Page 27 of Caden & Theo
It was the stupidest, funniest, mostusmoment—and I’d nearly forgotten it.
Until now.
I laugh so hard I tear up, wiping my eyes as I pull out of the driveway and onto the street.
The song changes a minute later to something mellow—“Just Friends” by Musiq Soulchild—and my laughter fades, but the warmth stays. The beat’s smooth, easy, like a breeze through an open window. The lump in my throat’s still there, but now it’s wrapped in something gentler.
Gratitude.
I’m leaving my home, and I’m leavinghim. But I’m also heading toward something big.
And we’ve got plans. He’ll come for his birthday. I’ll find a way to visit when I can. We’ve carved out this space between us—something soft and strong—and I believe in it. Inus.
The music plays on. The sun climbs higher. And the road unfurls in front of me like a promise.
I keep driving. Hope, curled like a secret, rides shotgun the whole way.
SEVEN
THEO
It was tuckedunder my pillow.
I didn’t find it until later that night, after Caden left. After I waited too long in his room, staring at his dresser like he might come back just to grab one more thing. After his parents had driven off down the street, I descended the stairs back to my house like I’d aged twenty years, my body weighted down, each step carrying the ache of something I couldn’t name.
Then I crashed onto my bed, flipped the pillow, and there it was.
A folded-up sheet of notebook paper. My name written in his all-caps, slightly slanted print. My throat closed up the second I saw it. I didn’t even open it right away. Just held it for a while.
And yeah. I cried.
He’d drawn a little comic. Stick figures, obviously. It was us—him with a basketball, me with a book (okay, fine, it looked more like a square with legs, but Igotit). In the first panel, we were lying on my trampoline from last spring, stargazing. In the second, I was snort laughing while he tried to kiss me with his mouth full of popcorn. In the third… we were kissing. Just us, no distractions. A word bubble from me said,“Can I say it now?”and his said,“Not yet. Wait till Kentucky.”
I taped it inside my closet door.
It’s been two weeks since he left, and every time I look at it, I feel everything all over again. The ache. The missing. The hope. It’s also been thelongestwe’ve ever gone without seeing each other. I thought maybe I’d settle into it. You know—school starts, life gets busy, I’d get used to it.
I haven’t.
Classes are full-on. Senior year isn’t chill like I hoped. AP Lit is basically emotional warfare, and calculus just stares back at me like I’m the problem. Add that to basketball practice every afternoon, and I should be distracted.
But I’m not. Not really.
I’ve been playing phone tag with Caden all week. Between his training schedule and classes and God knows what else, we’ve mostly just swapped missed calls and slow-ass texts.
Seriously, texting should count as a sport. T9 predictive text isnota gift from heaven like people think. It’s a punishment.
Case in point:
Me (2:47 p.m.): u good?
Caden (5:01 p.m.): yeh srry just done w practice. Dead
Me (5:03 p.m.): same. calc is trying to murder me
Caden (5:15 p.m.): u win. my legs hurt so bad i forgot my name
It’s been like that for days. Bite-sized glimpses of each other.
