By the time it was dark enough to light up the midway, he and I each had ten tickets left. His were bent and sweaty – he had been clenching them in his fist all day – but mine were still pristine, stored neatly in my pocket. We found ourselves a picnic table, and one of his toes was touching my foot – probably by accident – but it was a thrill to be so close to him.

“How about the Ferris wheel?” He looked at me from across the table, his jade-green eyes blazing with the reflection of the lights from the Tilt-A-Whirl.

“You know how I feel about heights.”

Before I knew it, we were boarding one of the cages, coasting up to the top, where it felt like we could reach out and touch the sky. I closed my eyes as we went up. I’d always hated heights.

“Open your eyes” he said, taking my hand in his. The cage shifted.

“What are you doing?” I asked, eyes still closed. I felt him sit down next to me. His arm, around my shoulder. And then. Ah, then. His lips, gently grazing my own.

I opened my eyes.