Migliore Amico

It was quiet, save for the steady thrum of the plane engine. Most of my classmates, if not all, had been in a deep sleep for the past few hours. Several rows away, somebody had a guttural snore. To my right, Gordo's head hung toward me, eyes shut, breathing slow and steady.

It would be 6:00 PM when we arrived home in California, but with our bodies already adjusted to the time in Italy, it was going to feel like 3:00 AM. We were all going to be pretty jetlagged for a while, that's for sure.

Unlike my slumbering classmates, I left the shade of my window halfway open. For the first time in hours, I could see something other than an endless blanket of clouds. Streams of city lights blinked below. We had less than an hour left before touchdown.

I felt exhausted— physically, mentally, and emotionally. And in spite of my exhaustion, I couldn't sleep a wink. I was still reeling from the events of the past two weeks. Gordo and I had more than fulfilled our promise in Rome. When we vowed to have adventures, I didn't expect to be swept away by an Italian whirlwind named Paolo. But now that I think about it with a clear mind, it was obvious that I was being manipulated. It's difficult to think logically and act responsibly when you are infatuated with someone— I'm just glad I saw the light in time.

I brought a hand to my mouth as I yawned. Beside me, Gordo stirred, and I watched as he slowly opened his eyes. The little amount of light coming from the window cast a soft glow against the contour of his face and dark curls. His eyes, blue and bleary, met my own, and he smiled gently.

"Hey," he mumbled, his voice tired. He didn't move from his slightly slouched position. "Are we landing soon?"

"About an hour left," I replied, covering another yawn.

He watched me, eyebrows knit. "You didn't sleep, did you?"

"No," I admitted, closing my eyes. I turned away and pressed the back of my head against the seat. "I tried, but I just can't. I've been doing a lot of thinking…"

"I don't blame you," Gordo responded, keeping his voice low. "You went through a lot during this trip. In two weeks, you made memories that'll last you a lifetime."

"Right, but…" I faltered, reopening my eyes. I looked straight ahead at the seat in front of me. There was a heavy sort of feeling in my chest— it had developed the night I kissed Gordo on the rooftop of the hotel. It wasn't a terrible feeling, but it wasn't euphoric, either. Kissing Gordo had made me incredibly happy (and I know he felt the same way), but even that happiness couldn't erase the weight in my chest.

Maybe it was guilt. Guilt because I had ditched my best friend so many times to run away with a stranger. Guilt over the fact that for every second I spent with Paolo— who had me totally fooled— I missed out on creating a memory with Gordo.

"But what? Lizzie, don't wish you did things differently." From the corner of my eye, I could tell Gordo was still looking me, studying my anxious expression. He had a way of reading my mind at times, and I didn't expect less from the boy who knew me since I was a day old. "Nobody— and I really mean nobody— will relive your story. Sure, you had to deal with that loser, but not just anyone could've taken the stage the way you did that night. Anyone else would've choked. Not you, Lizzie."

"I would've ran off that stage if it weren't for you." I finally turned my head toward him again. My words caused his smile to return. "But I guess I just can't get over the fact that I… I was spending time with the wrong guy."

Gordo's smile didn't fall. He sat up straight, craning his neck in a stretch.

"It's okay. You got Paolo for, what, several days?" He paused, looking down at his hands. "You get me for the next four years in high school. Actually… you get me for the rest of forever. I won't go away. That's the thing about best friends."

I felt a funny heat rush to my cheeks. I never thought Gordo could ever make me feel flushed and lightheaded. Then again, no other boy could. Not Ethan, not Ronnie, not Paolo. Gordo had seen me rise and fall— he saw me at my worst, he saw everything, and yet he was still here.

"Gordo…" I began softly. His eyes were still fixated on his hands, which were resting palms upward in his lap. I reached over and placed my hand over his. Without hesitation, our fingers moved to lace together. We hadn't held hands many times before, but for every time that we did, I couldn't help but notice how perfectly they fit together. "You and me… we're not just best friends, are we?"

Gordo's gaze lifted to meet mine. With his free hand, he brushed a stray strand of blonde hair behind my ear, trailing his touch down my cheek and across my jaw. He stopped to gently grasp my chin between his thumb and forefinger. I closed my eyes as he leaned in and gingerly pressed his mouth against my own. His lips were warm and smooth.

Unlike several nights ago on the rooftop, which was, admittedly, the last time we kissed, we didn't draw back right away.

It wasn't until a small bell sounded— prompting the lighting of the seatbelt sign above— that we detached, breathless. The pilot began to speak, but his words seemed far away. Our classmates slowly began to awaken, filling the plane with yawns and hushed conversations. Gordo was smiling ear-to-ear and my cheeks were a flaming crimson.

"No, we're not," Gordo said to me, finally answering my question. His eyes reflected a promise of utmost devotion. "But no matter what we are, and no matter what we become— I will always be your best friend."

Our hands remained interlocked as the plane began to land, and I never felt so happy to be home.