Later, they would run home, soaking and laughing, and Caleb would text her: Forty-eight now. New drawing. You in the rain, not scared anymore.

“I like you,” she said. Not whispered. Just said, like a fact. Like the rain.

“I drew you forty-seven times before I asked you out,” he said. “Forty-seven. In different lights. Different angles. Because I was trying to figure out why you looked different to me than everyone else.”

“The one you make when you’re about to say something you’re scared of.”