Page 13 of Caden & Theo
And I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
FOUR
CADEN
I keep waitingfor the freak-out, but I’m two weeks into spending every spare second I have kissing Theo, and honestly? I’m good with it. Okay—mostlygood. Not being able to hold his hand in the halls or sneak up behind him at his locker just to nuzzle his neck definitely sucks. But none of that really matters when I know that the second we’re alone, Icando those things. Idodo those things.
Sneaking around at home, though? Way harder. We’ve been caught in almost-compromising positions more times than I’m proud of. His little sister has developed a sixth sense for “Theo’s acting weird,” and my mom has officially stopped knocking before entering.
It’s not even about Theo being out. That’s been true for years, and both our families are supportive in that “open-minded but still slightly awkward suburban parent” kind of way. But as for me…. Well, I’m still building up to the full coming-out conversation. The “so, remember how I’ve always been straight? Surprise!” talk.
That, and I keep wondering if my parents will get weird aboutus. Like, will they overreact? Stop leaving us alone in a room together? Start side-eyeing our sleepovers? Make ita thing?
I don’t want it to be a thing. I just want to date my best friend without anyone watching us like we’re fragile or temporary.
“What’s up?”
My smile shows up before I even look. Theo’s leaning against my bedroom doorframe like he belongs there—which, let’s be real, he does. He’s in soft jogging pants and a hoodie I’m 90 percent sure used to be mine but looks a hell of a lot better on him.
I spin on my desk chair to face him. “You’re what’s up.”
“Lame,” he says, coming in and flopping onto my bed like it’s his. It basically is. “I ask a question and get pickup lines.”
“You like my pickup lines.”
“Unfortunately.”
He’s lying on his back now, curls spread out on my pillow, cheeks still flushed from the bike ride over from his grandparents’ house. There’s paint on his knuckles—he was helping them redo the porch railing this morning—and it’s somehow just unfair how good he looks in natural light.
Theo’s six months younger than me, not as tall or broad. His skin’s lighter than mine—a soft golden-brown. His curls are looser than mine too—he’s been growing them out into an afro, and it’s adorable as hell. He claims he’s aiming for “cool, vintage blaxploitation, but make it millennial.” I tell him he already looks like the poster boy for “crush-worthy junior who knows more than you do.”
Which is also accurate.
Theo’s smarter than I am. Always has been. He’s rocking a 3.6 GPA while I’m coasting at a 3.0, and I know that number would be lower if he hadn’t spent the past few years forcing me to study, quizzing me, editing my essays, and making flash cards for history class like some kind of academic personal trainer.
And it’s not like he doesn’t know what he wants—he does. He says it plain: He wants to teach English. For all the time hespends on the court, he’s just as much a book nerd. He gets this look in his eye when he’s talking about Baldwin or Morrison, like the words are alive under his skin. Even when he’s stuck writing aboutThe Scarlet LetterorThe Great Gatsby—the usual stuff teachers throw at us—he’ll flip the whole assignment sideways, make it about power or injustice or resilience. Over the past few summers, he’s been working at a kids’ club over at the rec center, and every time he comes back with some story about the younger ones hanging on his every word. He laughs about it, but I can tell—he loves it. Loves the idea of opening up whole worlds for kids the way books opened them for him.
I just hope wherever he ends up isn’t far from Lexington.
Because yeah, I had offers from other schools—some way flashier than UK—but the University of Kentucky was a sweet spot: still solid, respected, and close enough to come home when I want to. Six hours isn’t a commute, but it’s not a universe away either.
Even then, I think some part of me just knew I’d want to stay close to him.
“I gotta go car shopping tomorrow,” I say, kicking my heel against the wheel of my chair.
Theo glances over. “Oh yeah? Big day.”
“Dad’s been looking at used stuff all week. He wants me to have a car for Lexington, says he doesn’t want me ‘riding with strangers.’”
Theo snorts. “Because college basketball playersnevercarpool. I bet the car’s gonna smell like protein powder within a week.”
“Most likely.”
He laughs, then sits up, legs crisscrossed at the end of my bed. “You excited?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I mean, it’s a car. Freedom. The ability to drive and visit someone cute on weekends….”
“Mm. Wonder whothatcould be.”
