Kathy Strobos

“Why are you smiling?” Harvard asked, teasing.

“Because I know something you don’t know,” Aiden teased back.

Harvard raised an eyebrow. “And what is that?”

“You’re really cute,” murmured Aiden, and leaned in.

His lean was arrested when Harvard laughed. “Ha! That’s such a line. These things really work on your guys?”

Overcome by the magnitude of this insult, Aiden snapped, “Invariably!”

Harvard rolled his eyes. “I hate to tell you this, buddy, but I think they’re letting you get away with substandard lines because you’re cute.”

Aiden paused, torn between being deeply offended and ridiculously flattered.

Harvard bit his lip, seeming to think this over.

“I guess if you guys both know you’re just playing around, what you say doesn’t really count,” he offered. “That’s why people call them lines, like the things you say in a play. I know this isn’t real, but…”

Aiden tried to keep his voice soft, to be understanding. “But it’s practice for being real.” His mouth twisted on the name, but he forced it out. “For Neil.”

Harvard winced. Aiden supposed it might feel a little weird, to hear the name of the boy he actually liked, while tangled up with another. For Harvard, who was so good, it might feel close to cheating.

Aiden didn’t want to say the name or hear it or think it. Harvard seemed to be struggling with a thought, and Aiden waited to hear Harvard tell him what he wanted. That was all Aiden wished to know or to do. What Harvard wanted.”
― Sarah Rees Brennan, Striking Distance