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Unlike me.

I’ve spent so much of my life learning to keep the things that make me happy hidden away, terrified that the moment someone discovers them, they’ll find a way to destroy them. And somewhere along the way, I’ve become so accustomed to living like that that I barely question it anymore.

But Milo does. And I hate that I’m asking him to change who he is for me.

“Hey,” I say, coaxing him to look at me. “I know it’s hard right now, but I promise this is just a hiccup in our story. This isn’t what the rest of our lives are going to look like. We’re going to have so much more than stolen kisses in empty classrooms. I promise you.”

He searches my face, looking for something that might convince him I’m right. I can tell he wants to believe me, but there’s a part of him that can’t understand why we have to wait for a future we could be living right now.

Before I can say anything else, the bell rings.

I reluctantly step away, noticing the way his fingers flex at his sides, as though he’s fighting the urge to pull me back into his arms.

“I’ll leave first, okay?”

He nods, but he still looks miserable.

I retrieve my textbooks from the floor and walk toward the door, only to stop with my hand on the knob.

“Milo?”

He lifts his head and looks at me.

“I love you.”

The sadness on his face eases, even if only a little.

“I love you too, Max. More than you’ll ever know.”

I give him one last smile before slipping into the hallway, but the sadness in his eyes follows me for the rest of the morning.

Loving someone shouldn’t cause this much misery.

And for the first time, I wonder if, in trying so desperately to protect our relationship from Peyton, it’s becoming the very thing that’s keeping us from being happy.

“I think I’m going to barf,” Sienna announces, pushing her lunch tray away.

“What’s wrong now? I thought you loved tater tots.”

“First of all, I’m not six. My palate is considerably more refined than that of your average first grader, thank you very much. And second, it’s not the food that’s making me sick.” She tilts her head toward the Reds’ table. “It’s them.”

Every last one of the Reds is dressed in her cheerleading uniform. They seem determined to get as much use out of it as possible before the school year ends, even though there aren’t any games left to cheer for.

They’ve been riding a high ever since the football team won the state championship for the second year running, and judging by the way they’re carrying on, you’d think they were personally responsible for bringing those trophies home.

Not that I have anything against school spirit. I’m all for supporting our teams. What I could do without is the Reds deciding that the best place to celebrate is right beside Milo and his friends, where they can spend the entire lunch period making sure every boy at that table knows exactly how enthusiastic they are.

“I swear to God, if I hear Misty squeal one more time in that fake-ass laugh of hers, I’m going to gouge my eyes out and shove pencils through my eardrums,” Sienna mutters.

“You really do paint an elaborate visual.”

“Hey, I might not be the writer in this duo, but I know how to string a sentence or two together.”

“That you do,” I agree distractedly, nudging the food around my plate as I watch Peyton perch herself on the edge of Milo’s table, her legs practically resting across his lap.

Not that Milo pays her much mind. He looks even more miserable than he did when I left him earlier. His head is bowed, his lunch pushed aside, while everyone around him seems to be having the time of their lives.

Peyton is laughing at something Jordan says, making a point of leaning closer to Milo every few seconds, but he barely acknowledges her.