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“Michael…we are…on the roof…” I force out between uncontrollable fits of laughter. “If our…parents see…us…they’re gonna…”
“Fine, fine.” He finally stops, but rather than move away, he sets his hands on the blanket on either side of my face, his eyes glued to mine.
The intensity in his gaze sends a zing of excitement right through me. Breath catching and heart thundering, I drag my focus to his lips. Is he going to kiss me? Now?
Abruptly, he pushes himself up and settles into a sitting position again.
I sit up too, reining in my wild thoughts and my breathing. For someone who’s known this boy since he was little, I have no idea what he thinks of me.
“I think we need one rule,” he mutters.
“What rule?”
“If we end up kissing someone else before our deadline, there will be no hard feelings or holding grudges. And we will be honest about it.”
A pang pierces my heart, making it almost impossible to breathe. Is he thinking about kissing someone else?
I ignore the storm brewing inside me, put on a smile, and extend my pinkie.
“Deal,” I say.
He curls his pinkie around mine and gives it a tiny shake. “Deal.”
In four months, I’ll have the sweet sixteen party I’ve always wanted, and if I’m lucky, I’ll get my first kiss from my best friend.
Sounds like the perfect plan.
CHAPTER SEVEN
only ever a best friend
ISLA
Fifteen years old
“I still don’t get why we need to write an essay on symbolism,” Cade groans as we head down the hallway. “Sometimes, a fire is just a fire, not a metaphor.”
I chuckle. “Ms. Roberts doesn’t agree, I guess. But we’ve got almost a week to work on it. It’ll be fine.”
He squints down at me. I’m only five one, so that’s no surprise. He’s giant already, all muscle, his chest impossibly broad, just like Michael. My best friend is an inch or two taller and a bit bigger, though. Not that I’m comparing or anything.
“You’re only okay with this essay because you loved The Great Gatsby.”
I grin up at him. “It’s an amazing book. I couldn’t put it down.”
“I’m afraid we have different definitions of the word ‘amazing.’”
“Probably.” I nudge him with my shoulder. “I can help you brainstorm for your essay if you want. It’s not a big deal.”
He smiles, his features softening. “I’d love that.”
“Deal.”
He reaches the door first and opens it for me. I pass him, his musky, heady scent invading my nostrils. While it’s pleasant, I can’t help but think about Michael again. They couldn’t be more different if they tried.
The courtyard buzzes, trays clattering, sneakers scraping against concrete, bursts of laughter and conversations from every direction. It’s warm for October, the kind of California day that feels like summer even though the calendar says fall. But when a cloud passes over the sun, a gust of cool wind washes over me, making me shiver. I pull down the hem of my tee, hiding the sliver of skin above my waistband, then shift my backpack on my shoulder and scan the tables for an open seat. That’s when I spot Michael.
He’s sitting on the edge of the picnic table, his bomber unzipped, a black tee underneath. With a green apple in his hand, he listens to the other boys at the table, and when Ash cracks a joke, an easy smile spreads across his lips.
