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“That’s shockingly noble,” I whisper.

He shakes his head. “It wasn’t noble at all. I’m the team captain. I need everyone’s loyalty. And I don’t need someone trying to fuck me over when I’ve got a college scholarship riding on it.”

“I still think it’s noble,” I tell him quietly.

He closes the refrigerator door. “You always look for the good in people,” he says, holding my eye with something in his gaze that makes my breath stop. If he were cradling my face in his palms right now, it would be the same. “I love that about you.”

Did Ford James actually pay me a compliment? “I thought I was a judgmental bitch.”

“Yeah,” he says with a soft laugh, “but you meant well, even then.”

We look at each other over the empty cart. I wish I could think of an excuse to stay.

I pull the cart out of the narrow space and he follows, standing in front of me in the empty hall.

“I can take the cart back,” he says. “My backpack’s still in there.”

“Thanks,” I reply. I lean down to grab my bag off the bottom of the cart. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Gonna ride my fancy almost-new bike home.”

I step toward the exit.

“Hey, Grace?” he asks.

I turn back to face him and find that he’s stepped toward me, and we now stand too close. My heart gives a single thump, so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t echo down the hall. “Yes?”

His eyes dip to my mouth, and my breath holds.

My voice is the barest whisper. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t have a fucking clue.”

And then his lips press to mine, soft, a test. He releases the breath he was holding, and I’m not sure if that means I’ve passed or failed, but I know I don’t want him to stop. His hand goes to my waist, and my body curves into his, wanting more and knowing exactly what to do when my brain does not. His fingers tighten, his mouth opens slightly, and mine does too.

It’s soft, delicious. A buzzing sweetness heats my blood in response. I could float away with the headiness of it—his soft mouth, his uneven breaths—yet there’s something darker and warmer and even more tempting now deep in my core. It compels me to arch into him. He sucks in air, fast and surprised, then that hand around my hip tightens to tug me even closer, until I can feel his belt clasp pressing into my skin and something large and firm beneath it, pressing hard to my belly button.

Clip, clip, clip

Heels against the tile floor, approaching rapidly, have us jumping away from each other. Seconds later, Mrs. V, the school secretary, walks around the corner, stopping in her tracks as her eyes dart between us. Her brows raise and her arms fold across her chest. She’s looking as if she’s just caught us...doing exactly what we were doing. And no wonder.

I glance at Ford. He’s as flushed as I undoubtedly am.

“Ms. Felton, Mr. James,” she says, looking between the two of us. “Where are you supposed to be?”

I swallow, too panicked to come up with an answer.

“We were just putting sandwiches away,” Ford says. “Grace was going home, and I was on my way to the gym.”

“Then, Ms. Felton, I suggest you get on your way, and you, Mr. James, can come with me.”

With a quick glance at me, Ford follows her, and I head out the front doors in a daze, so dizzy and stunned and thrilled that I nearly get hit by a car before I’m even out of the parking lot.

He kissed me.

According to the church’s dictates, it shouldn’t have happened until I stood on the altar facing my new husband. Less than that shouldn’t have happened—when I turned fourteen, I signed a contract promising my parents I wouldn’t even hold a boy’s hand. I remember Mary Joyce laughing when her parents made her sign the same thing years prior. “Don’t worry about signing,” she’d advised. “Just do what they say and live your life. They’ll never know.” Which is exactly what I just did, but I’m not sure I should be taking advice from the person I most don’t want to become.

I’ve broken a promise to my parents—a big one—and maybe the guilt will hit me later, but right now I’m too busy being shocked by that kiss. It was so much better than anything I’d ever imagined a kiss could be. I suppose my imagination never progressed much beyond the sweet, chaste kiss of a bride and groom at the altar, or a couple standing on a beach at sunset in an ad. I never realized that just the feel of his mouth against mine could make my entire body light up.

I swerve into the driveway, and it’s only when I climb off my bike that I have a sudden blast of nerves. Will my mother be able to tell? She will, if I look as flushed and swollen-lipped as I feel. My stomach drops at the mere possibility.