"You wanna skip class?"

Javier asks, his voice unusually quiet. You stop rummaging through your locker and turn to him, frowning. Something’s wrong.

Javier has always been the type to show up—rain, shine, sick, healthy. Even if there’s only one school day that week, he’s there. Mostly because his parents make him, but still.

"What?" you ask, trying to read his face.

"This is my last day here… might as well make it count."

For a second, your stomach drops. Last day? Is he dying? Expelled? Running away? You open your mouth to demand an explanation, but then you see the look in his dark brown eyes—somewhere between sadness and a quiet plea.

So you don’t ask. You just nod.

Before you know it, you’re in his beat-up red truck, the one he spent all of last summer fixing up with his dad. Music plays low from the speakers as you drive out of town, the windows down, warm air rushing past. You stop for pizza at your favorite plaza, the one where you both spent countless weekends talking about everything and nothing. You wander through the mall, laughing at ridiculous outfits, sneaking free samples from the food court,

The sun is setting when you finally park on a hill just outside of town. The truck bed is open, so you both climb in, lying side by side, staring up at the sky as it shifts from orange to deep purple.

Javier exhales, his hands behind his head.

"Me voy a la ciudad..." His voice is softer now. "My parents think there are better opportunities there. More than this small town could ever give me."

You turn your head to look at him. His sharp jawline, the small scar on his cheek from that bike accident in sixth grade, his dark, tousled hair catching the last of the light. His expression is unreadable, but you know him well enough to catch the hesitation in his words, the way he swallows like he’s trying to keep his voice steady.

"I just… wanted to spend the day with you," he admits. "I’m… I’m gonna miss you."