He hesitates—maybe rethinking how much he really thinks I’ll love this whatever we’re doing—then says, “Deal.”

I settle into my seat, smiling at the thought of an entire month of free coffee. There is no way I’m going to love what he has planned. Even if I really do, there is no way I’m letting him know.

Two exits later, he pulls off and turns to go under the freeway. On the other side there is a huge cube-shaped building with a massive banner covering one side.

Indoor Skydiving

My heart skips several beats. I don’t want to let him see—there is a month of caffeine on the line, after all—but I have always wanted to do this. Real skydiving, too, but the next best thing to jumping out of a perfectly good airplane is flying right here on the ground.

“Told you,” Tru says as he pulls into the parking lot.

I pretend to be confused. “What?”

“Don’t lie.” He shuts off the ignition. “You’re practically exploding with excitement.”

I try to disguise my pure joy, but totally fail. “That obvious?”

He winks at me. “Come on.”

Turns out, Tru’s buddy Dane works at the place. Dane is a true thrill-seeker, the kind who looks like he’d be up for anything that might ignite his adrenaline. That’s my kind of buddy.

Since it’s a slow afternoon, Dane lets us fly for free. Once we’re outfitted with goggles, helmets, and jumpsuits that are specifically designed to catch the wind from the massive turbine in the flight chamber, he leads us past the benches in what he calls the ante-chamber and into the air lock that separates the wind tunnel from the no-fly zone.

He gives us a few quick instructions and then guides me to the doorway of the air lock. I can already feel the wind rushing over my face. The noise is almost overwhelming.

Then Dane waves me in and, with a little guidance from him, suddenly I’m floating.

It is the most unreal experience I’ve ever had. It really does feel like flying. The adrenaline rush rivals the feelings pumping through me when I stood on the edge of the fortieth floor of Midtown Tower and looked down over the glittering city. And this rush doesn’t end with me in jail.

After a few minutes, Dane taps me out, and Tru enters the flight chamber. I stand in the air lock and watch as he dives headfirst into the wind. The way he swoops and dives and does flips and other tricks, it’s clear that he’s done this before. Probably many times.

I don’t peg Tru for the thrill-seeking type. If the look of pure joy on his face is any indication, I’d guess it’s the sensation of complete freedom that draws him to this. The feeling that not even gravity has a hold on him when he’s flying.

Tru doesn’t stay in for as long as I did before he’s tapping out and sending me in again. I know it’s because he wants to give me more time. And I’m not even going to argue. I could do this every day and never get tired of it.

I can’t wait to try the real thing.

Afterward, we head to the small café in the front lobby. I definitely owe Tru a snack for this, so I load us up with a giant-size nachos and two huge sodas.

As we sit, crunching and sipping, I realize that I can’t stop smiling. It’s been a long time since I can remember being this completely happy.

“How did you know?” I ask.

I could have been terrified of skydiving, could have preferred rock climbing or pottery making or even going to a gallery downtown.

But he nailed it.

“I just knew.” He shoves a cheese-coated chip into his mouth.

“Come on.” I punch him in the arm. “How?”

“Moww,” he says around his mouthful of nacho, rubbing his arm. When he’s done with his bite, he says, “Okay, okay, no need to get violent.”

I dip a chip into cheesy goodness and wait patiently for an answer.

“Fine. You pulled off the Midtown Tower incident,” he says, “so I know you love adrenaline.”

I nod. “True.”

“And you hang out on your roof a lot, so clearly you don’t have a thing about heights— Ow, what was that for?”

“For spying on me,” I say. “How do you know I hang out on my roof?”

Sure, he joined me up there that first night, but how could he know that I’ve been out there almost every night since?

He blushes—actually, honestly, blushes. “I plead the fifth.”

I feel my cheeks burn in response. But not from embarrassment. I’m reacting to the idea that Tru watches me—or at least notices me—on the roof outside my bedroom. That he’s interested enough to notice. That he’s interested enough to be embarrassed by the revelation of his interest.

I’m interested, too. More than I should be, considering all the reasons I have run far away from any sort of romantic connection between us. There are just too many obstacles.

So, instead of reaching across the table and taking his hand, leaning across the table to claim the kiss that my lips are itching to take, I deflect the emotion with sarcasm.

I roll my eyes. “Okay, so I’m not afraid of heights and I’m not opposed to adrenaline,” I say. “But how skydiving?”

He sucks down a long draw of soda before answering. “Graphic Grrl loves to fly.”

My lungs freeze and my heart stops for three full seconds before launching into a drag race. Did he just say Graphic Grrl? No, it’s not possible. He can’t know. Only Tash knows. Only Tash.

“Wha-what do you mean?” I stammer. “What does that have to do with me?”

He gives me a come on look. “You write it.”

I’m going to pass out.

He said it casually, nonchalantly, like it was just no big deal. Like anyone anywhere other than Tash knows that I write and draw Graphic Grrl.

Even though the place is deserted, I glance around to make sure no one is nearby. Even if there were, the odds that they read or are even aware of Graphic Grrl are pretty slim. Web comics are pretty niche. Even after the Artzfeed post, most of my readers are artists. The general public isn’t interested.

“How—?” I shake my head and start over. “Why do you think that?”

He shrugs. “Little things. Your drawing style is the same. You say things sometimes that I’ve read in the strip.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” I say, desperate. “I could just be a fan.”

“You could,” he says, his eyes meeting mine across the gray plastic table. “But that first night on the roof, when I caught your tablet?”

“Yeah?” I say with a sinking feeling of dread.

“It was open to a half-done sketch that appeared in the next strip.”

I have no words. Oh, plenty are racing through my mind, but I can’t make any of them come out through my mouth. Full mental paralysis.

Tru knows the truth.

He’s known since the first night we met.

He reads my strip!

I know that last one seems totally lame, because thousands of people read my strip—now tens of thousands. But somehow, knowing that this one person, this boy who doesn’t seem to care about anything or anyone, has read my strip enough to recognize when I say something that Graphic Grrl says… It’s kind of amazing.

And the fact that he has kept this secret without my even having to ask is even more amazing.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

His face twists in confusion. “For what?”

“For not telling anyone.”

He shrugs. “It’s your secret. If you wanted people to know, they would.”

“Still,” I say. “Thanks.”

Keeping the secret isn’t always easy. Dylan has seen a few sketches over the years, but I told him they were homework. None of the math and science nerds at his school would read my strip anyway. Mom and Dad were never around enough to notice what I was doing, and probably wouldn’t recognize it if they were.

Tash insists that it will look great on college applications if I reveal myself, that I’ve built such a solid following and created such a huge body of work. Also I think she wants to take credit for being the best friend of Graphic Grrl’s creator.