When Ash awoke the next morning, she and Sam were holding hands. As a child, she was prone to clutching something in her sleep. Usually, it was Mr. Dunderhead, an overstuffed, multicolored caterpillar she took everywhere with her. And if she was really scared, she’d crawl into bed with her parents and hold their hands.

She was too big to crawl into her dad’s bed, and Mr. Dunderhead fell apart years ago. A mountain of pillows was all she had on her bed now. During nights when she was scared or sad, it was one of these she wrapped her whole body around, squeezing all comfort and support she could from it. It wasn’t nearly as comforting as Mr. Dunderhead or being tucked warmly in her parent’s bed, but it usually worked.

Last night, Sam scooted the beanbag so he could be close by. Sometime in the night she must have reached down and grabbed his hand.

Ash raked the hair out of her face that came loose from her ponytail while she slept. Sam was one of those gross people who enjoyed getting up in the morning, so she was surprised he was still snoring quietly. Sleeping in the beanbag always made him snore, probably something to do with the awkward angle. A loud, guttering snort issued from his open mouth, and she buried her face into a pillow so he couldn’t hear her laughing.

The blanket he started the night with lay crumpled in a heap on the floor. He was a hot sleeper, so he rarely ended the night with anything more than a sheet. His arms and legs sprawled off the beanbag like someone poured him onto it, wearing nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms he kept at her place. They’d slept at each other’s houses so often each of them had spare clothes for the occasion, usually older stuff they didn’t wear routinely.

He looks like such a doofus when he sleeps. She had to fight to keep in the laughter. His hair stuck up at all angles, and his mouth gaped like a fish. He looked like a baby bird waiting for its mama to feed it. All resemblance to a baby bird stopped there, though. He wasn’t scrawny at all and clearly never skipped leg day. Sam had a deceptively attractive body. He didn’t flaunt it like most guys would, but he worked hard to maintain it.

He doesn’t make a big deal about anything, she thought, shaking her head at her friend’s hopelessness. Especially if it means drawing attention to himself. It was too bad he didn’t try harder to be noticed. Some girl out there didn’t know what she was missing underneath all that denim and flannel. Absently, her eyes lingered on Sam’s sleeping form. His chest, the six-pack abs, the heart-bedecked pajamas that were a year too small for him.

“Oh god,” she half-exclaimed and half-laughed, clamping her eyes closed and turning away. She knew it was normal—healthy even—for guys to get morning wood, but Sam’s old pair of pajamas were a little too tight and threadbare to hide what he had going on down there.

His snore cut off mid-crescendo, grunting when the pillow she chucked took him squarely between the legs. “Oof! Wha—huh?” She hadn’t meant to hit him there, but it was like trying not to stare at bright headlights when you’re driving in the dark. Her gaze just kept gravitating in that direction…

She rolled off the other side of the bed and stretched, pretending like she’d just woken up. He grunted, then she turned to him when she heard him pull the blanket up.

“Good morning!”

“Why are you throwing pillows at me?”

“It must have fallen off the bed when I rolled over.”

He gave her a look that said he didn’t believe her, but he didn’t press.

“Hungry?”

“I could eat. Once my balls descend from my stomach, that is.”

Ash slipped on a thick pair of socks and a baggy sweater. “Why do guys always talk about their balls?”

Sam levered himself out of the sunken recesses of the beanbag chair. The blanket fell, and he scrambled to catch it. She pretended not to notice.

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“The better question is, why are girls always hitting us in the balls?”

“Just giving you an opportunity to talk about your favorite subject, I guess.”

Sam searched the floor for his discarded clothes. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” He walked sideways toward the door like he was trying to hide something from her.

“I’ll meet you downstairs.” When the bathroom door closed, she figured it was safe to venture out. She hoped to catch a whiff of something delicious coming from the kitchen, but she just smelled the lingering scent of black coffee. Wherever her dad went this morning, he’d left early.

Barkley yipped and bounded toward her from his favorite perch on the back of the couch. The pup usually woke when her dad did, but once he got his breakfast, he was happy to chill and wait for her to wake up. A few minutes later, Sam came down the stairs, looking much more comfortable in yesterday’s clothes.

“Back to normal?” she asked before she could process what she was saying. She buried her head in the pantry to hide her mortified blush. Jesus, Ash, get your head out of the gutter!

“Uh, yeah. What’s for breakfast?” His tone was hesitant, clearly picking up on the weird phrasing of her question.

“I was hoping Dad made something, but it looks like he had an early job.”

“He said something about checking out a leaky pipe for my mom. He probably went to my house.”

“Checking her pipes, eh?” Ash bobbed her eyebrows. After Sam’s dad and Ash’s mom ran off together, they often joked that their remaining parents would get married and they’d all be one happy family again.

“Gross.” Sam exaggerated a shudder. “That’d be weird.”

“What’s weird about it?”

Sam’s mouth opened a couple times before answering. “You know…old people sex.” He pantomimed another whole-body shudder, then picked up the newspaper her dad left on the table.

She narrowed her eyes. Even with everything going on—Randy going to Atlantic City for Spring Break and Judy’s accident—she had noticed that Sam was being weird.

Weirder than normal, that is. He had been all week. Once she noticed something, Ash wasn’t the type to beat around the bush. She opened her mouth to demand he tell her what was up but shut it with an audible click.

An image of this morning prowled through her mind. Sam in his too-small pajamas, covering himself with the blanket so she wouldn’t see his…condition.

He’s probably just embarrassed. She would be, too, if she were in his position. Actually, that was a lie. It was a good thing she didn’t have a dick ’cause she’d show it to literally everyone. She’d be sending dick pics like Oprah gave out mid-sized sedans. She laughed at the thought of the entertainment mogul blasting out dick pics, causing Sam to glance up from the paper.

“Sorry, don’t mind me. Just losing my mind.” She tossed hash brown patties into the oven and pulled out eggs and leftover bacon from the fridge. Sam didn’t volunteer to help cook, but that was a good thing. The kid was good at just about everything he put his mind to, but cooking eluded him. The best he could do was toss a frozen pizza in the oven. From behind her, she heard the newspaper crinkle and fold.

A moment later, his hesitant voice broke the silence. “If someone liked someone, should they tell them?”

It was a good thing she wasn’t looking at him otherwise he’d see her massive eye roll. “I hate to break it to you, but at this point I think the entire school knows you've got the hots for Veronica. Even so, you should definitely tell her!" She took her attention away from the bubbling scrambled eggs long enough to catch the flush on his cheeks. She’d been down this road too many times with Sam, so she didn’t get her hopes up that he’d actually do anything about it.

“I didn’t say anything about Veronica.”

“Mm-hmm.”

He ignored her. “And what if the person is in a relationship? Would you still tell them?”

She fought to hold back the exasperated sigh. Why was he being so hedgy? They’d told each other everything since…well, since as long as she could remember.

“Not talking about stuff and keeping secrets are cheap plot devices for teen dramas. Plus, I’m pretty sure that rumor about Veronica and Fernando Alvarez isn’t true, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.” His dour expression did little to dim the beaming smile on her face. “And,” she continued, “even if it is true, at least you know she puts out.” Not that there was ever any doubt about that. She kept that thought to herself, though.

Sam fell silent, mulling over whatever moral dilemma pretzel he’d tied himself into. That boy was always making things so much more complicated than they needed to be. A few minutes later, she set two plates on the table. The hash browns were a crispy dark brown just how he liked them. Before she could take a bite, the phone rang.

There was a stunned, silent moment where they looked at each other like idiots, then it rang again.

“Is that… Is that the landline?”

“Jesus, I haven’t heard that sound in ages. I forgot we even had one.” She followed the klaxon wail of the ancient phone. “Hello?” She listened while the person on the other line spoke, then her heart dropped into her stomach. The phone fell from her hand and clattered to the floor.

“What’s—”

“My dad’s in the hospital.” Tears blurred her vision, but she heard Sam jump to his feet.

“I’ll drive.”