March came in like it always did in Southern California—warm enough to fake spring, cool enough to remind you it wasn't. Johnny stood at his locker, swapping textbooks, when Paige appeared beside him. She smelled like coconut shampoo and something floral, her shoulder brushing his as she leaned in.
"You know what sucks?" she said, flipping her hair back.
"What?"
"My birthday's in two weeks and I'm still stuck being fourteen until then."
Johnny laughed. "Yeah, that's rough. Fifteen. Practically an old lady."
"Shut up." She punched his arm lightly. "You're just jealous because you've got another year before you hit the big one-eight."
"Eighteen's not a big deal." He shut his locker, turned to face her. "Fifteen though? That's huge. Too bad you're not Hispanic."
Paige blinked. "What?"
"Quinceañera," he said, drawing the word out. "Big party. Dress. Crown. Escort. The whole thing." He grinned. "You'd look good in a crown."
Her cheeks flushed, but she smiled, that slow, dangerous smile he knew too well. "You'd be my escort?"
"Obviously. Who else?"
She laughed, shaking her head, and they started walking toward first period. Her hand brushed his, and without thinking, he caught it. They'd been holding hands in the hallways for weeks now—public, claimed, real. Some of the juniors still gave him looks, but he'd stopped caring somewhere around the third week of February.
"A quinceañera would be cool," Paige said, more to herself than him. "All that dancing. The dress. The family." She glanced at him sideways. "Your mom would probably cry."
"My mom cries at everything. She cried during the finale of Cheers last week."
Paige laughed again, and the sound settled somewhere in his chest, warm and familiar.
They reached her classroom first. She stopped, turned to face him. "What are you doing for my birthday?"
"It's a surprise."
"I hate surprises."
"You love them."
She bit her lip, trying not to smile. "Fine. But it better be good."
"It will be."
She squeezed his hand once, then let go and disappeared into the room. Johnny stood there a second longer than he should have, watching the door swing shut, before heading to his own class.
---
Third period was a blur. Mr. Patterson droned about the quadratic formula, and Johnny's head drifted. He stared at the chalkboard without seeing it, his mind already three weeks ahead, spinning possibilities.
Magic Mountain last year had been good. A full day of roller coasters and corn dogs and Paige gripping his arm during the drops. But it felt small now. Like they'd outgrown it.
He wanted something else. Something that matched how things felt between them—bigger than a theme park. Bigger than a movie and pizza.
The Grand Canyon came to him like a photograph sliding into focus. He'd never been. His parents had talked about it once, a summer trip that never happened. But the image was there, burned in from a hundred postcards and TV specials: red rock stretching into forever, the sky so wide it hurt, the Colorado River a thin silver thread at the bottom.
He could picture Paige standing at the edge, the wind catching her hair, her mouth open in that way it did when she was genuinely surprised. The kind of surprise that stripped away her bravado and left her just—her.
The bell rang. He blinked, the classroom dissolving back into noise and motion.
---
At lunch, they sat at their usual table near the windows. Paige had a bag of chips and a carton of chocolate milk. Johnny had a sandwich he'd barely touched.
"You're thinking," she said, pointing a chip at him.
"I'm always thinking."
"No, you're thinking-thinking. Your forehead gets all scrunchy."
He rubbed his brow self-consciously. "I don't scrunch."
"You do. Like a little old man." She leaned forward. "What is it?"
He considered telling her. The words sat on his tongue, ready. But something held them back—the same instinct that made him want to surprise her, to hand her something she didn't see coming.
"Nothing," he said. "Just math."
She narrowed her eyes but let it go, crunching her chip. "Fine. Keep your secrets."
Marla appeared, tray in hand, sliding into the seat beside Paige. "What secrets?"
"Johnny's being mysterious about my birthday," Paige said.
"Ooh." Marla's eyes lit up. "Tell me."
"No," Johnny said.
"I'm his best friend. I should know."
"You're Paige's best friend. I'm just the boyfriend."
Marla snorted. "Boyfriend. Like that's all you are."
Paige kicked her under the table. Marla yelped, but she was grinning.
Johnny picked up his sandwich, took a bite. Chewed. The Grand Canyon was still there, waiting in his head. He'd figure out the logistics later. The drive—eight, nine hours maybe. He'd need to ask his dad about borrowing the car. Or figure out a way to make it work without asking.
He looked at Paige, laughing at something Marla said, her hand resting on the table close enough to touch.
Yeah. The Grand Canyon.
---
After school, they walked to her house. The route was familiar now—past the 7-Eleven, down the street with the cracked sidewalk, through the alley where Mrs. Chen's cat always sat on the fence. Paige's house was the pale yellow one with the bougainvillea climbing the porch.
Her mom's car wasn't in the driveway.
"She's working late," Paige said, reading his look. "We've got an hour."
An hour. The words landed somewhere warm in his chest.
Inside, the house was cool and quiet. Paige dropped her backpack by the door, kicked off her shoes, and padded into the kitchen. He followed, watching her pull two sodas from the fridge.
"You're still being weird," she said, handing him a can. "About my birthday."
"I'm not being weird."
"You're being weird." She popped the tab on her soda, took a sip. "But I'll let it slide. For now."
They stood in the kitchen, the refrigerator humming. She was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, simple, comfortable—a version of Paige that existed only here, in the spaces between school and family. He liked this Paige. The one who didn't need to perform.
"Can I tell you something?" he said.
"Always."
He set his soda down. "Last year, Magic Mountain was—" He stopped, searching for the word. "It was good. Really good. But I want this year to be different."
"Different how?"
"Bigger."
She tilted her head, curious, her dark eyes steady on his. "Bigger than a roller coaster?"
"Yeah." He took a breath. "I want to take you somewhere you've never been. Somewhere that—" He stopped again, feeling the words tangle. "Somewhere that feels like us. Now."
She was quiet for a long moment, her soda can held halfway to her lips. Then she set it down, stepped closer, and slipped her arms around his waist.
"You're going to make me cry," she said, her voice muffled against his chest.
"That's my mom's thing."
She laughed, pulled back, and kissed him. Soft. Slow. Her fingers found the back of his neck.
"I love you," she said against his mouth.
He said it back, the words easier now, settled into his bones.
---
They ended up on her bed, tangled in the afternoon light. Clothes half-off, skin warm, the clock ticking somewhere in the corner. He kissed down her neck, feeling her pulse jump under his lips, and she arched into him, her fingers in his hair.
"Tell me about the surprise," she whispered.
"No."
"Please?"
"No." He kissed her collarbone. "You'll find out when we get there."
"We?" Her breath caught as his mouth found a spot just below her ear. "So we're going somewhere."
He smiled against her skin. "Maybe."
She pushed him onto his back, straddling him, her hair falling around her face like a curtain. "You're impossible."
"You like it."
"I tolerate it." But she was smiling, her hands on his chest, her hips pressing down. The heat of her through her jeans made his breath hitch.
"An hour," he said, his hands finding her waist.
"Fifty minutes now." She leaned down, kissed him, slow and deep. "Don't waste them."
He didn't.
---
Forty-five minutes later, they lay side by side, the sheets twisted, her head on his chest. Her breathing had evened out, slow and soft, and he thought she might be asleep. But then her hand found his, fingers lacing together.
"Thank you," she said, her voice quiet.
"For what?"
"For making me feel like I matter."
He turned his head, kissed her hair. "You do."
"I know." She lifted her head, looked at him. "That's the crazy part. I finally believe it."
The words hit him somewhere deep, a warmth that had nothing to do with the heat of her body against his. He pulled her closer, and she settled against him, her cheek on his shoulder.
"The Grand Canyon," he said.
She went still. "What?"
"That's the surprise. I'm taking you to the Grand Canyon."
She lifted her head again, her eyes wide. "You're serious?"
"Yeah."
"That's—" She stopped, blinked. "That's nine hours away."
"Eight and a half. I checked."
She stared at him. Then she laughed, a breathless, disbelieving sound. "You checked."
"I wanted to make sure."
"Johnny." She said his name like it was the only word she knew. "That's—" She shook her head. "No one's ever done something like that for me."
"Then it's about time someone did."
She kissed him, hard and desperate, and he felt something shift between them—not the sex, but the space after it. The quiet. The knowing.
They lay there until the clock ticked past the hour, and the sound of a car in the driveway pulled them back into the world.
---
He walked home in the evening light, the sky bruised purple and orange, the air cool against his skin. His mind was already working—the route, the timing, how to ask his dad. He'd figure it out. He had two weeks.
Two weeks to give her something she'd remember forever.
He passed the 7-Eleven, the cracked sidewalk, the alley with Mrs. Chen's cat. His house came into view, the porch light on, the faint glow of the TV through the living room window.
Normal. Safe. His secret life waiting behind a closed door.
He opened the front door, stepped inside. His mom called from the kitchen—"Dinner's almost ready, honey"—and he answered, his voice steady, his heart still someplace else. Someplace red and vast and full of wind.
The Grand Canyon.
He was going to take her there.
The morning air was still cool when Johnny stepped onto the school grounds, the mixtape heavy in his backpack. He'd barely slept, but it didn't matter. The Grand Canyon. He was taking her to the Grand Canyon.
He spotted Paige by the front doors, her backpack slung over one shoulder, a denim jacket over a white t-shirt. She was talking to Marla, but her eyes found him before he'd taken three steps across the blacktop. The smile that spread across her face was different now. Softer. Like she knew something no one else did.
"Hey," she said as he approached.
"Hey."
Marla looked between them, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You two are disgustingly cheerful for a Monday morning."
Paige shrugged, her shoulder brushing against his. "It's March. Spring's coming."
"It's forty degrees."
"Spring's coming," Paige repeated, and she looked at him when she said it.
The bell rang. They moved through the halls together, and he felt the weight of it — the publicness of it. Kids they knew, kids they didn't. A few glances. Nothing major. Just two people walking side by side.
At his locker, she leaned against the one next to his, her arms crossed, watching him spin the combination.
"So," she said, her voice low enough that only he could hear. "The Grand Canyon."
"The Grand Canyon."
"I still can't believe it."
"Believe it." He pulled out his history book, closed the locker. "Two weeks. I've got it figured out."
Her hand found his, squeezed once. "You're insane."
"Probably."
She laughed, and the sound carried down the hallway, bright and unguarded.
---
First period was English. He sat two rows behind her, watched the way her hair curled at the nape of her neck. She turned once, caught him looking, and her lips curved into a small smile before she faced forward again.
Mr. Peterson droned about symbolism in The Great Gatsby, and Johnny stared at the page without seeing it. His mind was elsewhere — red rock, deep sky, the sound of wind through a canyon that had been there for millions of years.
He wanted to show her something that big. Something that made you feel small in the right way. Like whatever you were carrying didn't weigh as much anymore.
---
At lunch, they sat at their usual table near the windows. Marla was already there, a bag of chips open in front of her, her eyes tracking them as they sat down across from her.
"Okay," Marla said, pointing a chip at them. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," Paige said, too quickly.
"Bullshit." Marla leaned forward. "You two are doing that thing where you don't look at each other but you're definitely looking at each other."
Johnny unwrapped his sandwich. "We're not doing anything."
"You're doing it right now."
Paige picked at her salad, but there was a smile she couldn't quite hide. "We're just —" She glanced at him, and something passed between them, unspoken. "We're fine."
Marla's eyes narrowed again, sharper this time. She studied them both, her gaze moving from Paige's carefully neutral expression to Johnny's studied focus on his sandwich. A long pause stretched between them.
"You told him," Marla said quietly.
Paige went still. "What?"
"About the birthday. You told him what you wanted."
Johnny looked up, caught off guard. "I —"
"No," Paige said, her voice steady. "He figured it out on his own."
Marla sat back, something shifting in her expression. Surprise, maybe. Or respect. "He figured it out."
"Yeah." Paige's voice was soft now. "He did."
The silence that followed was different — not awkward, but full. Marla looked at Johnny like she was seeing him for the first time.
"Huh," she said.
"What?" Johnny said.
"Nothing." She shook her head, but a small smile crept onto her face. "Just — good for you, McHale."
He didn't know what to say to that, so he took a bite of his sandwich. Paige's knee pressed against his under the table, a warm point of contact that said everything words couldn't.
---
After lunch, they had a free period, and they found themselves in the empty courtyard behind the gymnasium. The concrete was cold through his jeans, but the sun was warm on his face. She sat next to him, close enough that their shoulders touched.
"Marla's going to figure it out," she said. "All of it."
"She already suspects."
"Yeah, but —" She picked at a thread on her jeans. "She's my best friend. I hate lying to her."
"You're not lying. You're just not telling her everything."
"Same thing."
He thought about it. "Do you want to tell her?"
Paige was quiet for a long moment. "I don't know. Part of me does. Part of me wants to —" She gestured vaguely. "Shout it from somewhere. But another part likes that it's ours. Just ours."
"It can be both," he said. "Eventually."
She turned to look at him. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. We tell who we want to tell. When we're ready."
She studied him for a long moment, her dark eyes searching his face. Then she leaned in and kissed him, soft and slow, her hand finding his cheek.
"I love you," she said against his lips.
"I love you too."
She pulled back, and there was something new in her eyes — a lightness he hadn't seen before. Like she'd been carrying something and had finally set it down.
"The Grand Canyon," she said, testing the words on her tongue. "I still can't believe it."
"Believe it."
She smiled, and the afternoon sun caught the edges of her hair, and he thought that maybe this was what people meant when they talked about happiness. Not a feeling. A place you got to stand in, even for a moment.
---
The final bell came, and they walked out together. Marla was waiting by the bike racks, her backpack slung over one shoulder, her expression carefully neutral.
"Walk you home?" she asked Paige.
Paige hesitated, her eyes flicking to Johnny. "I —"
"I've got practice," Johnny said, the lie smooth on his tongue. "Go ahead."
Paige nodded, squeezed his hand once, and fell into step beside Marla. He watched them go, watched the way Marla leaned in as they walked, her voice low and questioning. Paige said something back, and Marla laughed, the sound carrying across the parking lot.
He turned and walked the other way, toward home. The sun was still high, the day still long, and his mind was already spinning forward — the route, the timing, the look on her face when she saw it for the first time.
Two weeks.
He had two weeks.
The weekend came faster than he expected. Friday afternoon, and his dad pulled the minivan into the driveway, engine still ticking in the cooling air. Johnny stood in the doorway, watching his father pop the trunk and start loading bags.
"You ready, son?" Mitchell asked, hefting a duffel onto his shoulder.
"Yeah." Johnny grabbed his own bag, the one with the map folded inside his jeans pocket. He'd traced the route three times. Seven hours. He had it memorized.
Paige's house was a twenty-minute drive in the opposite direction, and she'd be waiting on her front steps, a duffel bag at her feet, wearing something that made his throat tight just thinking about it. Her parents thought she was spending the weekend with Marla. Marla thought she was spending it with a cousin. The lies were careful, layered, holding together by a thread of trust and a lot of luck.
The drive to pick her up was quiet. Jim sat in the back, headphones on, lost to whatever cassette was spinning in his Walkman. Their mom was reading a paperback, the kind with a woman in a flowing dress on the cover. Their dad drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the open window, the desert air rushing in warm and dry.
Johnny's heart was a fist in his chest.
They pulled up to Paige's house, and she was there, exactly where she said she'd be. A duffel bag at her feet. Cutoff denim shorts. A white tank top. Her hair was different — a little shorter, curled tighter, like she'd spent time on it. She stood up when she saw the van, and even from here he could see the nervous energy in her shoulders.
His mom leaned forward. "That Paige?"
"Yeah." Johnny opened his door before the van had fully stopped. "I'll get her bag."
He crossed the lawn, and she met him halfway. Her eyes were wide, her smile tight.
"Hey," she said.
"Hey." He took her bag. "You ready?"
"I think so." She looked past him at the van, at his family visible through the windows. "This is —"
"Weird," he finished. "I know."
She laughed, a short breath of a sound. "I was going to say 'real.'"
He didn't have an answer for that. He just took her hand, squeezed it once, and led her to the van.
---
The drive was long. Seven hours of interstate and state highways, the landscape shifting from suburban sprawl to open desert. Jim fell asleep an hour in, his head against the window. Marla had been dropped off at a friend's house for the weekend — a convenient alibi that made the seating arrangement simpler. Paige sat next to Johnny in the middle row, her thigh pressed against his, her hand finding his under the cover of a jacket draped across both their laps.
His parents talked up front, low and easy, the rhythm of a long marriage filling the space. His mom pointed out a billboard for a roadside attraction — world's largest something — and his dad laughed and said they'd stop on the way back.
Paige's fingers laced through his. Her thumb traced slow circles on his palm.
He turned to look at her. She was watching the desert scroll past, the late afternoon sun painting everything gold and orange. Her profile was soft, her lips slightly parted. She looked younger like this, the bravado stripped away, just a girl on a trip she wasn't supposed to be on.
She felt his gaze and turned. Their eyes met. She smiled, small and private, and squeezed his hand.
He didn't let go for the rest of the drive.
---
They arrived at the lodge as the sun was setting. The Grand Canyon stretched out behind the building, a vast wound in the earth that caught the last light and held it. Johnny stepped out of the van and the air hit him — dry, thin, cool. The smell of pine and dust. The sound of wind moving through empty space.
His dad stretched, his back popping. "Alright, let's get checked in. We've got adjoining rooms — one for me and your mom, one for you boys." He glanced at Paige. "Paige, you're with the boys too. Hope that's alright."
"That's fine, Mr. McHale." Her voice was steady, but Johnny saw her swallow.
The rooms were simple. Two double beds, a bathroom, a window that looked out at the canyon's edge. Jim claimed the bed closest to the window, dumping his bag on it and flopping down. "Dibs."
"Fine by me." Johnny dropped his bag on the other bed. Paige set hers next to his, a quiet statement that Jim was too oblivious to notice.
His mom knocked on the open door. "We're going to find dinner. There's a restaurant in the main building. You kids want to come?"
"We'll meet you there," Johnny said. "Just want to —" He gestured vaguely at the window.
His mom smiled. "Don't wander too far. It gets dark fast out here."
"We won't."
She left, and the door clicked shut. Jim was already pulling out his Walkman, headphones on, lost to whatever tape was spinning. Johnny looked at Paige. She looked at him.
"We're here," she said, her voice soft with wonder.
"We're here."
---
Dinner was a loud affair in the lodge restaurant, a place with rough-hewn beams and a stone fireplace that crackled against the evening chill. His dad ordered a beer. His mom ordered a glass of wine. Jim got a burger and ate it like he hadn't seen food in a week. Johnny and Paige shared a plate of nachos, their knees touching under the table, their conversation a quiet current beneath the family noise.
"Tomorrow," his dad said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. "We'll do the rim trail in the morning. Maybe catch the sunrise if you kids are up for it."
"Sure," Johnny said.
"There's a visitor center too," his mom added. "Maps, exhibits. Could be fun."
Paige nodded, her smile polite. Johnny felt her foot slide against his under the table.
---
Back in the room, the night stretched out in front of them. Jim was already in his pajamas, sprawled across his bed, a comic book held above his face. "You guys gonna stay up?"
"Probably," Johnny said.
"Cool." Jim turned a page. "Don't be too loud."
Johnny's heart stuttered. But Jim's attention was already back on his comic, the words just words, no hidden meaning.
Paige sat on the edge of the bed, her hands folded in her lap. Johnny sat next to her, close enough that their shoulders touched. The window was dark now, the canyon invisible, just the reflection of the room and the distant stars.
"I can't believe we're here," she whispered.
"Believe it."
She turned to him, her dark eyes catching the lamplight. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For —" She gestured, a small, helpless motion. "For this. For planning it. For making it happen."
He didn't know what to say. So he leaned in and kissed her, soft and slow, his hand finding her cheek. She melted into him, her fingers curling into his shirt, and for a moment there was nothing else — no family in the next room, no brother on the other bed, no lies holding the weekend together.
Just them.
She pulled back, her forehead resting against his. "I love you," she breathed.
"I love you too."
Behind them, Jim turned a page. The sound was loud in the quiet room.
Paige laughed, a soft, breathless sound. "We should probably —"
"Yeah." He pulled back, his hand still on her cheek. "Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow."
They got ready for bed in shifts, the bathroom door a thin barrier. Jim was asleep by the time Johnny came out, his comic book fallen to the floor, his breathing deep and even. Paige was already under the covers, her back to the door, her hair dark against the pillow.
Johnny turned off the lamp. The room went dark. He slid into bed beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight. She shifted, turning toward him, and her hand found his in the dark.
"Goodnight," she whispered.
"Goodnight."
He lay awake for a long time, her hand in his, the sound of her breathing a steady rhythm beside him. Outside, the wind moved through the canyon, vast and empty and ancient. And somewhere in the dark, he felt the weight of the weekend settle around them — a pocket of time that belonged to no one but them.
He closed his eyes. And let himself fall into it.
The morning came with light through the thin curtains, pale and golden, the kind of light that made everything look softer than it was. Johnny blinked awake, his arm numb where Paige's head had rested through the night. She was still asleep, her face turned toward him, her lips slightly parted, her breathing slow and even.
He didn't move. Didn't want to. The room was quiet except for Jim's snoring from the other bed, a low rumble that would have been annoying anywhere else but here felt like proof that the world was still turning, that this was real.
Paige's eyes opened. She looked at him for a long moment, her gaze unfocused, then she smiled. A slow, lazy smile that made his chest tighten.
"Morning," she whispered.
"Morning."
Her hand found his under the covers. Squeezed. "We're really here."
"We're really here."
---
The day unfolded like a postcard. The rim trail in the morning, the sun rising over the canyon in layers of orange and red and purple that didn't look real. His dad pointed out rock formations. His mom took pictures. Jim complained about the cold until the sun climbed higher and the heat settled in.
Paige walked beside Johnny, her hand in his, her shoulder brushing his arm. They didn't talk much. They didn't need to. The canyon did the talking for them.
At the visitor center, they bought postcards and a small stuffed coyote that Paige held against her chest like a trophy. "His name is Canyon," she said, deadpan.
"Original."
"Shut up." She elbowed him, but she was smiling.
---
That afternoon, while his parents napped in their room and Jim was glued to a nature documentary on the lodge TV, Johnny took Paige's hand and led her out the back door of the lodge. There was a trail that curved behind the buildings, less traveled, winding through scrub brush and red dirt until the lodge was just a shape in the distance.
They found a spot behind a cluster of boulders, the canyon spreading out below them, the wind hot and dry against their skin. Paige looked at him, her dark eyes bright, and she didn't ask what they were doing there. She already knew.
She kissed him first. Hard. Her hands in his hair, her body pressed against his, the heat of her through her thin tank top. He pulled her closer, his hands finding her waist, her hips, the curve of her ass through her shorts.
"We can't take long," she breathed against his mouth.
"I know."
But they took their time anyway. He laid her down on the blanket he'd brought, the red dirt beneath them, the sky a vast blue dome above. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, the space between her breasts. She arched beneath him, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
When he pushed inside her, the sound she made was swallowed by the wind. Her legs wrapped around him, her heels digging into his back, and he moved inside her slow and deep, the heat of the canyon matching the heat between them.
She came with her mouth against his ear, her breath a sharp gasp, her body tightening around him. He followed moments later, his face buried in her neck, the world narrowing to the smell of her skin and the pulse of his own heart.
They lay there afterward, tangled and sweaty, the sun warm on their skin. She traced patterns on his chest with her finger, her breathing slow.
"This is the best weekend of my life," she said.
He kissed her forehead. "Same."
---
They did it again the next afternoon, this time in a different spot, farther from the lodge, hidden by a rise in the trail. And again that night, in the dark of their room, Jim asleep in the other bed, the sound of his breathing a constant reminder of how close they were to being caught. Paige had to bite her own hand to stay quiet, her eyes wide and bright in the darkness, and when she came it was in a shuddering silence that felt louder than any sound she could have made.
---
The last night came too fast. Dinner was a quiet affair, the family tired from three days of hiking and sightseeing. His dad talked about the drive home tomorrow, the route they'd take, the stops they'd make. His mom nodded along, already mentally packing. Jim pushed his food around his plate, not eating much.
Johnny noticed. He didn't say anything. But he noticed.
---
Back in the room, Jim sat on his bed, his comic book unopened in his lap. He stared at the window, at the dark where the canyon had been during the day.
"You okay?" Johnny asked.
Jim shrugged. "Yeah. Just tired."
But his voice was flat. Wrong.
Paige glanced at Johnny, then at Jim. She didn't say anything. But her eyes went soft, the way they did when she was paying attention to something that mattered.
---
Later, after Jim had fallen asleep, Johnny and Paige lay in the dark, their hands intertwined. The room was quiet. The wind moved outside, a low, constant sound.
"Jim's sad," Paige whispered.
Johnny turned his head toward her. "What?"
"I noticed it at dinner. And just now." She paused. "He looks lonely."
Johnny thought about it. His brother, the kid who always tried to keep up, who never complained, who ate his burgers like he hadn't seen food in a week. "He's fine," Johnny said. "He's just tired."
"No." Paige's voice was firm. "It's more than that."
She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "I'm going to talk to him tomorrow morning. Before we leave."
Johnny looked at her. Her face was shadowed, but he could see the set of her jaw, the determination in the way she held herself.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because someone should." She turned to face him, her dark eyes finding his in the dark. "He's your brother. He's a good kid. And he looks like he needs someone to see him."
Johnny didn't know what to say. So he just nodded.
"Okay."
She leaned in and kissed him, soft and slow. "I love you," she whispered.
"I love you too."
She settled back against him, her head on his chest, her hand over his heart. He lay awake, listening to the wind, thinking about his brother, thinking about the girl in his arms who saw things other people missed.
The weekend was almost over. Tomorrow they'd drive home, back to school, back to the secret they carried between them. But tonight, in this room at the edge of the canyon, everything felt possible.
He closed his eyes. And let himself fall into the dark.