Page 86 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

I could barely get the last word out.

Joy paused, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “Does this have to do with Ethan?” She turned to me, adding softly, “You know… because he’s a—”

“No,” I cut in—too quickly. The denial came sharp, too sharp. “If anything, he’s been there for me.” That last part slipped out with a conviction that surprised even me.

Shun leaned forward, voice gentle but probing. “Does he know?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“We’re staying with you tonight,” Shun declared, with no room for debate in her voice.

I opened my mouth to argue, but Joy beat me to it. “Just like the old days. Stargazing.”

I grinned subtly and pointed towards the stars vetting them. “There. That star? That’s the tail. Definitely a flying raccoon.”

“Flying?” Shun scoffed. “It’s clearly falling.”

“You’re falling,” Joy said.

“Into disappointment.”

And just like that, we were kids again. Drawing wild shapes in the stars. Laughing at how bad they looked. Arguing over whether something was a sword or a spoon. I traced a crooked spaceship above us with my finger and dubbed it “Clark’s escape pod.” Joy cackled. Shun insisted it looked more like a teacup.

I hadn't mean to say as much as I did. But as the firelight danced on Joy’s freckled face and Shun passed me a blanket without a word, it felt… safe. Like the trees themselves were holding space for my secret.

Neither of them asked for more. Shun gave my shoulder a small squeeze. Joy laughed as she pointed at another star.

Frankly, sometimes they knew me more than I knew myself.

One by one, the others joined us. Mia. Fred. Even Max, grumbling as he kicked at the dirt before flopping down beside us with dramatic reluctance.

And then Ethan.

He emerged from the shadows like he belonged there—hands in pockets, eyes reflecting the firelight. He didn’t sayanything, just sat across from me, the fire between us flickering like a heartbeat.

It wasn’t long before he leaned back on his elbows, eyes skyward. “That one,” he said, pointing, “is a dragon eating a taco.”

“No way,” I said, too fast. “That’s clearly a swan.”

We stared across the flames at each other, the firelight dancing in his grin. Mine was more of a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. Just… something simmering.

The others kept tossing up ridiculous shapes—Joy saw a penguin on a skateboard, Max claimed a double-headed chicken—but I barely registered them. My gaze kept flicking back to Ethan. Sometimes he looked away. Sometimes he didn’t.

We weren’t speaking anymore, not out loud. But every time we pointed out a new shape, it felt like we were—like our fingers were tracing messages across constellations only we understood.

And in the warmth of the fire, surrounded by laughter, something in me softened.

Not enough to say it.

But enough to feel it.

Chapter 25: Unexpected Mornings

I woke up first.

Not because I wanted to—my body just decided the torture must continue. Every muscle ached. My back felt like it had been folded into origami overnight, and I was fairly certain my neck had twisted into a shape not meant for human anatomy.

The bus was still. Quiet. The silhouettes of trees pressed against the foggy windows and the chirp-hum of morning birds sung outside. Pale light filtered through the curtains, casting stripes across the worn seats and the half-asleep faces of my alliances. The air was stale with sleep, but there was the scent of damp pine, wet bark, and distant rain.

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