L. Miranda: ... you have to understand that. It will always be harder for me."

"Not everything is that complicated, Ari."

"Not everything is as simple as you think it is."

He was about to say something, so I just kissed him. To shut him up, I think. But also because I liked kissing him.

He smiled. "You finally figured out a way to win an argument with me."

"Yup," I said.

"It'll work for a while," he said.

"We don't always have to agree," I said.

"That's true."

"I'm glad you're not like me, Dante. If you were like me, I wouldn't love you."

"Did you say you love me?" He was laughing.

"Cut it out."

"Cut what out?" he said. And then he kissed me. "You taste like the rain," he said.

"I love the rain more than anything."

"I know. I want to be the rain."

"You are the rain, Dante." And I wanted to say you're the rain and you're the desert and you're the eraser that's making the word loneliness disappear. But it was too much to say and I would always be the guy that would say too little and Dante was the kind of guy who would always say too much.

Three

We didn't say anything on the drive back home.

Dante was quiet. Maybe too quiet. He, who was always so full of words, who knew what to say and how to say it without being afraid. And then the thought came to me that maybe Dante had always been afraid, just like me. It was as if we had both walked into a room together and we didn't know what to do in that room. Or maybe, or maybe, or maybe. I just couldn't stop thinking about things. I wondered if there would ever come a time when I would stop thinking about things.

And then I heard Dante's voice: "I wish I were a girl."

I just looked at Dante. "What? Wanting to be a girl is serious business. You really wish you were a girl?"

"No. I mean, I like being a guy. I mean, I like having a penis."

"I like having one too."

And then he said, "But, at least, if I were a girl, then we could get married and, you know ...

""That's not ever going to happen."

"I know, Ari."

"Don't be sad."

"I won't be."

But I knew he would be.

And then I put on the radio and Dante started singing with Eric Clapton and he whispered that My Father's Eyes was maybe his new favorite song. "Waiting for my prince to come," he whispered. And he smiled.

And he asked me, "Why don't you ever sing?"

"Singing means that you're happy."

"You're not happy?"

"Maybe only when I'm with you."

I loved when I said something that made Dante smile.

When we pulled up in front of his house, the sun was on the verge of showing its face to the new day. And that's just how it felt, like a new day. But I was thinking that maybe I would never again know, or be sure of, what the new day would bring. And I didn't want Dante to know that there was any fear living inside me at all because he might think that I didn't love him.

I would never show him that I was afraid. That's what I told myself. But I knew I couldn't keep that promise.

"I want to kiss you," he said.

"I know."

He closed his eyes. "Let's pretend we're kissing."

I smiled, then laughed as he closed his eyes.

"You're laughing at me."

"No, I'm not. I'm kissing you."

He smiled and looked at me. His eyes were filled with such hope. He jumped out of the truck and shut the door. He stuck his head through the open window. "I see a longing in you, Aristotle Mendoza."

"A longing?"

"Yes. A yearning."

"A yearning?"

He laughed. "Those words live in you. Look them up."

I watched him as he bounded up the steps. He moved with the grace of the swimmer that he was. There was no weight or worry in his step.

He turned around and waved, wearing that smile of his. I wondered if his smile would be enough.

God, let his smile be enough.

Four

I didn't think I'd ever felt this tired. I fell on my bed, but sleep didn't feel like paying me a visit.

Legs jumped up beside me and licked my face. She nudged closer when she heard the storm outside. I wondered what Legs made up in her head about thunder or if dogs even thought about things like that. But me, I was happy for the thunder. This year, such wondrous storms, the most wondrous storms I'd ever known. I must have nodded off to sleep because, when I woke, it was pouring outside.

I decided to have a cup of coffee. My mom was sitting at the kitchen table, cup of coffee in one hand, a letter in the other.

"Hi," I whispered.

"Hi," she said, that same smile on her face. "You got in late."

"Or early ...