Hello, Goodbye, and Everything in Between

Even as they tiptoe up the stairs to Aidan’s bedroom, he’s busy reliving the events of the night.

“It was like one of those ring-toss games at a carnival,” he whispers, his face still all lit up. He stops to demonstrate—with a flick of his wrist—the way he’d managed to throw the inner tube over the top of Rusty’s skinny frame after only three tries, as Clare gives him a little nudge to keep him moving forward.

This is possibly the worst place in the world to be recounting the tale: standing on the Gallaghers’ front staircase with his parents asleep just yards away. Their clothes are dripping on the ugly gray carpet of the steps, and Clare’s teeth are still chattering; in the water, the moment the adrenaline had faded into relief, she’d started to shiver and hadn’t stopped since. Everything about her—from her nose to her toes—feels brittle and numb, so when Aidan turns around, she prods him forward again.

“Sweatshirt,” she reminds him.

“Right, sorry,” he says, walking up a few more steps before stopping once more. “It was pretty cool, though, right?”

Clare nods. “Very, very cool.”

In his room, Aidan digs through a pile of clothes at the foot of his bed.

“Harvard or UCLA?” he asks, holding up two oversize hoodies.

“The big question,” she says, then reaches for the blue one with UCLA printed in huge letters across the front.

Aidan smiles. “Good choice.”

“I agree,” Clare says, peeling off her wet dress and practically diving into the fleecy sweatshirt, which comes down nearly to her knees. “Got anything else for me?”

He tosses her a pair of gray sweatpants. And then, for good measure, some woolen mittens, too.

“I know you’re joking,” she says, tugging them on, “but I’m totally wearing them.”

When they’ve both changed, Aidan studies her with amusement. She’s swimming in his sweatshirt, and though she’s rolled up the sweatpants several times, they still drag at the bottom. She claps her mittened hands together with a quiet thump.

“Perfect,” she says. “Now what?”

He considers this for a moment. “Hot chocolate, I think.”

“Brilliant,” she says, and as he walks over to the door, he grabs the hood of her sweatshirt and rucks it up over her head.

“Now it’s perfect,” he says with a grin.

Downstairs, they pull the canister of cocoa and a couple of mugs from the cupboard, then heat up the milk. They do their best to be quiet, skidding around in their socks, being sure to close each cabinet with exaggerated care. When the hot chocolate is ready, they sit at the kitchen table with their hands cupped around it, reveling in the warmth before taking a sip.

“I can’t believe we did that,” Aidan says after a little while.

“You did it,” Clare points out.

“Well, sure,” he says, puffing up with pride again. “I mean, if we’re being really technical about it, I guess I did save the unofficial town mascot, who has been flailing out there for years without anyone else to rescue him.”

Clare hides her smile with her mug. “So modest.”

“But you came after me,” he says, leaning forward on the table. “You forgot all about the rules for a minute. You didn’t think for a second about what an idiotic thing it is to do, jumping into the lake in the middle of the night. You just did it.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Yeah, but nothing,” he says, banging his palm against the table in his enthusiasm, which sets their cups rattling. “This is why you need to stop worrying so much about everything. Don’t get me wrong, I love the way your mind works, but when you shut it off for a minute, look what happens.”

“I do really idiotic things?”

“That’s not what I mean,” he says. “The way you’ve been so worried about your major, and what you want to do with your life, and all that—”

“Right,” she says. “All those tiny little details.”

“—that’s the version of you that sits back on the shore. But really, you should just be diving right in, you know?”