The chilly water laps at our ankles as we stand close with our foreheads touching. His skin is warm and brown from spending it broiling under the big yellow ball in the sky; he smells lightly of sunscreen, of bug spray, and the lake. I only know his name and he’s from Roxford, about 50 miles from me. We haven’t talked about sexuality. We haven’t asked if either is taken. One look in his eyes is all I need to know about these things. He nuzzles me, then whispers in my ear at a barely audible volume, “Will you be my boyfriend?”

I say yes. He smiles, then giggles. It’s going to be an excellent summer.