Before she could answer, there was a light tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see a ruler inches from my face. I looked at Megan questioningly, and she smiled.

   “For emergencies,” she said, shrugging.

   We became best friends.

   One day, during the summer before freshman year, we were eating popsicles on Megan’s roof just outside her bedroom window. We were working on our tans, because that’s what high school girls did.

   “Do you think people will make fun of us because we don’t have boyfriends?” she asked out of nowhere.

   I hadn’t even thought about boys that way yet. I guess I was a late developer. I shrugged.

   “I’m going to have a boyfriend within a month,” she declared, more to herself than anyone else. She nodded as if agreeing to it.

   “Okay, Meg, just don’t go dragging me into any of it. I’m happy with the way things are,” I said, rolling my eyes.

   She snickered. “As if I’d even consider it. Do you think I don’t know you at all?” She faked hurt in her voice and held her hand to her heart.

   “I just don’t want to be one of those girls who’s in a serious relationship through most of high school. It’s so not my thing. Then when we graduate, I don’t want to do that whole ‘Where are you going to college? Should we go to college together? Whose hopes and dreams are more important?’ thing. Blah yadda blah.”

   She looked at me for a second then shook her head. “Well, miss fifteen-going-on-fifty . . . I want to fall in love lots and I want to break hearts lots. I want to have so many awkward first dates and first kisses with lots and lots of boys. I want to hold hands down the hall with some amazingly gorgeous guy and make girls jealous because that guy only has eyes for me. I want to chase and be chased. I want to really live in high school. I want to love in high school. And I want to have sex. Oh my God, like, so much sex!”

   I stared at her, my mouth open in shock. She looked at me and broke into a fit of laughter. It was a joyous sound that, to this day, still makes me crack up whenever I hear it. We sat on that roof and giggled like the innocent girls we were for what seemed like hours. Our laughter broke off when we heard a beeping noise. The sound was coming from the house next door. A U-Haul truck was reversing into the driveway.

   “Oh, God,” Megan sighed. “The house has finally sold. I hope they’re not sucky neighbors. I can’t think of anything worse! Like old people hoarding random shit, so they have to call the fire department to clear the house only to find . . .” She looked at the sky, thinking. “. . . a five-billion-pound woman stuck under a pile of empty snack-sized chocolate-pudding containers. Then a crane has to lift her body out of the house like in Gilbert Grape, and they take her to a hospital to pump all the fat out of her body. Then three years later some random kid emerges from the house, knocks on our door, and asks, ‘Have you seen my baseball?’ ”

   I looked at her for a second then burst out laughing—uncontrollable laughter that had the sides of my body aching. I heard her laughing with me, then: “Holy shit, Mick . . . Who the hell is that?”

   I stopped laughing and followed her gaze.

   It was a boy—a boy better than any boy I’d ever seen. He could have been our age, but he had a bigger build—not an “I work out, I’m a jock” build, but an “I lift heavy stuff” one. Big like a farm boy? I didn’t know. I’d never really thought about boys and bigness before.

   “Let’s go introduce ourselves,” Megan said, already climbing through the window back into her room.

   I sat frozen, staring at him as he slowly made his way to the front door. He took in his surroundings as though he hadn’t yet seen the house. Maybe he hadn’t. He had dark-blond hair hidden under a baseball cap and wore dark jeans and a plain gray T-shirt. I was wondering what color his eyes were when he looked up and caught me mid-stare.

   I was sure a blush had crept up my face, and I was even more sure that he could see it. A slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and he raised his right hand in a small wave. I forced a smile, which probably made me look more like I was constipated than actually smiling. I started to lift my hand to wave back . . .

   “Mikayla! Come on!” Meg screamed at me like a banshee from inside.

   I stood up suddenly and hurled myself through the window, tripping on the windowsill and falling, unladylike, flat on my ass.

   “What is wrong with you?” She looked at me like I’d grown a second head.

   “Big boy farm.”

   What? Please kill me now.

   By the time I’d calmed my rapidly beating heart and convinced Megan that I wasn’t completely insane, I found myself stumbling down her driveway to the driveway next door. A woman who looked in her late thirties greeted us. She wore sweats and was unloading boxes from a cherry-red truck. She saw us and instantly smiled.

   “Hi! You young ladies must be our neighbors?” she said, wiping sweat from her brow.

   “I am. My name’s Megan.” Megan reached out to shake the woman’s hand. “This is my best friend, Mikayla.” She nudged me.

   “Hi, I’m Mikayla,” I repeated, shaking her hand. I glanced down at my feet. I didn’t want to look at her since she was more than likely the mother of the boy I’d just been checking out.

   “Well, aren’t you girls just the prettiest picture,” she drawled in a thick Texan accent. “I’m Sam.” She faced the house and called out, “Henry! Boys!”

   I was still looking at the concrete of the driveway when I heard the front screen door open and close. “Yeah, Ma?” said a male voice.

   I jerked my head up and saw him—really saw him. His eyes were brown like the color of maple syrup. He seemed to recognize me and stood in front of me, smiling.

   “Honey, this is Megan. She’s our neighbor.”

   He took his cap off and shook Megan’s hand, never taking his eyes off me.

   “And this is her best friend, Mikayla.”

   We shook hands and, I swear, sparks flew. My hand tingling, I felt rooted to the spot, something I had never experienced before.

   “Girls, this is my son James. My husband Henry and our younger one are around here somewhere. I’m sure you’ll see him soon.”

   “Nice to meet you.” James finally let go of my hand, and I wept internally.

   Megan was looking at me like a third head just oozed from the second one. Luckily, she saved the day by actually talking to this James guy. I was still trying to get over the physical shock that had just sparked my body to life. They talked about school, sports, why they moved here, things to do in our small town, and everything else small talk might consist of. I learned that he was a freshman, too, and would be going to our school. Great. I’ll be struck dumb and mute for the next four years.