At my answer, he walked in, that I-need-to-say-something-but-can’t-figure-out-how look on his face again. Neither of us spoke as he lay down next to me and stared at the ceiling, too. The silence dragged on as though each of us waited for the other to break the silence. Time slowly passed as my iPod shuffled my moody playlist. Jack Johnson, Van Morrison, Sarah McLachlan, and Josh Groban filled the room. As John Mayer began to play, telling us to say what we have to say, I felt Ethan’s hand inch over to mine. Our fingers intertwined, palms touching, breathing even, nothing needed to be said. *** Later, when we all sat down for dinner, the atmosphere felt strained. After Ethan left my room earlier, he’d been avoiding me like the plague. And since Lucas didn't know what went on while he was out, he was obviously confused. “So, does anyone want to tell me why I’m sitting, having the most uncomfortable dinner in recent memory?” “It’s nothing,” Ethan responded. “Nothing?
