For once, Mom doesn't seem worried about me.

Barely five minutes after Robin dropped me off from the festival, I hear the front door open over my music. I figure I should probably come out of my room to let my mom know that I'm home early, so I take off my headphones. But before I make it off my bed, a childish giggling echoes from the living room. The sound puzzles me. I can't remember the last time I heard my mom laugh like that. Maybe she's drunk, I speculate, but that idea doesn't seem right. Mom has never liked alcohol much, especially since it fueled a lot of her fights with Dad.

Well, she did say she was going out with Hopper tonight...

A sly murmur from the police chief in question makes the hair on my neck stand on end. I can't distinguish what he's saying, but his tone is unmistakable. It suddenly occurs to me that alcohol isn't the only thing that could make someone laugh like that. Against my better judgement, I listen for another second...and I come to the conclusion that they're definitely making out.

Oh, hell no!

I dart for my headphones like my life depends on it. As Freddie Mercury saves me with some high notes, I exhale slowly. Then I bury my face in a pillow for extra protection. The urge to yell into it fades as quickly as it comes. As awkward as this situation is, I don't want to ruin their night by announcing that I'm here. But I'd also rather not test the soundproofing limits of a Walkman, and there's no way I'm listening to that. I need a better solution.

Wrapped in the wistful guitar solo of Somebody To Love, I shove the miniature cassette player in my pocket, grab a flashlight, and open my window. As I'm about to climb out, the sight of the dark forest makes me hesitate. I'm not worried for my own sake, though. I decide I'd better leave a note in case anyone comes looking for me, so I flip to a blank page in my newest sketchbook and write: Went for a walk. Be back soon. Leaving the message on my bed, I maneuver through the opening so I'm sitting on the sill. Then I drop onto the grass, turn on my flashlight, and set off into the night.

As the backyard melts into the woods, I hang my headphones around my neck. My faint music sings along to the chirping crickets, the peeping frogs, and one lonely owl. The air is warm, calm, and dotted with fireflies. It's a beautiful summer night - and nothing at all like the Upside-Down. The memory barely crosses my mind as I trek through the familiar forest, to the place that helped me survive that nightmarish week.

Castle Byers isn't much of a castle anymore, since I dismantled it and cleaned up the wreckage long before we moved to California. But once we settled down in Hawkins again, I decided to set up a memorial at the tree where it used to be. It's subtle enough that most people would miss it, especially in the dark - but I know where to look. The tree has a hollow spot that's perfect for sheltering a small battery pack from the elements. When I flip the tiny switch, the night gets a little brighter. Colorful Christmas lights with oversized bulbs are strung across the bottom half of the oak's branches, sharing their cheerful glow with their neighbors.

Feeling more relaxed already, I turn off my flashlight and recline at the base of the tree. My breathing calms as I stare at the colorful canopy and the stars beyond. There must be something magical about this place, because even without the stick fort and precious keepsakes, time seems to move slower here. It's like the lights are a barrier blocking out my worries, allowing me to just exist.

I'm not sure how long I'm lying in the grass like that, but it must be a while, because I'm half-asleep by the time I hear the distant crunch of footsteps. Fully awake now, I stand up and scan the darkness, but I can't see much past my glowing shelter. The noise is getting louder; it seems like something's deliberately moving toward me...like it's being drawn by the light.

It's probably just an animal, I tell myself, despite the icy fear prickling my skin.

What if it isn't? An anxious voice whispers. You're in the woods, at night, alone...

Yeah, and the lights aren't flickering, so shut up, I shoot back, annoyed at myself.

As I expected, the figure approaching me is no monster - but my heart doesn't calm down when I see who it is. I stare in disbelief as Jesse steps into my multicolored haven. "Hey," he begins, shifting his weight from one foot to the other - one of his nervous habits. While I'm trying to figure out what to say, he gazes at the Christmas lights, and a smile tugs at his lips. "I've never seen this place at night. I can see why you like it."

"Why are you here?"

I didn't mean to sound hostile, but Jesse grimaces. "I was worried about you," he admits. "I went to check on you, and I saw the note on the car..."

My eyes widen as I notice some new streaks of dirt on his jeans. "You didn't walk all the way here, did you?" Jesse doesn't answer, but the sheepish look on his face couldn't be clearer. Torn between concern and annoyance, I shake my head at him.

"It wasn't that far," he defends himself.

"It's almost five miles! That must've taken you over an hour!"

My dismay doesn't faze him at all. "It was a nice walk. Besides, Hawkins is a lot safer than the town I grew up in." His eyes gleam as he jokes, "Well, apart from all the monsters that supposedly come out after dark."

I sigh and mutter, "Jesse Clarke, you're an idiot."

When I say his full name, he grins like I gave him a compliment. The sweet reaction wraps me in warmth and then sucker punches me in the gut. "A stubborn idiot," he corrects me cheekily, but I feel too sick to return his smile. His cheer melts away as he winces and murmurs, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you like that. It was stupid and impulsive."

My heart is thumping so hard it hurts, but I put on a neutral tone and shrug off his apology. "It's okay. Don't worry about it."

"No, it's not okay," he insists, frowning. "It made you uncomfortable, and I don't want you to feel that way around me."

The pain in my chest is getting too sharp to ignore. Wanting to drop the subject, I pretend like I'm exasperated with him, and I snap, "Jesse, seriously, it's not a big deal. It's like you said: it was just a joke. I was being too sensitive."

My friend's expression settles somewhere between disappointed, guilty, and frustrated. "Hang on. Let's get one thing straight: I never should've said that stuff. You were clearly upset, and I brushed you off and made it out to be your fault. I'm really sorry about that; I didn't mean it at all. And I don't think you're 'too sensitive' either. I don't know if other people have called you that or what, but I really hope you don't believe it, because there's nothing wrong with wearing your heart on your sleeve. Honestly, it's one of my favorite things about you. It's what makes you so kind, and thoughtful, and real. Don't ever change that, alright?"

The sincerity in his glare is scorching. You're just seeing what you want to see, I remind myself, but I can't resist searching him for the same helpless desire that I'm struggling to hold back. To my surprise, I find a hint of fear in his troubled brown eyes. As I dissect that odd expression, Jesse puts his thumbs in his pockets and becomes very interested in the string lights over my head. I try to dismiss the pink tint in his face as a trick of the light, but the hopeless romantic in my chest isn't buying it.

A shiver races through me when Jesse meets my eyes again. Looking more sober than I've ever seen him, he states, "Also...I lied."

The weight of his words presses on my lungs. I try to breathe evenly, but my voice comes out quiet and shaky. "What do you mean?"

"I didn't kiss you as a joke," he answers, quietly but steadily, in contrast to my pounding heart. "I did it because I wanted to."

At that point, I give up on acting calm. The muddled emotions swelling in my chest are making it hard to function. As I stare at him in shock, more words pour out of his mouth. It's like a dam burst; now that he started, he can't stop.

"I didn't tell you earlier because I was afraid you wouldn't want to be around me anymore. But I had a lot of time to think while I was walking over here, and I decided that I don't want to hide anything from you anymore."

"Jesse," I try to cut in, but he keeps going:

"You're my best friend, but I don't just want to be your friend. I like you a lot more than that." Blushing and looking away, he continues, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you until now. Tonight would've gone a lot differently if I had just been up front with you in the first place." He sighs and runs a hand through his hair - another nervous habit. "It's just...we were having so much fun, and you seemed really happy. I guess I got caught up in the moment...but I wasn't sure how to gauge your reaction. I figured you hated it, so I pretended like it was nothing. But then I realized that maybe you weren't upset because I kissed you; maybe you were upset about the way I did it...or because I said I didn't mean it."

Jesse pauses to give me a chance to respond, but I'm too overwhelmed to speak, and I doubt he can glean much from my dazed expression. His confidence seems to waver as he continues, "And maybe I'm way off the mark. Maybe you don't feel that way about me, or you're not sure how to feel, or you do like me but you don't want to date me right now - and that's okay. I'm not trying to pressure you or anything. I just wanted you to know, because hiding it really sucks, and I don't think it's fair to keep this from you when I tell you everything else."

Gaining some courage, I take a step closer to him, but he doesn't seem to notice. He's not looking at me when he adds, "And if you don't want to be friends anymore, that's okay too. I get it. It would be hard to stay just friends with someone when you know they're in love with you."

I freeze again, startled. His phrasing makes something short-circuit in my brain. The fluttering, tingling feeling that erupted in my stomach when he first starting talking is swarming through the rest of me now.

Looking horror-struck, Jesse presses his lips together. But the silence only lasts for a second, because he overcorrects. As his rambling gets more frantic, I start to smile. His adorable embarrassment reminds me of the day we first met.

"I'm not saying that's definitely what I'm feeling! But it's different than when I've had crushes on people. I mean, I think you're amazing, and you're my favorite person ever, so..." He peters out and then takes a deep breath. "Look, I don't know what it is exactly - but I really like you, and I thought you might feel the same about me." Before I can answer, he stammers, "B-but if you don't, a-and you're still mad at me, or...or you don't want to hang out with me anymore, I swear I'll leave you alone. If you want, I'll go get my sketchbook out of your room right now, and I'll tear up that photo, and you'll never have to-"

"Jesse!"

My interjection makes him flinch. His response comes out breathless and nervous: "Yeah?"

Savoring the moment, I drink in his disheveled blond hair, the hopeful glimmer in his almond-colored eyes, and the way he's not even trying to hide his fidgeting. Then I spare him with four simple words: "I like you too."

When he registers my genuine happiness, all the tension leaves him, and the grin he gives me could melt a glacier. Then he pauses to furrow his brows. "Just to be clear, you mean...more than a friend, right? Like a boyfriend?" He stiffens like he's surprised by his own word choice. "Um, not that we have to get into titles yet..."

For some reason, that idea rattles me. Even though it's a common term, I've never associated that word with my feelings for Jesse. It just doesn't seem to fit for people like us - but why shouldn't I call someone my boyfriend? Wouldn't that make the most sense? Powering through my nerves, I answer shyly, "Something like that, yeah."

My expression seems to concern him. "Are you sure?" He checks.

I'm positive, but I don't tell him in words. Instead, I do the first thing that comes to mind: I lean in and kiss him on the cheek. The bold decision takes a wrecking ball to my insecurities. Fiery warmth rushes from my chest all the way to my fingertips, and the butterflies in my gut have a celebration. For the split second that my lips are on his skin, I feel like I'm levitating. As I pull away, Jesse gapes at me in awe. I raise my eyebrows in a silent question: Is that clear enough for you?

His grin comes back in full force. "Cool," he decides.

"Cool," I echo, grinning again.

After we appreciate each other for a moment, Jesse's grin flickers, and he asks tentatively, "So...now what?"

The charged question sends heat rushing to my face. I can't help but imagine us staying out here until the sun comes up, just enjoying each other's company...whatever that would entail. Shooing away the tempting idea, I answer carefully, "I don't want to rush into anything."

"Yeah, of course," Jesse agrees at once. With a wry face, he adds, "We should probably keep things quiet at first. I don't think our friends would mind, but I'm not sure how our parents would react."

The happiness in my gut turns a little sour as I ponder that. My dad would say 'I told you so' and go on ignoring me - not that I really care what he thinks. Mom would probably be okay with it, but she's not the most discreet person in the world, and it would give her another reason to worry about me. And I have no clue how Hopper would feel about it. But I know Jonathan's on my side, and I doubt El would be against it.

"It's probably best if we don't act any different around them, at least for now," I determine.

Jesse frowns at my defeated expression. Then he pulls something out of his pocket. My heart flutters when I realize it's the photo strip from the festival. "We'd better keep these somewhere safe," he murmurs, smiling at the pictures. "It's a bummer. They turned out really nice."

I stand next to him to get a better look. A few hours ago, seeing the last image made me want to cry and tear the whole strip in half. Now, all I can do is grin - and not just at the one where Jesse is kissing me. The others are pretty great too, with our goofy faces and outfits.

"We look good together," I observe.

"Yeah, we do," Jesse confirms, mirroring my smile.

His childlike joy takes me back to the day we met. Even then, I think I knew I wanted to be more than his friend. I guess I figured that I could ignore my feelings until they went away, since that's what I did with Mike. But now I won't have to hide anymore - at least not around Jesse. And maybe someday soon, I'll tell everyone else, starting with my family. Because if there's one thing I've learned from Jesse, it's that I could use some more transparency in my life. Plus, I've been told it looks good on me.

Jesse must be reading my mind, because he nudges my shoulder and mentions, "I'm really glad you brought colored pencils to school that day."

His playful comment brings to mind an image of a timid-looking blond boy holding an aquamarine pencil. As I take note of all the ways he's changed over the past eight months, I wonder how much I've changed for the better because of him. The thought makes me feel immensely grateful that our paths crossed. I can hardly remember what my life was like before Jesse came into it - and honestly, I don't want to. I've spent enough time dwelling on the past; I'd rather look to what's ahead.

And if the delight in those warm eyes is any indication of what my future holds, I don't think I'll be disappointed.