form, he smells faintly like oranges.

“Cooper,” he says against my neck. His words ooze hurt and regret, surprise and joy. The way he

clutches me says everything. I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I just didn’t know how to tell you I met someone

else. I didn’t know how to say I’ve moved on. But I’ve missed you, I have. You’re my friend. My brother.

I break away from the hug, struggling to hold myself together. I summon every ounce of willpower

to extend a hand to Samuel.

He’s shorter than Jace and I, and I’m happy about this. “Samuel,” he says. “Jace’s . . . friend.”

Samuel’s gaze flashes nervously to Jace’s, and I follow it.

Jace swallows. He knows I’m staring at him but he won’t look over.

Dad kicks the soccer ball into our midst and joins us. “Cooper and I against you Otago boys.”

We play, and despite the hangover, I kick and weave and score in earnest. No one can stop me

because I can’t let them. Won’t let them.

After twenty minutes, Dad calls for a break. I juggle the ball in the corner of the field as I let them

catch their breath. Jace moves close to Samuel and says something in his ear while rubbing his upper

arm. He breaks away and jogs over to me.

I keep juggling. Three, four, five, six—header—seven, eight—

“I know what you’re thinking, but don’t do it, okay?” Jace whispers.

I catch the ball and hold it under my arm. “Don’t do what?” My glare drifts over to Samuel, who’s

making my dad laugh.

Jace steps closer, chuckling and shaking his head. “I see it on your face. The way you look at him.”

He pries the ball from me. “You want to kick this ball in his face just like you did to me.”

“I saw you two,” I say.

He stills and mutters, “The door. That was you then?”

“Do you love him?”

A sigh. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Boyfriend. Boyfriend. Boyfriend. “Told the folks you’re gay yet?”

“Bisexual, and yes, that kind of came up last night.”

I don’t bother to ask if they took it well. Of course they did.

Boyfriend.

“How long?”

“Since before winter but we were mates for a bit first.”

“How did you meet?”

He quiets, then says, “Kepler Track. A mate invited him along on our hike.”

I’m shaking as I recall his words: This stone made sleeping impossible. It kept digging into my

back, so I snuck out of the tent in the middle of the night, lifted the pegs, and pulled it out. Still couldn’t

sleep, though. After that, all I could think about was rocks.

Was it really the stone that interrupted his sleep?

“Kepler Track,” I repeat. I walk backward, blindly moving toward the house.

“Just a second,” Jace calls out to Dad and Samuel as he chases after me.

I run up the stairs before he can stop me, but I’m not fast enough to slam the door in his face.

He pushes in and I ignore him, fishing for my damn phone.

I scroll through my contacts until I find last night’s mistake. On the third ring, “Daniel here.”

“Hey, Daniel, Cooper here. Wanted to see how you’re doing.”

He murmurs. “Good. Real good.”

“Last night was—good for me too. We should do it again some time.”

“Sounds goo—”

Jace smacks the phone out of my hand. It hits the floor so hard the screen cracks. Before I can

chase after the call, Jace spins me around. His jaw is clenched and his gaze is livid.

“What are you doing?”

“Same thing you are.”

“Not the same thing. I know Samuel.”

Samuel, not Sam? “You’ve no idea how well I know Daniel—”

“You should’ve held out until you found someone you care about!”

“You care about Samuel?”

I realize I’ve been clinging to the hope that their relationship is only about sex. But he actually

cares?

I turn so he doesn’t see the traitorous tear running down my cheek.

“Well, I mean, yeah, he’s a good guy.”

I nod and pick up my phone, which mirrors my cracked reflection. Fitting.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he continues as I slouch on the side of my bed. “But I had to make

those feelings go away.” You want to have normal ones, not about your maybe brother.

“I don’t care,” I say.

Jace rocks on his heels. Hesitates. Whispers, “I do.”

moreaki boulders

I opt to stay in Wellington after all, accepting a position at Vic. Part of the way through the second

year of my undergraduate studies, Jace performs as pianist in a ballet accompaniment. Dad and Lila fly

to the opening show, and though I’m not invited, I take the hatchback over on the ferry and drive down

to Dunedin.

I don’t announce my presence.

All the affordable tickets are sold out, so I fork out a chunk of my savings for a seat far too close to

where Jace is playing.

I slip on sunglasses and sink into my seat until the lights dim and the ballet begins. I focus on the

music and Jace with his back to me, his fingers dancing over the keys and mesmerizing me. Dressed in

a suit with tails, he takes me back to Newtown High and the dance we shared. Only now Jace fills his

suit better, and he’s grown into a man.

What wouldn’t I give to dance with this man?

First, though, we’d need to be on speaking terms. At least, more than the generic fluff. Merry

Christmas. Happy New Year. Is Mum around? Tell Dad happy birthday. Happy New Year. Happy

twentieth, Jace.

Happy nineteenth, Cooper.

No, there’ll be no dancing anytime soon.

Still, this is his biggest recital. I wouldn’t miss it for all the money in the world.

During intermission, his face splits into a grin when he spots his parents. Behind my shades, I

follow his gaze. Lila, Dad, and a young woman in a sleek navy dress with raven hair to match. She

smiles a seductive smile back at Jace, as though she’s promising to do secretive things to him when the

curtain closes.

In my mind, I hear Jace over Skype telling Lila and Dad about her. Natalie’s a singer, her voice is . .

. impossible. She’s beautiful, I hope for you to meet her.

She’s my opposite in every way: female, petite, dark features, and a talent for music I will never

have.

My spirits sink, but I’m well-accustomed to being hurt by Jace’s boyfriends and girlfriends.

The lights dim and the ballet begins again. The music soothes the remnants of my old heartaches.

The only thing I can do is smile and clap bloody hard for how beautifully Jace played.

I slink out of the audience before anyone spots me.

At the crack of dawn the next morning, I begin the drive back home, stopping at the Moeraki

Boulders. The seaweed-tasting air has a cool bite as it whips sand against the beach’s boulders. A few

tourists take pictures of the fifty-six-million-year-old rocks, but I head over to lean against a smaller

boulder.

The cool rock hums over my skin like it’s sharing its memories.

I’ve borne witness to pain. I’ve seen canoes tip and people drown. I’ve collected the tears of a

thousand men who have leaned against me and cried like you do. I’ve borne witness to joy—

celebrations and laughter that echoed off me and settled onto my boulder brothers. Laughs that still

vibrate under the surface.

I’ve existed since before myth and legend, long enough to become one. Did you know the Maori

believed us to be remains of their eel baskets and sweet potatoes that washed ashore during the wreck of

a large sailing canoe?

I’m a rock. The closest thing to eternal.

An anthology of stories that never end.

I smile and trace my name over its surface. Then his.

The tide sweeps in around us as if to soak up my story and run away. I envision it out there being

tossed up onto the rocky surface.

Has our story ended? If so, will it sink to the bottom of the ocean, near the aquamarines that