Page 122 of And Now, Back to You

“Something is different about you,” Penelope says, eyes narrowed.

“I think it’s his hair,” Addie insists.

“I think it’s his secret kisses with Delilah Stewart.” Penelope makes an obnoxious kissy face, pushing her cheeks together with her hands. Adeline immediately descends into bright, cackling laughter.

I turn back to the stove.

“Oh, come on! You wouldn’t tell us anything while you were out there. You kept saying you would when you got home.”

I shrug. “There’s nothing to say. We kissed a couple of times to distract me from my broadcast nerves. We’re friends now. That’s all.”

That is decidedly not all. Not from my perspective anyway.

I pour some pancake batter on the hot pan, watching the edges bubble up.

“So that’s something friends do?” Adeline asks. “Kiss each other?”

I turn around so fast, I get a crick in my neck. “No.” I point at her with the spatula. “That is not a thing friends do.”

She blinks at me. “So you’re not friends with Delilah?”

“I am.”

“Friends who kiss.”

“Friends who are . . . just friends,” I say. “Friends who kissed once. As a . . . team-building exercise.”

“You kissed at least twice, according to the timeline constructed on Reddit.”

I rub my knuckles across my forehead. “Timeline,” I repeat, equal parts confused and horrified. “On Reddit.”

Penelope takes a dainty bite off the end of her bacon, chewing thoughtfully. “She doesn’t look at you like she wants to be your friend.”

I hate the way my heart leaps to attention. “How does she look at me?”

“Like you have a glow stick shoved up your ass,” Adeline deadpans.

I roll my eyes.

Adeline slams her fists down against the countertop. “What are you hiding, Jackson?”

“I’m not hiding anything,” I say wearily. But I don’t have an explanation either. I drag my hand down my face and peer at my sisters through my fingers. Both of them are watching me with a combination of thinly veiled suspicion and intrigue, a look only two teenagers can perfect.

“Just ask it,” I sigh, wanting this part over. “Whatever it is.”

They share a brief, conspiratorial look, and then, breathless, Penelope asks:

“Do you have a crush on Delilah Stewart?”

Inexplicably, heat climbs my cheeks. A crush is exactly what I have. A big, stupid, all-encompassing crush on Delilah Stewart and her too-big smiles and the way her nose wrinkles and the way she breathes my name, both of her hands fisted in my hair. Her chaos and her charm. The small, broken bits she hides from everyone else but hands over to me.

My face must answer the question because they both launch off their stools, screaming at the top of their lungs.

“I knew it!” Adeline bellows, pointing at me. “I could tell, you loser!”

“Stop it.” I throw a kitchen towel at her face. “That’s enough.”

She rips it away. “It will never be enough. This is the highlight of my life. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”