“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” He recites the lines straight from Shakespeare himself.

I shake my head. For some reason, of all the lines and quotes he’s ever heard or read, that one is the one that stuck. I think I hear it at least every other day.

“I love you, Andrew, but I can’t marry you in high school.”

He pushes his lips out and to one side and narrows one eye. He doesn’t seem satisfied.

“We’d spend our honeymoon grounded, doing chemistry homework,” I say.

He dramatically inhales and then slowly forces the breath out. “Good point.”

I laugh, and then he gently pulls me down to the ground until we’re resting on the grass and our backs are up against the old tree.

“I love you so much, Logan.”

He sets the rock down onto the ground, and I quickly recover it and then let my head fall into his lap — just like I have done nearly a million times before. There are cicadas in the trees around us, and they’re singing their summer song in unison. And pushing over us, trying desperately to warm our shade, is a soft, steady stream of air.

I feel Andrew pick up a strand of my long hair and then gently lay it back down again. He does this over and over again. It makes me feel safe somehow.

“Are you happy, Andrew?”

A silent moment passes between us. Then, I hear his soft, thoughtful voice.

“It’s just another day with you — the best day of my life.”

I nuzzle my cheek against his leg and press against my heart the rock that just penned our love into the wood of eternity.

“And someday,” he goes on, “we’re gonna get married, and I’m gonna make sure you know I love you every day — whether I’m by your side or not, you’re gonna know I love you. I’ll probably drive ya crazy making sure you know, but at least you’ll be a loved crazy person.”

He pauses, and I snicker a little.

“We’ll fight, probably,” he continues, in a way that seems as if he’s just now come to that conclusion. “And you’re gonna pout in your corner, and I’m gonna pout in mine. And we’re gonna pout until we just can’t hide how much we love each other anymore, and then I’m gonna kiss you so hard. And then we’re gonna promise each other that we’ll never fight again. And then we’re gonna grow old together, and I’m still gonna love you.”

He stops then, but he keeps stroking my hair.

“I’m gonna love you, Logan, forever and a day,” he whispers.

I don’t say anything because I know he’s in his own, little world now, dreaming about our future. He breathes evenly, peacefully now. I can picture the little smile hanging on his lips — the little grin he saves only for times like this. It’s not the same smile he wears at school. In the halls of Truman High, he wears a poker face — a perfect, little smirk that’s one-part sexy and one-part mysterious. He hides his crazy there. He hides the dreams that I know are constantly in his head. He hides them so well that sometimes he even fools me into believing that lunch and the next baseball game are the only future he’s ever thought about. But I guess that way no one bothers Andrew Amsel. His brother tries but to no avail. The girls love him; the guys respect him. He’s cute, and he’s a natural athlete, which helps a little with his tough-guy façade, I guess. But if you know Andrew Amsel like I do, you know his real strength isn’t in anything you can see.

“Babe.” His soft whisper instantly halts my thoughts.

“Hmm?” I angle my face up toward his.

“Two or three?”

I think about it for a second.

“Three,” I say.

He pauses.

“Dog or cat?”

“Dog,” I say.

He nods in satisfaction. And I rest my head in his lap again as he goes back to his dreams and to picking up the pieces of my hair and then laying them back down again.

“Three scraggly kids and a dog,” he confirms.

I can hear the smile in his voice — even over the cicadas’ song, and it makes my heart dance because I see what he sees too. I see the little house in the country — the row of apple trees, the purple and orange wildflowers swaying in the breeze, even the dog. I see it all, all from the view of some old porch swing somewhere. I know it sounds crazy, but minus one detail — one pesky, little detail that’s still a little blurry — I see it all so clearly — almost as if it were a snapshot right out of our future.

I nuzzle my cheek against Andrew’s leg again and let go of a happy sigh. Crazy or not, somehow I just know that from that old porch swing, I can see the stuff my dreams are made of.

Chapter Two

Last Day

“This is the last kiss that I’m ever gonna give you — at this locker,” Andrew announces.

I look up at him. He’s wearing a wide grin.

“Well, you better make it a good one then,” I say.

His grin quickly turns mischievous, and he doesn’t even bother looking around to see who’s watching. He just touches one hand to the back of my neck and the other to the small of my back, and he leans in. I close my eyes and instantly feel his shallow breaths on my lips. It feels raw and unscripted as he moves his tender lips over mine. And then he slips his tongue into my mouth, leans farther into me and kisses me harder. He plays with my tongue, and I kiss him back as my stomach does a somersault. And after a few more exhilarating moments of his breaths and his lips and his tongue, his kiss breaks from my lips, and he presses his forehead against mine.

“How was that?” he whispers.

I feel my lips start to edge up my face and into a wide smile. It’s his answer, and he knows it.

“I love you so much, Logan,” he whispers into my ear.

Then, before I can say anything, he slaps my butt and walks away.

“Get a room,” I hear a boy from across the hall yell out to Andrew.

Andrew doesn’t even bother to look back. “That’s a great idea,” he says, right before he disappears down another hallway. “Maybe I can use yours.”

Andrew’s voice trails off, and my attention goes to the boy. He looks defeated, but when he finds my gaze, his face brightens.

“Hi, Logan.”

“Hi, James.”

“You still coming to our house before graduation?” he asks.

I nod my head. “Mm hmm.”

He flashes me a content smile and then continues his trek down the hallway. “I’ll see you later then,” he says.

I laugh quietly to myself and turn back toward my locker. There’s only one textbook and a notebook on the shelf. I grab them both and go to close the locker before I stop and spot a note taped to the inside of the door.

I quickly peel the folded piece of paper off and fall back against the locker door. It latches shut with a click as I press the books against my chest and open the note with both hands. And instantly, my eyes go to reading the familiar handwriting:

Logan,

I can’t believe we walk down that aisle in a cap and gown together tonight. I really wish it was a church and you were in a different kind of white dress, but I can wait, I guess. But not too long, okay?

Logan, if I haven’t told you today yet that I love you, find me and kick my ass. Because Logan, I’ve loved you ever since that rainy afternoon I showed up at your door. And I loved you that Monday too when you were that scared, little new girl in the third grade. I wanted to take your hand then and tell you that I’d walk with you for the rest of my life — that I’d hold your hand, so you’d never have to walk alone, so you’d never have to be scared. And the only reason I didn’t is because Doug Sorenson said you had some kind of reptile (yeah, reptile) disease and that if I even went near you that I’d die in three seconds flat.

Reptile disease? I laugh to myself, then continue reading:

And, yeah, I believed him until he made you that dumb Valentine’s card the next year and stuck all those lame hearts all over it. Damn Sorenson. Anyway, Logan, the point here is that I love you. I love you forever and a day. Happy graduation day!

P.S. You’re still coming with me to Jenson slab afterward, right?

P.P.S. You look as sexy as hell in those shorts. I’m really happy that no one gives a shit about dress code today!

Love,

Andrew

I take in a deep breath and let out a happy grin as I refold the note and slide it into the back pocket of my jean shorts. The ring of the first bell makes me jump, but before I can start my hike to my last class, I catch the number on the locker right next to mine. It’s his locker. The number on the little, metal door is 92—our anniversary. We don’t really have a real date — a date when we first started going out or dating or whatever. I guess because we just kind of always were. Andrew picked the day we would use though. It’s the first day we ever had lunch together — September 2—in a little cafeteria at Cedar Elementary. He says I traded him my milk for his cookie. I don’t remember the trade, and I have no idea how he remembers the exact date — I barely remember it was even September when I moved here — but he swears he does.

I pull my books closer to my chest. God, sometimes I still can’t believe I fell for that messy-haired little boy with the plastic Wiffle ball bat slung across his shoulders. But more so, I guess, I can’t believe just how much I love him because in the end, I absolutely love that crazy boy with everything I am.

Chapter Three

Graduation Night

“Marry me,” he whispers.

His hat and tassel are long gone, but his black gown is still draped around his body.