“Ugh.” She plopped down on the floor, disgusted. “I with people skills.”

He turned around to straddle his chair, facing her. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“People keep thinking I’m angry or annoying just because I speak loudly. I don’t have any volume control! Plus, I’m awful at first impressions. Either I’m too shy or I’m too out there and people think I’m totally weird.” Glum, she pulled her knees up to her chest.

He gave a short laugh. “At least you’re better than me. When I meet new people, I freeze up. It’s like…I don’t know why, but my brain stops working and I can’t think of what to say. I can’t open up to people.” He couldn’t bring himself to meet her gaze at this confession, instead staring bashfully at his shoes.

She thought back to when she had first met him. They had been assigned together as seatmates on the first day. She had been absolutely giddy when she realized that she got to sit next to the cute boy. He seemed…reserved. During introductions, she had cheerfully rattled off her name, her hometown, and six different random comments about herself, school, and the world at large—none of which had any relation to each other. He had seemed rather overwhelmed by her, and had responded more calmly with his own name and hometown, including only one (mandatory) interesting fact about himself (he liked running). At first, she had been afraid that he wouldn’t like her at all. When he finished introducing himself, though, he smiled at her—a brief, shy, handsome smile that left her reeling and made her wonder at the unfairness of his good looks—and she thought, happily, that everything would turn out fine.

As she got to know him, she realized that he wasn’t actually shy. Instead, he was witty, silly, teasing, a pigtail-pulling little boy who loved to make corny jokes. And he was also sweet, helping her carry her things when they were too heavy and volunteering to move furniture for her when she had to rearrange her room.

It occurred to her…“You were quiet when we first met. But two hours later, we were already talking, and three days later, you were already making fun of me. I mean, even now—we’ve only known each other for how long? Two and a half weeks, and already, I know the name of the girl you had a crush on in first grade. I practically live in your room. If that isn’t opening up, what is?” Her voice was loud again, agitated. But he was used to it.

He looked at her. “That’s because it’s you,” he said simply.