It should be physically impossible for them to coexist inside me—this silly lightness in my chest, buoying me up, and this heavy sinking sensation in my gut. But now, in broad daylight, with Caz standing right there, as unfortunately beautiful as ever, I’m forced to admit that what I wrote on those paper cranes wasn’t just my exhaustion talking. I might actually be crushing on Caz Song. Like a total sucker.
