Page 44 of When You Wish Upon a Wideout

“I like Beau. Beau is a great kid. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, he’s respectful. But he’s still aboy.” His cheeks puffed when he let out a big breath. “And a football player.”

I also wanted to point out that there isn’t anything “boyish” about Beau. Not his height, his weight, the strength of his arms, the light brown hair on his long legs that tickles my own a few times a week.

But for both of our sakes, I let Dad keep thinking Beau was still the boy I used to make mud castles and eat worms with.

“And boys—even good ones, Sienna—they only haveonething on their mind.”

Here’s where Dad was wrong again, Mom. Without telling you too much detail, because I need to maintain some self-respect and boundaries, I tried to move things further with Beau. But he wants it to be special and says that not a lot between us is. We hang out on the roof. I time his forty-yard dashes. We eat lunch in the cafeteria. But he’s also wrong. Because every moment with Beau is special for me, even if it’s day-to-day, even if it’s ordinary. But he’s right. Because if all those moments are special, the most special of them all shouldn’t be in my bed with the door locked, trying to keep quiet.

“Dad.” I tried to save him the embarrassment. “We talked. Me and Mom. Save your talk for Henry when he needs it in ten years.”

“Iheardthat!”

Dad stayed quiet for a minute. “I don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all. You’ve hurt enough.”

I didn’t tell him I’m still hurting, but Beau—his presence, his listening—helps me feel better.

“Beau wouldn’t hurt me.”

Pressing his lips together, Dad smiled sadly, and I didn’t like it. It was like he knew something I didn’t, like he’d be counting the days until he could tell me “I told you so.”

“I’m going to get ready.” I left the kitchen and pushed Henry’s shoulder annoyingly when I bumped into him, and I could hear the two of them talking from down the hall.

“Did you know anything about this?” Dad asked.

“They hang out a lot,” Henry offered. “He’s cool, I guess. There could be worse. Like Dylan Lockhart. He’s a real douchebag.”

In my room, I rolled on lip balm and changed into a blouse, straightening the light blue fabric. I’d never been happier to hear the doorbell ring. Dad huffed as he trudged to the door. I giggled, imagining the conversation happening on the front steps. But Beau is a good guy. And Dad, well, he’s a softy. I don’t have to tell you that, Mom.

I gave them another few minutes and grabbed a sweater on my way out. Beau’s eyes flashed with relief when he saw me over Dad’s shoulder. I ignored Henry smirking and slid past Dad.

“Ready?”

Beau looked to Dad, as if he was still waiting for permission, but I took his hand and led him away.

“Hey,” Dad called out. We both turned to face him. “You take care of my daughter now.”

“Yes, sir,” Beau replied. “It’s a promise.”

Dad held out a finger. “And youalwaystreat her right, you hear me?”

I was about to roll my eyes but then saw they gave each other gentle nods, and the moment changed.

“And have her back by curfew, Walker. Or you’ll be sprinting on Monday.”

Now I rolled my eyes. “Come on.”

Beau opened his truck door, and I hope Dad saw it for bonus points.

“Was he so bad?”

Beau shut his door and started the engine.

“Are you shaking?” I asked when I saw his hands tremble against the steering wheel.

“No.”

“You totally are.” I laughed. “It’ll be fine. Just don’t break my heart.”Please, please, don’t.I took his hand and held it in my lap, feeling his sweaty palm, and I laughed. “I wish you were that nervous to ask me out in the first place.”

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