“Trent, you okay?” asked Phoebe, her tinkling voice ringing with concern.

“No,” I answered truthfully, not looking at her. How could I? How could I look into those gorgeous, questioning eyes and not tell her that she was the reason why?

So I just just wouldn’t look at her. I wouldn’t. Not looking at her would be a better alternative than blurting out “I loved you”. I’m guessing she wouldn’t want to be friends after that…Just a guess.

“You want to talk about it?” she probed.

“No.”

I then realized I should’ve made more of an effort to be social. Phoebe cared and understood too much about boys like me. You know, the reclusive artistic ones?

She sat next me. “We don’t have to talk.”

Her fingers inched toward mine, intertwining them. I couldn’t take this anymore! Tugging her hand, I pulled her closer, leaning my head on top of hers. She leaned into me and I took in her scent. She smelled like summer, like campfires and beach.

What? Just because I can’t look at her doesn’t mean I can’t smell her!