Page 56 of Exchanged

“Shut up and get over here,” Dad says.

Garrett does. He sets the delay on the camera and rushes around, jamming himself into place next to me. He throws his arm over my shoulders, the fabric of his sleeve sending static electricity down my spine.

Afterward, we take turns crowding around the camera to look at the photo.

“It’s perfect,” Emma says when it’s her turn. “Except Gloria isn’t looking at the camera.”

I peer over Emma’s shoulder. Gloria—standing on my other side—is looking sideways at me and Garrett, a knowing grin pulling at the corner of her lips.

“You’re the worst,” I whisper to her, as we return to cleaning up the dining room.

She blinks. “Because I love gay love?”

At the end of the evening, Garrett and I stand inside the doorway of my bedroom. It’s the only room in the house lit by colored lights, because I’ve always loved the kaleidoscopic coziness they emit. Garrett’s room has been turned into a bunkhouse for three of my younger cousins, so Garrett and I will share mine. And since all our air mattresses and sleeping bags are being used elsewhere, that leaves him, me, and my double-sized bed.

There’s no way this could possibly be uncomfortable.

“I’m happy to sleep on the floor,” he offers, closing the door behind him. The room suddenly feels very small and quiet.

I try to sound casual. “Nah. My bed’s big enough.” I move to my dresser and pull out a pair of flannel bottoms and a T-shirt. I’ve shared a bed with Trevor on band trips. I can do this.

Except Garrett is an entirely different species from Trevor.

I face away from him to change into my pajamas, and hear him shuffling around on the other side of the room. When I turn around, he’s still fully clothed and hovering near the bed.

“Shit,” he says, rubbing the back of his head. “I usually sleep in my boxers, so I didn’t think…” He trails off, then nods at the doorway. “You think the kids in my room are still up? I could grab something…”

My cousins went to bed two hours ago. “If you wake up Remy,” I say, “he’ll never go back to sleep, and Aunt Julia won’t forgive you, and all that work you did bonding with her over charades will have been a waste.”

He lifts his eyebrows. “Maybe I could borrow something?”

“You would destroy any of the clothes you’d try to fit into.”

“Right.”

“It’s not a big deal.” I attempt a nonchalant shrug. “Your boxers are fine.”

“You sure?”

I nod, and I sit down on the edge of the bed and pretend to fiddle with my phone as he takes off his socks.

And his sweater.

And his pants.

I wait until he’s settled under the covers before I stand to place my phone on the bedside table and turn around. He’s on his back, the quilt pulled across his chest and tucked underneath each of his arms. His shoulders are bare, though, and I think of how wide they are, how, if he held me, he could surround me with the solidness of himself. His collarbones round out from his chest muscles, pointing downward like an arrow.

These thoughts are not helpful right now.

I’ve watched him for a second too long. I need to get this over with, to just dive in, like jumping into the freezing water of Lake Superior in early May.

I slide in beside him.

My bed is not big enough. As we lie on our backs, it’s impossible for our arms not to touch. I feel the heat from his bicep radiating into my arm, the back of his hand against mine, the curve of his calf against my leg. His smell is like sun-warmed earth and dewy golden leaves, and I could float away on it. My heart rate quickens, and heat rushes through my body.

I take deep breaths, forcing myself to think of Titanic victims plunging into frigid waters and puppies romping and the sound of SpongeBob SquarePants laughing and anything other than the sheer closeness and almost-nakedness of Garrett.

“Your other two aunts are pretty quirky,” he murmurs sleepily, unaware of the physiologic response occurring next to him. “Not as cool as Aunt Liz, obviously, but still…”