impromptu first date being over. As if he feels the same way, Matt slows his pace, then stops. We lean against the railing, admiring the view.
“Home?” Matt asks after a few moments.
“Late-night food?” I ask back.
“Even better,” he says, sounding a little relieved. He takes my hand and leads me back across the wide street, through the parking lot, and into the familiar passenger seat of his car.
“How is it possible that you don’t have a girlfriend?” I blurt out on the way to what Matt says is his favorite diner, ignoring how completely stalker it sounds.
“Who says I don’t?” he answers. I flip my face toward his, shocked and instantly jealous.
“What?” I say a little too loudly, which makes Matt laugh.
“Just kidding,” he says through chuckles. “I did last year, but she started college this year. We felt like it wouldn’t work long-distance. Well, I felt that way. She wanted to stay together.”
Now, in addition to jealous, I feel inferior. My lanky fifteen-year-old self is no match for a college girl. Possibly reading my anxiety, Matt adds, “She’s a bitch.”
We laugh together, and it brightens my mood again. I look out the window at the old and new buildings, thinking the conversation’s over. But then we stop at a red light and Matt turns to face me.
“Even if she wasn’t at college, it’d be over,” he says. “I like someone else now.” I have to look away so Matt doesn’t see the grin spliting my face.
When we arrive at the diner a few minutes later we find that despite it being a Sunday night, we’re not the only ones with the greasy-spoon idea. We have to circle around and park a few blocks away, and when we get out of the car, I suggest cutting through an alley.
“This isn’t the greatest part of town,” Matt protests.
“Nothing will happen,” I say with a shrug, taking off alone. His choices are either to let me walk alone or to follow. He jogs a little to catch up with me. Aside from a tense moment with a large rat, we reach the diner unscathed. When Matt and I walk through the door, he turns and looks deep into my eyes.
“What are you afraid of?” he asks.
The question catches me off guard and makes me feel vulnerable. So I swallow hard and overcompensate: “Nothing,” I say carelessly.
Matt looks at me like he did after the bridge-railing-as-balance-beam incident.
“Okay, fine,” I say, exhaling. “Bees. I’m afraid of bees.”
Two hours later, full from too many fries and a too-big milk shake, I try hard to suck in my stomach as Matt walks me to the guest bedroom door.
“That was really fun,” I whisper, keenly aware of his parents’ presence just three doors down.
“Yeah,” he whispers back, smiling. He steps toward me in that way that guys do in the movies when they want a goodnight kiss, and butterflies flit inside me like I’m at the top of a roller coaster, ready to drop. I raise my chin a little to tell him that it’s okay.
Matt’s lips taste like vanilla. His warm chest brushes mine. His arms stay at his sides, but his left index finger wraps around my right. It’s a long kiss, but there’s no tongue—only sweet softness. And then, too quickly, it’s over.
I look up and admire his face at close range. In the low light, his dark eyes are black, but there’s nothing sinister about them. Our fingers are still intertwined, but our chests are no longer touching. I’m glad about that because my heart is racing. He breathes out and I breathe in.
“I should go to bed,” he whispers.
“Okay,” I whisper back.
Neither of us moves.
“I don’t really want to.”
“Me, either.”
Still, we stand, watching each other. The house shifts. A toilet flushes.
“Okay, I’m going now,” Matt says.
“Okay.”
“Night,” he whispers.
“Night,” I whisper back.
Matt takes a step away and our fingers detach. I get that quick panicky feeling like when a glass tips to spill, a rush like I want to reach out and stop it from happening. He takes another step, our eyes still locked. Two more, and I feel bound to move with him, but somehow I manage to stay still.
He walks backward all the way to his room at the end of the hall, his eyes holding mine the entire time. When he reaches his door, he smiles and holds up a palm. I hold mine up, too. He dips his chin once before stepping inside; the door barely audibly clicks behind him.
And then—only then—do I start breathing again.
sixteen
Monday is Hooky Day. Cassie already had me excused from school because of the trip to Kansas City, and Audrey’s still technically home sick, even though she’s out of bed and claims to be feeling better. Matt’s the only one who has to go to school today. At breakfast, I fight off a perma-grin every time I look at him, with his still- dripping wisps of hair clinging to his neck. I want to reach over and blot them, just for an excuse to touch him. Last night is fresh in my mind; I can still feel his lips on mine, and I have to try very hard not to stare at his mouth.
At least he seems to be into me, too.
Every time I look at him, he’s either looking at me already or he feels my stare and looks up. He’s moving a little quicker than usual and his dark eyes are sparkling. It’s hard to eat.
Then it gets even harder.
Audrey starts humming into her cereal bowl and immediately I recognize the tune to Ingrid Michaelson’s “The Way I Am.” At first I think she’s merely chirping, but then I realize that it’s much more.
“If you are chilly, here take my sweater,” she begins to sing, swaying overdramatically. Matt scrunches up his face in confusion.
“Did you take too many painkillers this morning?” Matt asks. “Why are you singing to your Cheerios?”
Audrey looks at him with a weird smile on her face. She rolls her eyes and looks at me, amused. She tilts her head to the side and raises the volume, singing the next two lines with her hand on her heart.
Matt gets that Audrey is serenading us just as their mom cuts in.
“What a pretty song!” Mrs. McKean says, thankfully interrupting the hazing ritual.
“Oh, yeah, lovely,” Matt says, blowing out his breath. He looks embarrassed but plays it off. “You should try out for show choir.”
Blushing, I stuff a piece of toast in my mouth. I chew until Matt abruptly stands to leave, then I look at him, surprised.
“I have to meet Drew,” he says in explanation even though he’s looking at his mom, not me. But then his eyes meet mine and we’re locked there for a moment, silently saying goodbye. He breaks the hold when he turns toward Audrey. “Later, Thelma.”
Audrey rolls her eyes at him again. Matt walks over and hugs his mom, then he’s gone.
“Sorry,” Audrey says after he’s gone. “But I couldn’t resist. You two are disgustingly cute.”
“That’s okay,” I say, taking another bite. “What’s with ‘Thelma’?”
She shakes her head. “That’s what my dad wanted to name me. Matt thinks it’s the nerdiest name ever, so when I annoy him, he calls me Thelma.”
Audrey and I look at each other for a beat before we both burst out laughing. The name isn’t
