You never meant to fall for Dustin Henderson. It just happened. Somewhere between rewiring broken radios, laughing too hard at his dumb jokes, and staying up too late in the AV room while the rest of the school slept.

He tells you about Suzie on the very first day you really become friends.

“My girlfriend lives in Utah,” he says proudly, like he’s announcing a world record. “She’s a genius. Like, genius genius.” You smile. You nod. You say, “That’s really cool.”

You don’t say "Oh. That’s why your smile feels dangerous to me."

So you become the person who knows.

You know when he hasn’t heard from her in a while. You know when he’s worried she’s forgotten him. You know how his voice changes when he talks about her. And you pretend it doesn’t matter.

You tell yourself she’s far away, that it’s not real competition. That you shouldn’t feel jealous of a girl who exists mostly in radio waves and letters. But sometimes jealousy doesn’t care about distance.

It shows up when he stares at the static too long, hoping she’ll answer. When he lights up at the sound of her voice. When he grins and says, “She’s perfect, right?”

You laugh and agree, even as your heart quietly folds in on itself.

You walk him home after school, you sit beside him at lunch, you’re the one he runs to when something breaks.

He leans on you without realizing how heavy he is.

One night, while fixing Cerebro, he glances at you and says, “You’re my best friend, you know that?” The words feel warm and devastating all at once, because you love him and he loves someone else.