It was funny to think that Clover had always wished to find love, and when a suitor finally came along, she got furious and stopped functioning like a normal human being.

"This is crazy! Why him of all people?" She moaned into her pillow and kicked her feet like a child not wanting to go to bed.

I was laughing so hard that I almost fell off the swivel chair I was spinning around in. "He's not a bad guy. And you have to admit—what he did was sweet. I mean, confessing with ice cream? Hello?"

She pulled the pillow away from her face. Her cheeks and ears were glowing pink it made her look like she was crying. "Well, okay, fine. It was sweet. It was embarrassing, but it was sweet. And also, he's cute with his hair swept back, and pink looks good on him—ugh." She stuck out her tongue in disgust. "I can't believe I just called him cute!"

I let her rant by herself, my stomach hurting from all the wheezing.

"No, no, no. He's a jerk. He always makes fun of me. He sent us both to detention twice for talking to me loudly in class. He's a super annoying guy, and I can't imagine myself going out with him without punching him in the throat. Hell, maybe that confession was just a sick prank you guys played on me. Will you stop laughing, Autumn?"

I couldn't breathe properly at that point. "But you're annoying him, too, Clover. You might not have noticed it, but you enjoy fighting him back and hanging out with him. It looks like you've met your match."

"I'm gonna kill him," she said, staring off into space.

"Oh, that's exactly what he feared." She turned to frown at me, and I added, "Yup. That's what he told me. We talked so much about you on the night of the party, and he told me about the things he liked about you. Your bossiness, your raspy voice that you hate, your love for ketchup, your strong opinions on—"

"Okay, okay, stop!" Clover said with her hands raised. "You don't have to list everything."

"The bottom line is: his confession wasn't a prank. So..." I shrugged matter-of-factly. "...you might want to give it another thought? You did say he was cute."

She got quiet, but her frown didn't leave. In a brief moment, wistfulness filled her eyes as though she was imagining all the what-ifs with Clint.

"I can't believe this. I'm going to sleep." She collapsed on her bed and threw the blanket over her head.

This might sound weird to say, but I anticipated what was coming next. This was a real-life love story unfolding before me, and every second of it felt like a cliffhanger. Unfortunately, my high hopes for a good outcome were dashed when Clover's next move was to ignore him. The next day, in the cafeteria, Clint tried to approach her but she chucked an empty milk carton at him to back off. Poor guy.

As much as I was rooting for him, I couldn't interfere too much with their choices—Clover's, specifically. Rose, however, became their mediator. Sometimes, the three of them would talk in the HQ as if they were in couples therapy. I had to thank her for it.

──────

Clover's observation about me being Michael's type was caught in the crevices of my mind, still making me jittery and self-conscious. Even so, that didn't stop me from meeting him in a hallway and giving him the book I believed he would like to read. It was The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry.

"Looks charming," he said as he flipped through the pages.

I liked how his smile accented his last word, but I hid that adoration with a stern look. This was my first time letting someone borrow one of my collections, and it was important to lay down some rules.

"You can have it for as long as you need to. But you have to remember these three things." I enumerated them one by one with my fingers: "Don't bend the cover, don't dog-ear the pages, and don't spill anything on it. Understand?"

Michael seemed scared for a second. "Yes, ma'am. I will handle this with utmost care."

It might have been just a moment, but that was when I trusted him completely. I began to believe that he wouldn't destroy whatever I gave to him. This trust would end up leading me to a profound melancholy. But I had no way of knowing that yet.

That night, when the entire town had a power outage, Michael invited me to watch the stars with him. My eyelids were heavy, but my mind wouldn't let me sleep yet, so I pulled up a chair and looked through my window. The only light in the room was the rich glow from the moon. Even though we were far away from each other, I could see him sitting on the windowsill of his room and looking up at the sky, too.

It was incredible how we could spend the day exchanging stupid jokes, but at night, our conversation became something else entirely. It was as if the words that we wanted to say were written in invisible ink that could only be read under the light of the moon.

He talked about his childhood dream of being an astronaut and the impossibility of it coming true because of his fear of enclosed spaces. I talked about my fear of leaving this town when I got older because, despite some of the bad memories in it, it was still my home. He talked about some of his adventures with his friends. I told him how grateful I was to be a part of them.

Sunny had been right. I felt lonely being alone. And all I ever wanted was to be a part of something where I didn't have to change myself to fit in.

I loved how Michael didn't find my ramblings laughable. And I loved how he showed his interest in whatever I said by asking questions. I realized that night that he was my type of guy, and it terrified me.

When the clock struck two, he asked: Aren't you sleepy?

Me: A little bit.

Michael: Still hard to fall asleep?

Me: Yes.

Michael: Let me sing you to sleep.

Me: You're joking, right?

Michael: Wait.

So, I did, confused and thrilled. A moment later, my phone rang and it almost pulled me out of my drowsy state. He was calling me. Clearing my throat, I pressed the button and held the phone against my ear.

"Autumn." His voice was softer than usual, and it was the sexiest thing I'd ever heard.

"Summer," I whispered.

"I hate my last name, you know. But when you say it, I learn to like it."

"Please tell me you're joking when you said you'd sing me to sleep?" I tried to sound collected as if I was used to receiving calls from people past midnight.

"Nope. I'm not joking. In fact, I have my guitar with me right now." I heard him tap the wooden body of his guitar. "And I have a perfect song for you."

"Oh, um... okay." I was too flabbergasted to think of any other response. Thankfully, he couldn't see the blush that had tinted my face.

"Good. So, are you comfortable now?" he asked. "Do you have your favorite teddy bear beside you? And have you checked under your bed for monsters? Watch out. They might crawl out and grab your feet while you're asleep."

I breathed out a laugh. "Just sing me to sleep, Michael."

He began strumming his guitar strings, creating a slow and sweet lullaby that sent my heart into a wild spin.

I pulled my phone away and turned on the loudspeaker. Clover was a heavy sleeper, so it was okay to set the volume high. I placed the phone upside down away from me, crossed my arms on the table, and rested my head above them. Closing my eyes, I listened to his words, his voice, and the grief behind them that I'd never heard from him before.

My thoughts calmed, and I began to imagine him sitting beside me and running his fingers through my hair. I'd never longed for the presence of another human being to be by my side as much as I did at that moment.

But his ghost in my bedroom vanished along with his singing when muffled noises echoed from the phone. Like heavy footsteps. And voices. But I was too tired to think about the noises. Too tired to open my eyes. Too tired to speak. And before I knew it, I slipped into oblivion with his voice playing in my head over and over again.

Back in the music store, Michael had said that I might find my next favorite song there, and I had found it silly. But he had been right. Among the thousands of music records wrapped in colorful cases, my favorite song had been standing in a dark suit in front of me.

Him.