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“I haven’t decided,” I said finally. “But I don’t think it’s as big of a deal anymore. My first kiss, I mean. I’m…over it now.”
“Good. It’s lame to stress about things like that, anyway.” Rachel’s voice lowered into a more scandalous tone. “Speaking of first kisses, Reed and Cindy totally kissed last night.”
“Ugh, I don’t want to talk about last night.” Maisie groaned, sneaking her fingers underneath her glasses and pressing them hard into her eyes. “I can’t believe Alex spilled soda all over my pants. And they werewhite.”
“But Connor Bray gave you his sweatpants—swoon. I’d keep them forever.”
I was slow to keep up with them. “Reed—Cindy—kissed?”
Rachel wheeled my spinning chair closer to us, propping her feet on my bed. “Well, I think so. You didn’t see? He walked her to her car, and I could’ve sworn I saw him lean in. Have I mentioned how unfair it is that he got all the cool traits? Flirtatious, popular, athletically inclined. Whoever was divvying up the genes between us sucks.”
Heat bloomed behind my ribs, and the breath I drew in burned. I’d half expected to feel some sort of sadness, but this emotion was definitely harsher, hotter. “It’s so easy for him to kiss people,” I muttered, a disbelieving scoff escaping. “He’s so…so…”Annoying, infuriating, ridiculous.
“Maybe he should give you pointers,” Rachel said, knocking her socked foot against my thigh. “With how many relationships he’s been in, he should offer a kissing course.”
Again, the universe was cosmicallynotfunny.
Without thinking about it, I pressed my fingertips to my lips, tracing the outline of them. Reed kissing Cindy.
I hated the mental image with a passion. Was it quick? Longer than five seconds? Was it like ours?
My kiss with Reed felt like a lifetime ago. And though we were in this back-and-forth game of tug-of-war, being friends and then struggling with the whole “being friends” thing, if we stuck to our agreement, the kiss would soon change to a faded memory. I needed to bury it so deep that it would soon fade away.
In my pocket, my phone gave a shrill ping, loud enough for Rachel to hear it from the desk. “Ooh, a new Babble submission?” she asked, expression lighting up. “What does it say?”
“Maybe you should be my Babble secretary,” I said with a little smile, loading up my inbox. “You can vet all the posts and I’ll—”
My words died off as soon as I spotted the email’s sender.Jacob Manning.
Hello Ava,
Your proposal sounds great, and I’d be more than happy to triple the payment you requested. From the mockups you sent, you definitely should be charging more. A professional should take pride in their work and charge what it’s worth, don’t you think? I’ll be attaching a ZIP file that contains our logo, brand colors, and other details you’ll need for this assignment.
I hope all is well. How are the twins? Is Reed gearing up for the big game tonight?
Please email me back once you’ve received this so I know it didn’t go to spam.
All the best,
Jacob Manning
When I got to the line about Rachel and Reed, the sick feeling had returned to my stomach, churning like my after-school snack was going to make an appearance. It was hard to pretend that this was just some client, not their father, when he asked about them.
“Is it bad?” Maisie leaned forward, trying to catch my eye. “Your face looks pale.”
I looked at Rachel first, but her attention was back on herself in the mirror, wiping away her eyeshadow fallout. Oblivious to my apparently pale expression.
“It was a spam email,” I got out with a forced laugh, locking my phone before pressing it against my thigh. “Bummer.”
In the distance, the lawnmower shut off, sending me back into a full spiral.
* * *
Away games weren’t as exciting as home games, but there was something to be said about spreading school spirit in enemy territory. Not ourtrueenemy, of course—that title belonged to the Jefferson High Bulldogs—but Chesterville was a formidable opponent. The stadium lights blared down on the players, illuminating them as they ran around in the grass. It was the fourth quarter, and both teams were already starting to slow down. Thankfully, Chesterville more so. Their defensive linemen started developing cracks in which our offense blew holes right through.
I couldn’t care less about watching a random football team on TV, but when it came to the Bobcats, I was dedicated.
With seconds left on the clock, Landon pulled back from the line of scrimmage to find a player to throw the ball to. It cut through the air cleanly, its target already waiting in the endzone. “And the pass is complete to number 22, Connor Bray!” the announcer called into the microphone, though his voice was nearly lost in the eruption of the Bobcats student section. “That puts the Brentwood Bobcats at a 6-point lead, taking home the victory!”
