Free More Happy Than Not by Adam Silvera

light-years later. This feels like something straight out of a video game.
    We travel 100,000,000 light-years from Earth—into other galaxies, where we see lots of greens and reds and blues and purples glowing against the black of space, like splattered drops of paint on a dark apron. I don’t know how we’re not space sick once we hit 5,000,000,000 light-years away from Earth. There’s something shaped like a butterfly, and we discover it’s the afterglow of the big bang, which is pretty damn beautiful.
    Everything begins zooming away, space and time undoing its present to us, my present to Genevieve, and it throws us out of the cosmos. This trip changes everything for me. Or maybe doesn’t change anything, only makes clear of what I can find here on Earth, my home. Space is pretty damn unreachable for most of us. I turn to Genevieve, to the girl I brought to the stars and back, who waits for me through times dark as space. I hold her hand and say, “I think I sort of, maybe kind of . . . I think I love you.”
    My heart is pounding. I’m so dumb. Genevieve is out of my league, out of this universe. I wait for a reaction, for her to laugh at me, but she smiles and blows all my doubts away—until her smile falters for a second. I could’ve missed it if I blinked or rolled my eyes back in relief.
    â€œYou don’t have to say that,” Genevieve says. I check her hands to see if the ax she just slammed into my chest is as big as I think it is. “I don’t know if that’s what you think I want to hear.”
    â€œI’ll be real. I didn’t think kids our age could do this, you know, but you’re more than my best friend and definitely more than some girl I like sleeping with. I’m not waiting for you to say it back—in fact, never say it. I’ll be okay. I just had to tell you.”
    I kiss my girlfriend on her forehead, untangle our hands and legs, and get up. It’s hard, seeing as there’s this crushing weight in my chest that makes me feel like that time I tumbled under the waves at Orchard Beach. I follow the orange cord to the ledge and look down at the street: two guys are either shaking hands or swapping money for weed, a young mother is struggling to pop open a baby stroller and a couple of girls are laughing at her. This world is full of ugliness like drugs and hate and girlfriends who don’t love you. I look over at my building a couple blocks down. I could really go for being home now.
    Genevieve grips my shoulder and hugs me from behind. In her hand is a folded piece of paper. She shakes it until I take it from her.
    â€œLook at it,” she says, slightly muffled. This is a goodbye hug that comes with a goodbye letter with goodbye words. I unfold the wrinkled sheet and it’s an illustration of a boy and a girl in the sky with a backdrop of many, many stars. The boy is tall and when I examine it more closely, the girl is punching him in the arm—it’s a constellation of us.
    Genevieve turns me to her and looks me in the eyes and I almost want to turn away. “I drew that after our first date and have carried it around a lot wondering when I could share this with you. All we did was walk around and it was easy, like we were hanging out for the hundredth time.”
    Then I realize our first clumsy kiss was the inspiration. “I laughed after we kissed and you didn’t get offended or anything. You smiled and punched me in the arm.”
    â€œI should’ve punched you in the face. I guess I like hurting the boy I love.”
    I don’t move. I told her to never say it but I’m damn glad she did. We’re locked in some strange staring contest and our mouths are curving.
    This is still an ugly world. But at least it’s one where your girlfriend loves you back.

    7
    THAT TIME I’M ALONE
    I t hasn’t even been twenty-four hours and I miss Genevieve. I would sell our firstborn