“I need to tell you something,” Eli said. His mouth was dry. “And you don’t have to say anything back. But I need to say it.”
Then Leo exhaled—a long, shaky breath, as if he’d been holding it since July.
“No,” Leo agreed. “It didn’t.” Young Hearts
Eli didn’t. But he said yes anyway.
Then came the pool party at Jenna’s house. Someone’s older brother brought beer. A dare turned into a shoving match. And in the chaos, someone shouted, “Eli and Leo, sitting in a tree…” “I need to tell you something,” Eli said
“That’s not funny,” Leo said. But his voice cracked on funny .
The silence stretched. A lawnmower started up somewhere far away. But I need to say it
“It didn’t crack,” Eli said.
That night, Eli lay awake. He turned the memory over like a smooth stone: Leo’s hand brushing his when they reached for the same slice of pizza. The way Leo had looked at him when Eli caught a firefly and let it go—soft, wondering, as if Eli had done something miraculous. The way Eli’s own heart hammered during those silences that weren’t empty but full of things unsaid.
He sat up in the dark and whispered into his pillow: Oh.