Mike has leaned in twice now to kiss me.

He's going to think I'm playing hard-to-get, and I want to tell him that, really, I'm not; it's just that I don't want him to hurt more than he will.

Yeah, I like him, too.

Sometimes, when I'm drawing him and he looks at me with goofy eyes, I want to lean in and plant my lips on the tip of his nose. I know that he would laugh with this kind of awkward laugh he has, the one he usually saves for when I'm schooling him on Patti Smith or the Velvet Underground. The one that says I don't understand what this means but maybe you're serious and could you like me the way I like you?

God, boys are so desperate.

But, I get it.

If I had more time, I think I could fall in love with him.

Now he's reaching for my hand, and I should just remind him that we're here to help him be prepared for that American Lit test. But, he's going to get an A- anyway, and maybe this is something safe that will carry us both through what's to come.