“What’s wrong with Jamie?” He turned me in his arms so he could look into my eyes. “It’s cancer, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” I swallowed roughly.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, it’s just—” He broke off and took a deep breath that shifted my whole body. “I really like Jamie.”
“He likes you too.”
“Will he get better?” His question —thequestion, the one people were always terrified to ask and I was even more terrified to answer — hung in the air between us.
I was silent for a long time, trying to breathe normally.
“I don’t know,” I whispered eventually. “I hope so. We take it one day at a time.”
Sebastian’s arms hugged me tighter. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Keep visiting. Keep talking football and messing around with him. Keep treating him like he’s a normal seventeen-year-old boy, who’s not dyi—” My voice cracked on the word. “Who’s not sick,” I amended. I felt my eyes fill with unshed tears, and Sebastian leaned in to kiss my forehead gently.
“Keep beingyou,” I whispered.
“I think I can do that,” he whispered back.
Pushing aside all the worries that I’d screw it up or move too fast, I turned in his arms, followed my instincts, and brushed a light kiss across his lips. He kissed me back gently, as though I might shatter right there in his arms if he were to apply too much pressure.
And for a moment — for one blissful, perfect, sun-dappled moment in the arms of a boy I barelyknew — I didn’t feel so alone.