and before I can grab his arm, he's disappeared into the churning sea of people.

"Hey."I turn back to face him, my face plastered with a smile.

"Remember the meme I sent you? The one about..." He chatters for a while and I respond with a few laughs before we naturally lapse into a moment of silence before he speaks up again.

"What's that?" He waves in the general direction of my right hand.

"This? Oh, it's Jason's sweatshirt. I have to return it to him"

"...why do you have his sweatshirt?" Instantly yesterday's unpleasant memories flood into my mind and I grimace. Because of you, idiot!

"Just cause."

"...Oh." Suddenly I pause. Was that "oh" maybe, possibly, a teenie, weenie, tiny bit...? I peek at his expression, it's as nonchalant as can be. I'm probably overthinking things.

"So, uh, remember yesterday?"

"Yup." No reaction, I guess I was wrong.

"Just forget anything ever happened. I hope we can still be friends..."

"Yup."

"So...to be clear, are you rejecting me?"

"No, I like you too." I freeze. Then I turn to glance at him. His sharp nose, thin lips, and downcast gaze are illuminated by the flickering flame. One stray curl has fallen over his forehead in front of his eye and I'm extremely tempted to just flick it back. So I do. He looks up. I meet his gaze and smile. It's a chilly September evening but my heart is warm and alive as if spring is here.

Several moments later we're walking around the bonfire together, our shoulders barely brushing past each other with every step. It's the same people, same conversation, however there's a sense of shiny newness to the whole situation and I find myself reveling in its feel. I sneak glances at him every few seconds. Boyfriend. He's my boyfriend now. As I'm doing this, he suddenly opens his mouth to speak.

"Grace?"

"Yeah?"

"So in the end why do you have that sweatshirt?" I fully turn to face him. His eyebrows are pulled tightly together and his hazel eyes - my boyfriend's - hazel eyes carry a vaguely puzzled expression. I stare at him for two seconds. Then, I burst out laughing.