Farah Rishi - I Hope You Get This Message

But Ian wasn’t one of the usual picks, in part because Jesse had lost the gift shop gig. Ian went to the same school as Jesse, and thanks to Jesse’s poor attendance—and his “behavior challenges,” as his principal called it, Jesse was held back the year before, which made them both juniors now. He had seen Ian around; he just didn’t realize Ian was interested in him until recently. Turns out Ian was just as good at keeping a low profile as Jesse was.

Jesse had wanted to—meant to—end it a while ago, but he hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Besides, with the extreme lack of tourism these days, Ian grew more and more… convenient.

That’s all , Jesse told himself. Convenient.

So here they were again, in the most run-down part of Roswell, in the middle of the night, flat desert spread around them both like a musty hotel blanket. A seemingly normal night, even if the wood fence behind them was covered in graffiti depicting green aliens in sombreros.

Except that it wasn’t like Ian to leave a trace on him, and he knew damn well how Jesse felt about anyone staking a claim on him. Claims meant emotional investments. And investments meant living up to someone’s expectations.

And expectations would only disappoint.

Jesse knew. He’d disappointed enough already.

“I have to tell you somethin’.” Ian spoke gently. His accent was more intense tonight, which meant one of two things: (1) Ian was angry, or (2) Ian was nervous. Either way, it wasn’t a good sign, and it put Jesse on edge. “There’s—there’s been a change of plans.”

Jesse knew that tone of voice. He knew plans , and how they changed . His throat tightened. “Spit it out.”

“We’re leavin’.” Ian sighed. “Tomorrow. I’m leavin’ tomorrow.”

A flare of pain shot through Jesse’s chest, but he immediately flashed his trademark cover-up smile. “Oh. Good for you, man.”

“We’re headin’ to my grandpop’s place in Nashville. I mean, I can’t blame them. Roswell’s a hellhole, and it’s only getting worse. My dad’s shop hasn’t had a car come in for weeks.” He brushed a clump of sweaty bronze strands off his forehead. “Blame NASA, I guess.”

It had been three months since NASA and some other science-y, alien-seeking organizations had supposedly discovered a nearby planet they called Kepler that could sustain life—that did sustain life. Two weeks since scientists supposedly intercepted an encoded radio message from the planet itself. The bunch of static they picked up was apparently more than just, well, static. What it meant was anyone’s guess.

But it didn’t matter if NASA hadn’t yet figured out how to decode the message, if it even was that. It didn’t matter that the whole story was probably cooked up bullshit, more government distraction tactics. All anyone ever wanted to talk about now was real aliens. Not the big-headed stuffed ones you could win at Close Encounters if you had enough tickets, back in its heyday, or the cardboard cutout you could take a picture with inside Pluto’s Diner, where Jesse’s mom worked. Fake aliens weren’t all that exciting anymore, hadn’t been for decades, and it wasn’t long before tourists, as few as there were, stopped showing up. Even Roswell’s small local population had begun to dwindle to near-ghost-town numbers. Jesse’s mom had called it the end of Roswell as they knew it—a total exaggeration, Jesse had thought at the time.

Now he was changing his mind.

Jesse shrugged. “No need to explain yourself to me. Your life is none of my business.” The words fell from his mouth faster than he could stuff them back in. His counselor would shake her head if she could hear him. He’d just seen her yesterday for their weekly at La Familia Crisis Center, and the sound of her featherlight voice was still fresh in his mind. Only five seconds of thought stand between you and a crap-ton of regret , she’d say. Too late, though.

“None of your—?” Ian’s fists curled. For a moment, Ian stared at Jesse, as though searching for something. Then he shook his head. “Ya know, I really liked you.”

Jesse’s skin prickled. He’d heard the same words come from Joey, from Ryan, from all the others who tried to stop him from pulling away from their lives. But the worst part about all this was that this time, it was Ian who was leaving.

Jesse should have broken things off weeks ago, when he’d first had the thought that maybe he would meet Ian’s folks and stay for dinner, maybe he would hang around Mr. Keller’s auto shop.

He’d been letting himself get too close.

“Yeah, sure. What we had was fun, and now what we had is over ,” Jesse said. And why had Ian thought it was a good idea to hook up one last time before dropping this news? Now Jesse just felt stupid. He pulled his leather motorcycle jacket—the one with the ugly crow patch on the front—closer around him. It was too big for him, but the extra leather felt good—protective, somehow. It’s why he always kept his clothes on during every hookup. Most of them, anyway. “It’s better this way,” he said, forcing a laugh. “Trust me.”

Ian was quiet for a while. He looked down and licked his dry lips. “It’s funny,” he finally said, in a way that wasn’t funny at all. “I knew what people said about you, but I didn’t care. I didn’t believe ’em.”

Jesse didn’t need to ask what he meant. People were always running their mouths about him at school—whispering that he was white trash, that he was a thief, that he was a piece of shit. It wasn’t even being gay that was the problem. Jesse’s sexuality was like his tattered leather jacket: a part of him, nothing more. Just one of the many reasons people chose to keep their distance from Jesse, and Jesse chose to keep his distance from everybody else.

He rubbed at his wrist, at the raised scar tissue beneath his leather cuff. “Maybe you should have,” Jesse said.

“Yeah.” Ian’s voice cracked. “Yeah, maybe.”

Jesse almost said I’m sorry . And he was. The truth was that every fiber in his body screamed, Please don’t leave me behind.

But what was the point? In the end, all he could muster was an icy “See you around.”

Ian managed a laugh that sounded like he was choking. “I doubt it.”

There was nothing more to say. Jesse could feel the weight of Ian’s gaze on his back, the heaviness of Ian’s anger and pity. He took a deep breath, ignoring the twisting in his stomach. He would not turn around.

Ian would go to Nashville and forget all about Roswell and Close Encounters and the nights they’d spent touching each other under its fluorescent radiance. He’d forget all about Jesse.

And Jesse would stay here. Jesse would always stay here.

Above him, the stars were winking. Gloating, maybe.

Or maybe they felt sorry for him, too.

1. Actually go to a party

2. Sneak out (sorry, Mom!)

3. KISS JAKE OWENS!!!

One minute, Cate was straining over the pounding music to explain the difference between “literally” and “metaphorically,” and the next, Jake Owens was holding her face between his sticky hands, pressing his beer-soaked lips to hers.

She stiffened in surprise. She was kissing Jake Owens. She was kissing Jake Freaking Owens. She’d had a crush on Jake forever. The guy had bright green eyes speckled with gold, played ice hockey (and had the body to prove it), and had those low eyebrows that gave him an expression remarkably like an adorable, sad puppy in an SPCA commercial. But all she could think was that his mouth tasted sour. Before she knew what she was doing, she put her hands on his chest and pushed.