Our fun continued throughout the rest of the chemistry course.

It wasn't entirely my work either. Flare turned out to be a physical learner. Unlike the theoretical courses of yesteryear, she adapted well to hands-on chemistry. She had a deftness in her hands and excelled in lab techniques.

Then, another crossroad reared its ugly head.

I first noticed it during our titration experiment. The usually bright Flare worked the burette with unusual lethargy.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Ehhh."

I turned away from the readings. "Sick? Don't tell me you ingested something."

"No." Flare forced a grin. "It's nothing like that."

I frowned. In truth, she had been dejected for a few days and I had only now brought it up. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not at the moment."

I nudged her on the shoulder. "Don't forget how you always listen to my problems. I'm all ears."

There was a moment of silence until she returned to our work. The phenolphthalein turned a vibrant pink and we were occupied with the rest of the experiment.

I went home with mixed feelings.

The year was coming to an end and Christmas was fast approaching. The skies were ashen on the ride home, and snowfall broke as I cozied up to work through some math problems. A single text changed all that.

At the usual place – F.

I booked it through the knee-deep banks and found Flare sliding across Morson's frozen Creek.

She beckoned me onto the moonlit ice. I met her where the creek widened and we half-skated, half-slid. Our embrace drew us astray and we veered into a snowbank.

The collision knocked the air out of my lungs, and I found Flare on top of me. "What are w—"

She hushed me with an index across the lips.

"But Flare..."

Her arms were on my shoulders, pinning me into the snow. "Just relax."

"Flar—"

She pressed down and ran her lips across mine.

I remember it clearly: the chill of exposed lip on lip, her fatal scent that enveloped me. I had never been more stunned than on that December night.

Flare retreated and her eyes seemed to glow in an otherwise monochrome winter. "Orson..."

It was perfect, so damn perfect—and all the while, grossly uncomfortable. Caught between the crossroad of passion and reason, I couldn't help but cover my face and cry out. "Flare, what the hell are you doing!"

"O-O-rsss-on." Her eyes began to moisten.

No, that wasn't right—they had been wet since the beginning.

Flare tried to approach for another kiss, but I shoved her off. She collapsed into the snow beside me and balled up, whimpering.

I stared her down. "What happened, Flare?" I demanded.

She lay there and her red hair stood out in the gently falling snowflakes.

"You are my shoulder; let me be yours."

Flare finally spoke.

It turned out that her father had been promoted. He was an engineer with Hydro One who serviced Fitzroy, Dunrobin, and much of the Kanata region. Fitzroy Harbor often flooded in the spring and someone up high must have noticed Martin Andelion's consistent success.

In short, Flare would be moving at year's end... To Toronto, some four hundred kilometres away.

I had no words.

Flare was just as conflicted. "I, I-I, d-did not know. Kn-ow what to say."

I remember that confusion turned to sudden rage.

Things had been going so well. I was still performing in school, and I had finally found a place. I had friends, enjoyed chemistry class, and was mustering the courage to confess.

And then... and then... This.

Flare was in the snow, head sideways, gaze averted.

For a moment, my rage came upon her. It was her damn fault, wasn't it? Why didn't she just speak up, say something about the move? My fist came rose, but my hatred was soon deflected.

No, it wasn't her fault. I ground my teeth so hard they could have chipped.

Seething for another target, my spear point bore down on Martin Andelion. It was his fault after all. He was the one who had to move, who had to get that promotion.

"O-Orson."

I refocused on her, and I realized my idiocy. Had I really wished misfortune upon her father?

This moment was a crossroad, a moment that would build my future. Who did I want to be? Was that the man I wanted to be, resentful towards the innocent?

"Orson..." Flare did not meet my gaze.

Two weeks...

It really hit me that I would only have two weeks. That timeline was set in stone, and I could spend it cursing the honest worker or making the greatest memories of my youth.

"Flare."

She slowly turned.

"Let's make these next two weeks the best we've ever had."

"Whatever you want." Tears still ran down her cheek, but her eyes were closed, and lips, parted.

My heart thrummed, though it was promptly stabilized by rationale. I swooped Flare into a great bear hug and swept her from the snow.

"Ahhh!"

I stood her upright and placed her at arm's length. "Never again."

"What do yo—"

"The Flare I know is strong: she tackles challenges head-on, she knows what she wants, has the conviction to see it to an end, and will never let down a friend." I squeezed her shoulders." Promise me. Be true to yourself."

Flare's breath was visible in the cold air as she coughed in acknowledgement.

I nodded back.

We stood there exchanging our stares. It must have been a whole minute of awkward staring in the cold winter winds, and it was so prolonged we found smiles creeping up our faces.

It felt so ridiculous that laughter followed.

"I had thought for sure you'd make a move. Am I really so unattractive?" Flare teased.

That made my howls escalate. "Flare, if I were a little less careful, you'd be half-naked by now."

"What are you..." Flare cheeks became somehow rosier. "Saying?"

I leaned closer, not willing to be the only one teased. "I'm saying that..." I mouthed the next three words.

Flare's eyes widened, as bright as a burning calcium ion.

I gave her no time to recover. "See you tomorrow!" I said, taking off.

"Wait! Wait! Orson, wait!"

However, I didn't even look back. I pushed through the deep snow like a plow—I had to make plans, I had to make this year special.

School ended three days later. It went flawlessly, with Flare back to her usual self, and we handed in the titration assignment with Elrod's seal of approval.

We then began a week and a half of freedom. When other students went on vacations across the tropics, Flare and I drifted a few hundred meters down the street.

I remember it was cold that year, and the snowfall was heavy. The first day was spent clearing the campsite. From the snow, we constructed a fortress of solitude, walls two meters tall and twice as thick. At its center, a bonfire came to life.

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Into flame, we roasted entire packs of hot dogs and sacrificed miniature snowmen, laughing like maniacs the whole time. At night, we retreated to quinzhees we had dug into the snowbanks—which had once collapsed when we tried to light a fire within.

Winter vacation flew past, and December 29th arrived. It would be a normal day for anyone but ourselves. My plan began at dusk that day.

"Are you ready?" Flare asked.

"Final preparations," I called from within the snow fort's walls.

"What is it even?"

"It's a surprise!" I finished and left the fort.

"Ready?" Flare was wearing a peacoat that compliment her crimson locks. It was perhaps thin for the weather, but she had insisted on something nice for the occasion.

We entered the fort where I had lain out empty plastic bottles, a pile of shredded aluminum foil and a jar containing a white powder. Across the clearing, papers and textbooks were piled up.

Flare tilted her head. "What's this?" She approached the stationery. "Is this why you wanted my old notes?"

I nodded. The pile of papers were the notes Flare and I had taken for the past two years.

"And what's this?" Flare pointed to the other items.

"Well, I wanted to end it with a bang."

Flare smiled at that.

We began by melting some snow over the bonfire. One cup water to one tablespoon of powder, we mixed.

"Sodium Hydroxide?" Flare asked after some thought.

"Exactly."

We then added the lye water into a plastic bottle which we had previously filled with aluminum shreds. It reacted immediately, heating up and foaming.

"Cap it." I urged.

Flare twisted the cap onto the bottle. It bulged under the formation of gas but soon held fast. I had her hold the bottle as I lit a match and set it beside the papers.

I returned to her side. "Throw it."

Flare ran her hands over the bottle which must have been warm despite her gloves. "Is this what I think it is?"

"To be honest, I can never tell what's going on in that mind of yours."

Flare smiled.

I mirrored the grin. "Go ahead."

Flare drew back her arm and threw with all her might. Her red hair cascaded with the motion, dancing in the air.

The flames replied in kind.

The bottle traced a parabolic path and crashed beside the match. The plastic failed, releasing the gas within—hydrogen gas.

The whole contraption deflagrated, rising into a fireball five meters high. Within its radius, everything caught ablaze, our schoolwork included. There was nothing like it, greedily eating through all in its path.

And it was strangely cathartic, watching it burn—watching the source of prior hardship rise up in smoke.

That was even truer when I looked to my right, to Flare who was alight with elation. Her euphoria only heightened as we took turns lobbing the rest of the devices.

By the time we reached the final bottle, the papers had become a smouldering mess. I handed Flare the last one which she accepted with trembling fingers. Then, she launched it heavenwards.

Perhaps she had been too excited because her aim was wide.

"Oh shoot."

It landed atop her tent and exploded. Flare and I rushed to extinguish the fire, but the damage had already been done, ravaging the greater half of the fabric.

Flare bit down. "Sorry, that's my bad."

Night soon bore down and with it, came unusual cold. Winds buffeted the fort and forced us to huddle by the fire. Eventually, it was time to go to bed and we knew we should be heading back home. The chill was too great to sleep in a quinzhee, and Flare's tent was in ashes.

"I'll see you off in the morning," I told Flare as she gathered the remains of her tent.

"Are you heading off too?"

"I plan to. Just want to clean up and take a moment."

Flare nodded. She helped me gather the debris and extinguish the bonfire. Soon, we were left in the forest's silence and the moonlight's kiss.

"Goodnight," I told her.

"Goodnight." Flare's teeth shone through the night. "And thank you for everything."

Without a further word, she retired, treading the snowbanks that led to Canon Smith. Her figure of black and red was so alluring that I had to give up the act.

I cupped my hands and shouted. "You know—"

Flare turned back.

"—I suppose I can spare some room in my tent!"

Although we were separated by fifty meters of howling gales, I could hear her laughing.

I remember it was awfully cold that night. My tent was a one-man, cold-weather tent that was hard-pressed against the winds. The two of us crowded into the tiny thing and did our best to keep warm.

There was a simple solution.

We just needed to light a fire. The bonfire was out, we had already thrown the last bottle—and we'd be damned if we tried to light a campfire inside a tent.

But well...

It was warm, and also really awkward.

Firstly, we had two sleeping bags, neither of which would fit two. In the narrow confines, we stripped down to undergarments and formed a ball of sleeping bags and clothing.

Laid nearly bare, we locked eyes. I remember it as a scene of reveries. It was her curvaceous figure, her skin made of the finest porcelain, and her nigh predatory smirk.

Then came the next problem: we were inexperienced teenagers who didn't know the first thing about adulthood. Flare was pressed mere centimetres from me, but I had no idea what to do. Flare must have felt the same.

When she approached for a kiss, it was with poor balance.

"Sorry!"

"All good."

Flare approached from the side the next time and hesitated. She froze and ultimately retreated. "What am I supposed to do?"

My heart had been beating like an overheating engine, and her words make me sputter.

"Don't laugh." Flare pouted. "I'm serious."

"Didn't you seduce me the other day?"

Flare cheeks blazed in red. "Then you tell me, what did I do so well?"

I couldn't answer that question for the life of me: it was like trying to explain magic.

Flare laughed and it was my turn to flush. She rested her cheek against mine. "Well, it looks like we'll have to figure that out."

It took a while, but there's a damn good reason I could never forget that moment.

It started when we rolled across the tent. I found Flare straddling me, bare-breasted and silhouetted against lamplight. My hand ran along the small of her back, appreciating her every shudder and moan. I traced around the scapula and latched onto where neck met hair.

Flare came down like a meteor.

With that, I was engulfed. It was her everything: her hair like the reddest veil, her aroma like the sweetest perfume, her lips like—like the deadliest invader. They pushed their way into my deepest crevices and tore them asunder.

Gasping, I countered, biting a trail up her neck. She yelped in pleasure when I arrived at her ear.

Flare paused, heat in the red of her eyes. "I'll get you back for that."

"Do it."

Play became battle, cold war became hot, and the subtle became overt. We collided, warm flesh on warm flesh. I remember the push of twin mounds against my chest and her thighs which enwrapped mine. I remember the eternal eye contact even as Flare's fingers ventured southwards.

Flare plunged somehow deeper, and her spark lit me aflame. It was a very warm night indeed.

And when all was done, we lay side by side, exultant and uncertain. We realized how much of a leap we had taken.

"Was that..." Flare lay her head across my chest. "Perhaps too fast?"

"Undoubtedly."

But we realized something else.

"Then why don't I feel any regret?" Flare mused.

I couldn't answer that question. I was equally afflicted.

We fell asleep that night, embraced by a mountain of puff and warmed by the union of kindred souls.

And in the morning, Flare departed with the rising sun. She left me with two unforgettable words.

After Graduation.

I won't lie. I was devastated.

I moped and cried and let it all out. Flare and I still kept in touch, with the nightly exchange of texts and occasional video calls, but it just wasn't the same. The rest of the winter break and much of the second semester were like that. It even impacted classes that I should have completed without much thought.

I eventually got over it though it took longer than I'd care to admit. A person cannot be perpetually depressed, and there was mounting pressure to perform.

I remember the message that was drilled into my head, that I would soon be an adult, that this was a pivotal moment in life, that the path was to success was paved here. It was perhaps a harsh message, but I knew that my parents only wanted the best for me.

I suppressed my heartache and entered twelfth grade headfirst.

Wherever possible, classes were AP—English, Functions, Calculus, Physics, Biology, Chemistry. For each, the goal was not success, but perfection. Moreover, I registered in every coding or science or math competition that I could.

Then, there were extracurriculars and volunteering. I always had a lean build with no particular affinity for sport, but I played badminton and ran track semi-competitively. My mother found volunteering opportunities with Byward Clinic and the City of Ottawa; I raised diabetes awareness and organized municipal events.

It was one of the busiest times of my life, with late hours and constant stress.

Many might have found it suffocating, but like most things, I neither liked nor hated it. If anything, it was numbing. It was good to be busy, to have a simple goal to work towards, without the complexity of teenaged emotion.

I wasn't alone either. With Ron and Jason, I soldiered through.

Under parental scrutiny, we lost most of the laxness of previous years, fighting for those last few percentage points. We still joked and laughed, but our relationship became centred around working together through schoolwork.

All for that oh-so-important university admission.

Of course, this also meant applications, lots of applications.

I was allowed freedom in my major—given that my choice could be considered "successful"— and I settled on computing.

I applied to the big Canadian schools: UoT, Waterloo, and to what must have been every Ivy League and half the big names down south. I remember heading to downtown Ottawa on a brisk Saturday morning with Ron. We took our SATs in a musty university classroom, passing with near-perfect scores.

Everything was smooth until the essays.

The blank page was an impasse. I knew how to write an essay, and my writing was passable. I just need a subject, some damn thing to impress the admissions officer.

"What do people write about?" I asked Jason.

"Just something fun they've done. You know, that shows interest or character."

I stared him down and didn't know what to make of his words.

"I dunno, man. I just wrote about that game I made."

I was forced to acknowledge it then. Jason and I treated university completely differently, I had always thought of us as similar, united by common hardship, but Jason actually liked his work, and his parents spurred him on.

Right then, I realized that he would be twice the programmer I would ever be.

And that made me realize my overwhelming indifference. Barring filial duty and my teenage pride, I couldn't care less for the outcome of the applications.

This was reflected in the results. Jason went to his dream school; Ron accepted a generous offer—and I was left with a handful of acceptance letters.

My parents took it well. Their pressure had always been strong but loving. They knew I had reached my capabilities, and not for lack of effort. So, from the acceptances, I was given free choice.

I recalled staring at the outdated OUAC website on a May evening. As little as I felt towards each option, I knew that I had better take it seriously. I was deep in consideration until a familiar chime took me away.

I stared down at my phone, cracked a smile, and—without an ounce of hesitation—accepted the offer to the University of Toronto.

The rest of the year flew by.

It wasn't quite like the other students. Many high schoolers dropped their guard after admissions. All they need to do was maintain a minimum grade; might as well enjoy themselves.

Our trio still ran at full steam. We had AP exams, which were fairly trivial when graded on a 1-5 scale. But on top of that, we prepared for university courses, learning much of undergraduate calculus, data structures, and algorithms.

Graduation came soon enough. It was all too similar to middle school.

Admittedly, the students were better dressed and the whole thing had adopted an even greater ceremony. The rows of the Kanata auditorium were packed with parents whose applause grew more and more forced as the whole thing dragged on.

Well, there was something that had changed.

Again, I was called last, but when I stood on the stage, I was more tired than nervous. There was a polite smattering of claps as I received a silver medal and some nondescript awards.

Summer came and I retreated to the confines of the study. My parents weren't quite as forceful, but there was still a certain expectation. I would sit by the window gazing at the trees which harboured the clearing.

So strong was my longing, that I almost didn't believe who appeared at June's closure.

"Orson, can you get the door?"

I went down the stairs, wondering if it was a courier or a salesman. Instead, behind the mottled glass of the door was an attractive figure in a pink sundress. I nearly kicked down the door.

Flare jumped back in surprise. "Hullo?"

"Flare... What are you doing here?" I glimpsed around her to see her father backing out of the driveway, a mad wink in his eye.

"Didn't I say I'd come?" Flare asked.

"Err... did you?" It had never been explicit, but yes, she had. I was the salaryman who had forgotten about payday.

Flare smirked. "Aren't you glad to see me?"

"Well... I-I.,"

Flare was even prettier than before. Her reds had somehow intensified, and I felt as if I gazed upon the rising sun, so bright it hurt.

But a rising sun does not kiss you on the lips.

"How about now?"

I heard my mother squeal from the den, and I blushed furiously.

Flare paid my mother no mind. She simply leaned forward, hands behind her back. "Let's go on an adventure."