“There!”

He moves away from his carving and stands beside the tree’s trunk.

I reread the A + L that now has a heart encircling it, and then my eyes travel to the words below it, and I feel the corners of my lips suddenly edging high up my face.

“Forever and a day,” I say out loud, reading the inscription below the letters.

My eyes fall into Andrew’s. I can’t imagine loving someone more. He’s my perfect — one part solid as a rock, one part crazy, one part starry-eyed dreamer. I could listen to him talk about the life we’re going to have in the little house in the country and how happy we’re going to be for hours under this old tree. I don’t know how many hours we’ve spent doing that same thing already.

“I’m gonna marry you someday, Andrew Amsel.”

Even though his face is straight, I watch his wild eyes burn with passion. I know those eyes, and I love those eyes.

“I’m gonna make you so happy,” he eventually says. His voice is raspy and passionate.

He pulls me into him and then kisses me slowly and softly and deeply, almost as if he’s claiming my soul for himself. And when our kiss breaks, he puts his forehead to mine and one hand to my cheek, while the other strokes my hair.

“Marry me tomorrow, Logan.”

I pause, as a word dances on my lips but never leaves them.

“No, really, let’s get married,” he says again.

“Andrew.” I start to laugh. “We’re still in high school. We can’t get married.”

“Why not? We’re both eighteen; there’s no law against it.”

My smile widens. “That has to be a bad idea.” I think I’m more so trying to convince myself just how bad of an idea it really is.

“There is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so.” He recites the lines straight from Shakespeare himself.

I shake my head. For some reason, of all the lines and quotes he’s ever heard or read, that one is the one that stuck. I think I hear it at least every other day.

“I love you, Andrew, but I can’t marry you in high school.”

He pushes his lips out and to one side and narrows one eye. He doesn’t seem satisfied.

“We’d spend our honeymoon grounded, doing chemistry homework,” I say.

He dramatically inhales and then slowly forces the breath out. “Good point.”

I laugh, and then he gently pulls me down to the ground until we’re resting on the grass and our backs are up against the old tree.

“I love you so much, Logan.”

He sets the rock down onto the ground, and I quickly recover it and then let my head fall into his lap — just like I have done nearly a million times before. There are cicadas in the trees around us, and they’re singing their summer song in unison. And pushing over us, trying desperately to warm our shade, is a soft, steady stream of air.

I feel Andrew pick up a strand of my long hair and then gently lay it back down again. He does this over and over again. It makes me feel safe somehow.

“Are you happy, Andrew?”

A silent moment passes between us. Then, I hear his soft, thoughtful voice.

“It’s just another day with you — the best day of my life.”

I nuzzle my cheek against his leg and press against my heart the rock that just penned our love into the wood of eternity.

“And someday,” he goes on, “we’re gonna get married, and I’m gonna make sure you know I love you every day — whether I’m by your side or not, you’re gonna know I love you. I’ll probably drive ya crazy making sure you know, but at least you’ll be a loved crazy person.”

He pauses, and I snicker a little.

“We’ll fight, probably,” he continues, in a way that seems as if he’s just now come to that conclusion. “And you’re gonna pout in your corner, and I’m gonna pout in mine. And we’re gonna pout until we just can’t hide how much we love each other anymore, and then I’m gonna kiss you so hard. And then we’re gonna promise each other that we’ll never fight again. And then we’re gonna grow old together, and I’m still gonna love you.”

He stops then, but he keeps stroking my hair.

“I’m gonna love you, Logan, forever and a day,” he whispers.

I don’t say anything because I know he’s in his own, little world now, dreaming about our future. He breathes evenly, peacefully now. I can picture the little smile hanging on his lips — the little grin he saves only for times like this. It’s not the same smile he wears at school. In the halls of Truman High, he wears a poker face — a perfect, little smirk that’s one-part sexy and one-part mysterious. He hides his crazy there. He hides the dreams that I know are constantly in his head. He hides them so well that sometimes he even fools me into believing that lunch and the next baseball game are the only future he’s ever thought about. But I guess that way no one bothers Andrew Amsel. His brother tries but to no avail. The girls love him; the guys respect him. He’s cute, and he’s a natural athlete, which helps a little with his tough-guy façade, I guess. But if you know Andrew Amsel like I do, you know his real strength isn’t in anything you can see.

“Babe.” His soft whisper instantly halts my thoughts.

“Hmm?” I angle my face up toward his.

“Two or three?”

I think about it for a second.

“Three,” I say.

He pauses.

“Dog or cat?”

“Dog,” I say.

He nods in satisfaction. And I rest my head in his lap again as he goes back to his dreams and to picking up the pieces of my hair and then laying them back down again.

“Three scraggly kids and a dog,” he confirms.

I can hear the smile in his voice — even over the cicadas’ song, and it makes my heart dance because I see what he sees too. I see the little house in the country — the row of apple trees, the purple and orange wildflowers swaying in the breeze, even the dog. I see it all, all from the view of some old porch swing somewhere. I know it sounds crazy, but minus one detail — one pesky, little detail that’s still a little blurry — I see it all so clearly — almost as if it were a snapshot right out of our future.

I nuzzle my cheek against Andrew’s leg again and let go of a happy sigh. Crazy or not, somehow I just know that from that old porch swing, I can see the stuff my dreams are made of.

“This is the last kiss that I’m ever gonna give you — at this locker,” Andrew announces.

I look up at him. He’s wearing a wide grin.

“Well, you better make it a good one then,” I say.

His grin quickly turns mischievous, and he doesn’t even bother looking around to see who’s watching. He just touches one hand to the back of my neck and the other to the small of my back, and he leans in. I close my eyes and instantly feel his shallow breaths on my lips. It feels raw and unscripted as he moves his tender lips over mine. And then he slips his tongue into my mouth, leans farther into me and kisses me harder. He plays with my tongue, and I kiss him back as my stomach does a somersault. And after a few more exhilarating moments of his breaths and his lips and his tongue, his kiss breaks from my lips, and he presses his forehead against mine.

“How was that?” he whispers.

I feel my lips start to edge up my face and into a wide smile. It’s his answer, and he knows it.

“I love you so much, Logan,” he whispers into my ear.

Then, before I can say anything, he slaps my butt and walks away.

“Get a room,” I hear a boy from across the hall yell out to Andrew.

Andrew doesn’t even bother to look back. “That’s a great idea,” he says, right before he disappears down another hallway. “Maybe I can use yours.”

Andrew’s voice trails off, and my attention goes to the boy. He looks defeated, but when he finds my gaze, his face brightens.

“Hi, Logan.”

“Hi, James.”

“You still coming to our house before graduation?” he asks.