“That’s awful! Awful that someone would do that to both of them. Did they make fun of Jake, too?” I ask, my hand pressed to my cheek in disbelief.

“Now see, that’s the thing. Nobody ever paid attention to him, said anything to him about it, teased him—nothing. It was almost as if he was invisible, just the tool for the prank. And being invisible…well, I guess that was worse. He came home from school, after a full day of being invisible, and then he swallowed a bottle of pills. My mom called me away from practice, and Owen had to drive me to the hospital.”

“Owen stayed with me all night, brought my mom a change of clothes from his mom’s closet the next day, and when my brother finally got to come home and go back to school, Owen showed up with a few of his friends, hung out on the basketball courts outside the school, made sure nobody said anything about the pills. Then he started taking Jake to school, picking him up with Andrew every morning. He hasn’t missed a single day in over a year. Not once. Even when he has to work, and he’s running late, and when I know he’d rather give the pretty girl who moved next door a ride. He shows up, at our front door, and my brother loves every fucking second of attention he gives him.”

Ryan stands finally, his eyes back on the door, where Owen is finally exiting, talking to the coach, his bag slung over his back, his body dressed in his usual black jeans, black sweatshirt, black shoes—like a superhero in disguise.

“I like Owen so much because that dude has character—more character than any adult I’ve ever met. And the fact that he can do something like that, for a thirteen-year-old kid he doesn’t even know that well, while he’s got shit to deal with of his own…he’s not what people say he is—but I get the feeling you know that,” Ryan says, Owen now within hearing distance of us. Ryan smiles as he nods to Owen, who gives him a suspicious look. “See ya, Kens. I’ll say hi to Elise for you.”

“Was he hitting on you? Cuz, that shit ain’t cool,” Owen jokes. I shake my head no and stand on my tippy-toes, reaching up to kiss him softly, my entire body tingling with a new feeling for Owen Harper. I’m not sure what it is, but I think it might be pride.

I follow Owen to his truck, toss my bag in the seat between us, and buckle in. When he gets in on his side, he shakes his head and lifts my bag up, tossing it on the floor by my feet. “I love Gramps’ truck, but your seat is way too far,” he says, patting the seat next to him. I’ll have to pull my knees up to my chest because of the hump in the floor, but the ride is short—and the few minutes of discomfort are well worth having Owen inches away.

“House said you were looking for me yesterday?” Owen mentions as he pulls us out of the school’s parking lot.

“I was. I…I heard them out front playing basketball, thought it was you,” I say, looking down at my knees. I’m not sure why I’m embarrassed, but I am.

“I like that you look for me,” he says, leaning into me. I’m tempted to tell him that’s good, because I do it a lot. But I keep that thought to myself; instead, taking my opportunity to steal glances at him while he drives. It’s rare to see him without his head covered; he’s always wearing a hat or beanie or his hood from his sweatshirt. I think it’s like a blanket to him, gives him comfort. But right now, his hair is tasseled in all different directions, messy from his practice, damp with sweat, and possibly the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

That’s the thing with Owen. He’s…sexy! I’ve found boys cute before, attractive, and sometimes tall and strong, but never sexy. The thought of Owen running into one of the guys from Bryce makes me giggle—and the small noise I make catches his attention.

“What’s funny over there, Ken Doll?” I smack his leg at the use of that nickname. “I’m kidding, kidding! Just wanted to get you back for whatever it is you think is funny about me.”

“I don’t think you’re funny. I was just thinking you were…cute. I think you’re cute,” I say, keeping it safe, a notch less embarrassing than the truth.

Owen glances at me a few times, biting his lip, his eyes hazed and lowered. He’s about to say something back when we pull into his driveway and notice two cars pulled in before him. He pulls the keys out, but holds them in his hand, his eyes on the vehicles in front of us.

“Mom’s home,” he says, his face oddly unhappy.

“Oh, should I…just go home? Or, is she okay with me coming over? I would love to meet her…” Owen hasn’t moved, his posture rigid and his gaze stuck on something out the window. “Owen?”