When I open my eyes the next morning, I’m greeted by a scattered array of red plastic cups. Beyond them the sun is just starting to push through the frosted window, the room still steeped in shades of blue. I blink a few times, trying to remember where I am and how I ended up on the couch, then sit up with a yawn.

Still, it takes a moment for it to come rushing back.

Teddy’s face, so close to my own. The way his nose brushed against mine. The thump of our two hearts loud in my ears.

And then Leo rubbing his eyes and asking what time it was, and me leaping awkwardly out of the bed, and Teddy looking like someone who had been sleepwalking only to snap abruptly awake.

I squeeze my eyes shut again.

Nothing happened. Not really. But in that moment of confusion, the slow and bewildering aftermath, I could see it in the way he looked at me across the darkened room. It had—for him, anyway—been a near miss.

And the worst part is I know he’s probably right to be relieved. Because I didn’t just want him to kiss me. I wanted so much more than that. I wanted him to fall in love with me. And that isn’t Teddy.

Behind me the door to his room swings open and I take a deep breath, steeling myself before turning around to face him. But it’s only Leo.

“Morning,” he says. Without his glasses he looks much younger, but he’s squinting and shuffling down the hallway like someone very old. His snow boots are dangling from one hand, and he drops them on the floor in front of the couch, then motions for me to scoot over. I tuck my legs beneath me, waiting for him to say something about last night, but he only yawns as he bends to tie his laces.

“You’re leaving?” I ask, and he nods.

“I need to get a new pair of glasses. Or at least find my old ones. And I’ve got a bunch of other stuff to do too.”

“Design stuff?”

He shakes his head. “Applications.”

“Which ones?”

“Michigan,” he says without looking at me. “It’s due Monday.”

This is a bit of a sore point between us. Ever since Leo’s art began to migrate from his notebooks to his computer, the graphic design program at the School of the Art Institute here in Chicago has been his dream. But now that Max is at Michigan, his focus seems to be shifting.

“Well,” I say, my voice a few octaves too high, “I think that’s great.”

I’ve been trying to keep my feelings on the subject to myself, since it’s obviously a decision he needs to make on his own. But we know each other too well for that, and my disapproval keeps shining through in spite of my best efforts.

“No, you don’t,” Leo says. “But it’s fine. I’m just keeping my options open.”

“I know.”

“It’s not like I don’t still want to go to—”

“I know.”

“It’s just that I really miss—”

I smile. “I know that too.”

We’re both quiet for a second.

“Okay,” he says, standing up. “Want to head back with me?”

I look around the room, which is a disaster. There are cups everywhere, half-eaten bags of chips strewn around, and a bottle of soda tipped over on the counter, still dripping down the cabinets. Pretty much every surface is covered with sticky ring stains, and the overflowing garbage bin is surrounded by dented cans and balled-up paper towels.

“I should probably help him clean up before his mom gets home,” I say, glancing at the clock; it’s almost eight, which means she’ll be back soon. “Just to make sure he gets to see his nineteenth birthday.”

“Don’t worry,” Teddy says, padding down the hall behind us. I twist to look at him, then flick my eyes away, remembering again. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, a green T-shirt tossed over one shoulder, and the sight of his bare chest is almost too much to take this morning. “My mom just called to say she has to cover the morning shift. I guess the snow’s screwing everything up down there.”

“Best birthday present you could’ve gotten,” Leo says as he grabs his coat.

Teddy tugs his shirt on, then ambles over to the kitchen counter, lifting the tinfoil off the cake his mom made for him. They had their own celebration last night before she left for work, and what was left over was pretty much demolished at the party last night. But he scrapes some crusted frosting off the side of the dish with his finger, then walks over to drop onto the couch beside me.

It takes me a second to brave a sideways glance at him. The need to know what he’s thinking is nearly overwhelming. But as soon as Leo puts a hand on the doorknob, I feel a surge of panic at the thought of being alone with him and decide maybe it’s best not to know after all.

“Sure you don’t want to wait a bit?” I ask, my voice strained. “I bet the roads aren’t great, and you don’t even have your glasses.”

“I’ll be fine,” Leo says, then spins around and bumps into the coatrack, grabbing it to steady himself and squinting at it in mock confusion. “Teddy?”

“Very funny,” I say as he takes a little bow. Then he gives us a wave, opens the door, and walks out into the hallway. And just like that we’re all alone.