After school, Michael and I met by the tree. I noticed he was still wearing his hoodie that was twice his size despite the warm weather, but I didn't make a mention of that. After we exchanged smiles, we exited the place together. He didn't tell me our destination so our short bus ride became a little more exciting.

When we reached downtown and strolled along the busy sidewalk, I felt as though I was in a dream, my feet barely touching the ground. We passed the restaurants and thrift shops and stopped at one of the flower shops. The front of it was decorated with vibrant roses arranged in gigantic wicker baskets. Michael picked up a bouquet of red roses, studied it, and gave it to me.

If people could hear each other's thoughts, the only thing you'd hear from me was an otherworldly squeal. I wanted to pinch myself to see if I was dreaming, but I was too stunned to move. And, of all the things I could've said to him, I only managed to croak out, "Huh?"

"Take it."

"Why?"

"I want you to carry it."

The realization hit me like a truck. We still had a place to get to, and the flowers were meant for someone special. I took the bouquet from him and blushed with so much heat I might have gone ablaze. He only asked me out to be his flower holder. Seriously, just how much of a dummy was I?

After he paid the florist, we were on our way again. Michael turned around to check on me and grinned, which appeared more of a devious smirk than a casual grin. It looked like he knew what I'd been assuming, and he'd decided to tease me for his hilarity.

"Hurry up," he called.

"Okay! Gee, excuse me for having short legs." I doubled my steps until I reached him. I stared down at the lurid thing in my hands and said quietly, "This is pretty. For Elodie, right?"

He playfully rustled my hair. "Yes. I have to bring her flowers every time I visit her. Otherwise, she'll get upset."

"Hey, don't ruin my hair." I pushed his hand away, and he chuckled. "Rose is her favorite flower?"

"Yeah. She even wished to have her own rose garden someday," he replied. "You, what's your favorite flower?"

I didn't know why he asked that, but I answered anyway. "Daffodil."

"The park is full of that during spring."

"I know. That's why I like that place."

"I don't." The words left his mouth like a cloud of smoke—subtle and it faded away in a second.

"Why?" I asked.

For a fleeting moment, his face went blank, and I could sense the gears turning in his head. Then, he glanced at me, and his mood returned to a carefree one. "It's just cliché."

"Seriously?" I laughed.

My amusement waned fast when I realized where we were and why he had talked about Elodie in the past tense. Leaves crunched beneath our shoes as we walked through the cemetery. Golden trees shrouded the whole place, and the afternoon sunlight streamed through the leaves. Such a beautiful place to look at. Such a gloomy place to stay in.

"Here we are," said Michael when we stopped in front of a tombstone. Here lies Elodie Jane Summer. He took the bouquet from my tense hand and placed it on the stone. Then, he sat on the carpet of dried leaves, motioning me to sit beside him. I did.

"Hey, kiddo," he said, as though Elodie was present. His face was gentle with a faint touch of sorrow. "Big bro's here again."

Upon hearing that, I felt tears crashing behind my eyes. I tried to hold them back as Michael introduced me to the seven-year-old girl who'd been dead for almost three years.

"Hi, Elodie..." I said.

"She's happy to have you here, Autumn. It's been a long time since someone other than me visited her..." His eyebrows drew together in shock when he turned to me. "Are you... crying?"

I bent my head down to let my hair cover my face. "T-These are just happy tears. I'm happy to meet her, too..." One tear fell on my lap, and I closed my eyes to stop them from coming out. But when Michael put his hand on the top of my head as if to comfort me, the dam broke.

"Wow," he remarked. "That's a lot of happy tears."

I wanted to laugh at that, but my laughter turned into sniffs. "Way to ruin the moment."

I didn't know why exactly I was crying. Maybe because I got a little jealous of his special friend, who turned out to be his little sister. Maybe because she had left the Earth too soon. Maybe because I felt the grief he had been trying not to show.

"Sorry, this is embarrassing," I said when I calmed down. I wiped my tear-stained cheeks with the back of my hand. "I look like a mess, don't I?"

"Good thing you did it, though." Michael smiled and pulled his hand away from my head. "Elodie used to tell me that people are like clouds; sometimes, the best way to lessen the burden in your chest is to let the rain fall."

"That's cute. She must've been insightful for her age, huh?"

"Who do you think she got it from?"

I mocked him by giving him a dubious look. He shrugged with an air of confidence.

"She agrees with me."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "How can you say that? Did she give you a phone call from heaven?"

"No. She's right behind you the whole time."

The hairs on my skin stood on end. Glaring, I grabbed a handful of leaves and threw them in his face. He blocked them with his arm and laughed in sheer delight.

"Stop teasing."

"I'm not teasing. She's here. She's always here."

I nodded in understanding. "She lives in your heart and memories, that's why you feel like she's still around." I pulled my knees up and rested my chin on top. "Don't you get scared of spending your time here alone?"

"I don't. Why would I? Someday, I will end up here. Might as well get used to the place now."

"Michael!" Was he insane? How could he say such a thing? It scared me.

He smiled at my reaction. "Kidding. I go here when there's no place for me to be alone; or when I want to talk to Elodie." He lowered his eyes to the ground. "She's the only one that understands how sorry I still am for what happened."

Gently and timidly, my hand reached for his arm. He had comforted me when I had been crying. Now it was my turn to return the favor. I didn't have the words to ease the ache in his chest, but I hoped my gesture had the comfort he needed.

His lips moved ever so slightly, and I thought he said something like, "It's my fault." I remembered Claire's words—about him always feeling guilty for the things that weren't his fault. I felt her pain in my chest again, and that should've been my warning sign. But I continued to take small steps into Michael's world, wanting to know in which parts of it his thoughts wandered. I wanted to understand him.

"You will be okay," I said, giving his arm a little squeeze. "If you need someone to talk to about it, I'm here to listen."

He pushed the corners of his lip in an attempt to smile. "Thanks."

We dipped into silence again, just looking at each other, until the leaves crunched when he moved his body closer to me until our shoulders almost touched. My heart was pumping extremely fast, I had to open my mouth a little to breathe.

Before I knew what was happening, I felt a vibration in my pocket. My mind snapped back to reality, and I hurriedly looked for my phone. It was a text from Clover, and she wanted to know where I was. My fingers shook as I replied to her. She would surely attack me with millions of questions when I got home.

When I closed my phone and put it back in my pocket, Michael pulled out my copy of The Little Prince from his backpack and handed it to me.

"You should go home now," he said.

"Why? We just got here."

"Autumn, please. Go now before... before it gets dark. I'll stay here for a while, so I can't walk you home. I'm sorry."

"I understand," I mumbled, taking the book from him. "I-I'll be going now."

Nodding, he took out a pack of cigarettes from his hoodie pocket and lit a stick with a lighter. I thought about the time I'd seen him smoke. The way he closed his eyes, the way he inhaled, the way the cigarette sat perfectly in between his lips, the way he looked at the stars that night. I liked remembering that memory, but it troubled me at the same time.

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Smoking."

"I thought you didn't mind me smoking."

I hesitated at first, but I couldn't hold it in any longer. "One stick has the power to kill you. Slowly. It'll destroy your lungs and make you unable to breathe. Do you want that to happen?"

"Are you worried about me?"

"Well, as a friend, I'm giving you a caution..."

"Don't worry about me."

"But—" I care for you. One simple sentence I had never said to anyone who probably needed to know the most. Every time I tried to say it, I choked up.

With a half-smile, he glanced at the sky. "Go now. The sun's starting to set."

At that moment, I thought my lungs had collapsed before his.

I walked away, clutching the book in my hand and kicking the leaves on the ground. Before I could depart the area, I heard him shout, "Text me when you get home so I know you're safe, okay?"

──────

Clover almost couldn't contain her excitement when I got home. She was yapping around me like a puppy, ready to hear all the "juicy details" about our "date," but when she saw my exhausted smile, she relaxed.

"You don't seem as happy as I thought you'd be. What gives?"

"Just tired after a long walk."

I kicked my shoes off and fell onto the bed, still unable to get Michael off my mind. Clover sat beside me and gently brushed through the knots of my hair. She rarely did something as affectionate as this; she was like Mom who was undemonstrative. Her gesture was comforting, and it almost made me drift to sleep.

Then, I realized something.

"What do you want, Clover?"

She grinned. "I wanna ask you something, and you have to answer it as honestly as possible, okay?"

I was too tired to care so I agreed.

"Do you like Michael?"

I sprang up, my eyes becoming wide as the moon. "What the heck? Why would you ask that?"

"Because I'm curious, duh. Why are you freaking out?"

"It's... it's a weird question. We're just friends!"

"So why are you blushing?"

"Because you're making me uncomfortable!" Dragging my pillows with me as shields, I scrambled away from her until my back hit the wall.

"And you're uncomfortable because it's true." She sighed in self-satisfaction. "Is he your first crush?"

"Clover, shut up!"

"It's written all over your face. You. Like. Michael."

I shook my head feverishly. No, no, no.

"You can't lie to yourself. Your heart knows all too well, Autumn."

"Clover—"

She began poking my sides and tormenting me with "Autumn likes Michael" chants. Tears brimmed on the edge of my eyes, and my stomach ached from laughing.

"Clover, stop it!" I cried, blocking her assaults. "Stop it already!"

A rap on the door stopped us both, and Mom poked her head through the gap.

"Girls, I hate to break the fun, but can one of you lend me a hand with the veggies, please?"

I pushed Clover away. She stuck her tongue out at me and followed Mom downstairs. I fell onto the bed again, pressing my palm against my heaving chest.

Then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Speaking of...

Michael: Hey, Marmalade. Did you get home safely? You didn't text me.

Me: Sorry. Some hipster penguins kidnapped me and now we're crossing the border into Madagascar. Help?

Michael: Oh man. I should've gone with you. I wanna get kidnapped by hipster penguins too.

I chuckled and put the phone away. Glancing at the swivel chair, I noticed the book sticking out halfway through my open bag. I brought the book with me to my bed and flipped through the pages, imagining how his fingers touched the words printed on the paper. When I went to the last page, I saw it.

The yellow sticky note. The message was written in black ink.

Thanks for today, Marmalade.

I closed the book, put it down, and stared into space.

My mother once said that I got my sharp memory from my dad, but I doubted it. I'm still somewhat forgetful, but oddly enough, I remember everything. Sometimes I forget appointments, contact numbers, birthdays, anniversaries, and such, but I remember what people wore, how they smelled, what stories they told, how they made me laugh and cry. So, I don't remember exactly when my feelings for him started, but I remember how.

Slowly. Gracefully. Deeply. Frighteningly.

If anyone would ask me my definition of him, I wouldn't give a clear-cut answer. I would only say, "He was a dozen exclamation points carved in my heart, and one big question mark perpetually etched on my mind."

I rolled on the bed and lay on my stomach. Shutting my eyes tight, I pressed my mouth on the pillow.

But my attempt was futile.

It didn't stop me from smiling.