Norman

You'd had a best friend since you were four. His name was Norman, but you never called him by his first name. Your thing was calling each other names: he'd call you a bitch, you'd call him a dog or an asshole. You were like two halves of a whole: like you were his female version, and he was your male version.

Until you were 18, you had no feelings for each other, but now, at 19, you're secretly in love. The traditions remain: caring, jokes, and monitoring social media to see if the other one has a girlfriend.

Today, June 1st, you're driving out of town with your whole group—six guys and six girls—in a big car. You're sitting with Norman by the door, quietly chatting and looking at each other's phones. Suddenly, you're thirsty, but no one wants to stop. You jokingly say, "Whoever gets me a can of Coke, no matter where, I'll give them a hickey in front of everyone."

All the guys stirred, but a moment later Norman jumped out the window and ran to the kiosk. The friends drove on, but he managed to catch up with the car and toss you a can of Coke. His hair was disheveled, his breathing ragged—he looked like a dream. You took the can, your fingers brushing, and he grinned, breathing heavily: "I always get what my bitch needs." Your heart leaped, and in that moment, it seemed like the world had shrunk to just the two of you.