Phil's father sold the restaurant, which meant that the paychecks we received that Friday were our last. It sucked, knowing my weekly supply of cash was gone, but I knew I'd be heading off to college soon, and I would have to leave the job anyway. I almost wished I could turn back time, just one week, so I could enjoy another shift with Phil. Even if it meant a squabble or a smoothie explosion, it'd be worth it.

Phil must've been thinking the same thing, because he lingered after our shift, slowly wiping down tables and seeming almost mournful when it came time to turn the sign to closed.

"This is our last paycheck." I said, a bit disbelieving.
"Yeah. Better not waste it."

I looked over at him and grinned. "That depends on what you consider to be a waste."

"Nuh-uh," I pushed away the glass of champagne Phil had poured for me, what would be my fourth that night. "No more. Not around you."

"Why not?" Sober Phil might be offended, but not drunk Phil. Drunk Phil was light and happy and laughing "You're the one who bought this."

Was I? I couldn't really remember. All I knew was that we had somehow gotten up to the cliff without crashing and there was a meteor shower. Or maybe I was just about to pass out. Champagne goes right to my brain.

"Because if I drink anything more, I'm going to tell you all my secrets." I slurred, dragging out my vowels and leaning on Phil. He had a good leaning shoulder. Perfect height, not too bony. Just perfect. "And that...would not be good."

"Why do you have secrets? I have no secrets from you." Phil thought for a moment, then shook his head. "That's a lie. I have one. Or maybe two. I don't know," he giggled. "I suck at math."

"That's no secret."

"Cheers!" We both took another sip. "No, but, actually, I went to your school."

"My school?"

"Yeah. Your school. Your old one, with Anthony and Zoe and everyone. That's actually why Zoe talked to me, because she remembered me."

"No way! We could've been friends. Why'd you leave?"

"Because everyone hated me, that's why." He frowned, punctuating the last part with a nod. "They were mean. About my glasses and my hair and my...my space!"

"Your space."

"My space. The whole universe is mine, if I want it."

I could believe that. Phil seemed like the kind of person who could take over the whole world if he asked nicely enough. It was something he'd do, too; he had more drive and ambition than anyone I'd ever met. Ideas, too. It would be impossible to find anyone as creative as he was.

Really, Phil was quite the catch. Zoe was a lucky girl.

"Stop that," Phil whined, hitting my face lightly. "You always glare when you're thinking."

"No I don't."

"Do too. And, anyway, I told you a secret, so now you have to tell me one of yours."

I only had one secret that Phil didn't know. Everything else—Joseph, the bullying, my uncanny love for Evan Peters—was all general knowledge to him. That was just how it was; the idea that I might hide things from him was unfathomable. And I knew it was the same for him.

I pulled away and thought for a moment. A secret for a secret, that seemed like a fair trade. Better than an eye for an eye, really. Not that my eyes were very useful at the moment; the world was blurry and shaking like a poorly filmed video, and my vision didn't improve any when I blinked. The stars were white dashes, the trees black shadows. Nothing was what it was supposed to be.

"Did I ever bully you, Phil? Was I one of the people that made fun of your glasses and your space? Because I'd never do that now." I leaned back on his shoulder, knowing what I had to say next. The words felt like they were trapped in concrete. I wasn't very strong. "I hope you know that, because it's true. It's true and I..."

"A shooting star!" He sat up suddenly, and I nearly landed with my face in the dirt. "Make a wish, Dan!"

I rubbed my wrist, sore from stopping my fall. "I missed it."

"That's a shame. Shooting stars are astronomer's eleven-elevens, you know." He pulled me back against him, so that I was leaning against his chest. I could feel him shivering in the cold wind of the night. Even I, despite the warmth flowing through my insides, wasn't immune to the chill. "What was it you were going to say?"

"Nothing. It's really not important, anyway." I smiled up at him, trying to ignore the burning in my chest. If this were a movie, I'd be the protagonist brave enough to lean up and kiss him.

But it wasn't, and I wasn't, and so I just lay there with him, watching the stars shake and pretending to be asleep when Phil lugged me home (after hiding the nearly empty bottle in the bushes) and tucked me in.

I also pretended not to care when he hugged me during the night, and then was gone in the morning.