Page 58 of When You Wish Upon a Wideout

That should tell you something, and I hope you don’t take it in a bad way. Mom, I’mhappy.

When I first realized it, I felt guilty. Because if I’m happy, does that mean I miss you less? Need you less? That’s not possible. But with every hour, day, week, or month that I don’t count, I’m realizing you can miss someone painfully and find happiness at the same time. I’m trying not to let guilt steal time I should use to make memories.

And me and Beau, we have a lot of memories to make before he goes off to Florida State, where he’s officially accepted a scholarship. The wish list is never-ending. We keep adding to it, stupid things like going to the rodeo, and more important things like figuring out how much we need to save to go to Provence, so we can take the trip to the lavender farms you and I never went on. We figured we’d start small with a trip to the ocean this summer.

But first on the list,hopefully,involves the motorcycle Beau’s been building, which he finally let me see yesterday. He had such a proud smile on his face when yanked the sheet off. I didn’t want to break his heart and tell him it’s kind of a mess.

“What do you think?”

It took me a minute to figure out which was the front and which was the back.

“Super cool. But... ”

“But what?”

“Does it work?”

Beau laughed, throwing the sheet onto a chair in the corner. “Not very well since it doesn’t have an engine. Or a back wheel.” He stepped aside, rolling a cart of tools over to the bike. “But do you know what it was when I started? This.” He tapped the handlebars.

“Where did everything else come from?” I asked.

Shrugging, Beau slid a stool over to me so I could sit. “Here and there. Scraps. I weld them together.”

I looked at a bin in the corner full of metal bits and then back at the bike. “Impressive.”

It was. Because Beau made something out of nothing, and I thought that was pretty cool. I looked over at the blow torch and masks on the table.

“And this has taken a year so far?”

Facing away, Beau opened some drawers of tools. “What? No. Just a few months.”

I scrunched my face in thought because even though, by this point, there are too many nights Beau and I have spent on the roof for me to keep track, without a doubt, I remember him telling me about the motorcycle.

“But you said you started last summer.”

Beau straightened. He remained facing away for a minute before turning to me as he fiddled with the wrench in his hand. “Do you know the game two truths and a lie?”

“I might not be as smart as Henry, but I think I can figure it out,” I told him, leaning back against a workbench.

“Okay,” he began, “I’ll start. Dole Whips are my favorite dessert. I hate lamb chops, and I might have started building this the day after you told me you always wanted to go on a motorcycle.”

Even though he had lied, Beau’s admission made me burn with happiness.

“You hate pineapple.”

Beau put the wrench down and walked over to me. “That’s correct.”

I gave him a playful kick to the shin. “You didn’t have to lie to impress me.”

“It’s not about impressing you.” Beau nudged my legs open so he could stand between them.

“What’s it about then?”

He stayed quiet for a minute as his eyes danced across my face. The intensity of his stare made me squirm against the bench.

Reaching out, I lifted his chin. “What is it?”

“I wanted to make that wish come true for you. Be your prince charming or whatever.”

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