It made me want to gag.
And then die at the mortification of it all.
Whitney put an arm around my shoulder, giving me a squeeze. “And what if it doesn’t?”
My cheeks flushed, and my hands started to feel clammy. “It’s Adam. I’m not supposed to like Adam,” I reminded her.
Whitney rolled her eyes again, her de facto response to most things I said. “It’s Adam. How can you not like Adam?”
She was right. It was bound to happen sooner or later, particularly after he turned fourteen and grew five inches, and his physique started to resemble a linebacker. But it wasn’t just about his looks. I could probably ignore the twinges of desire if that were the only thing about him that I was into. But Adam was smart. He read biographies on the US presidents for fun. He could count to 100 in seven different languages. He liked George Romero movies and could recite all the dialogue from Day of the Dead. He was a kick-ass tennis player, and we made a great doubles team.
And he visited his grandparents every Friday after school without fail. He made sure to bring his grandmother a Baby Ruth candy bar, her favorite, and a bouquet of flowers he’d pick up at the corner market by her house. And he took his granddad the latest tape of baseball games he had recorded for him during the week so they could watch them together.
Adam was everything every other boy in our grade wasn’t.
Whit was right. How could I not like Adam?
The question was, did Adam like me back?
I nodded, feeling resolute. “I’m going to tell him. Tonight. At the dance.” A twinge of doubt took hold. “What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if I ruin our friendship?” Those were the two things that had been swimming around in my head since I realized I wanted to stick my tongue down my best friend’s throat. What if this destroyed seventeen years of friendship? Because at the end of the day, that mattered more than any potential relationship.
Whitney kissed my cheek. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Meg. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. If I were a betting gal, I’d say he’s as ga-ga over you as you are over him.”
“Psh, no way,” I scoffed, but the butterflies had taken hold in my stomach. It felt a lot like hope.
“Meggie, Adam and the gang are here!” my dad called up the stairs.
“Here goes nothin’.” I grabbed my canvas tote bag covered in patches, slinging it over my shoulder.
“You can’t take that bag,” Whitney groaned, trying to pull it from my shoulder. “It completely ruins the look.”
I grinned, hurrying out of my room before she could take it from me. I may be dressed up, but I was still Meg Galloway after all. Whitney chased me down the stairs, the two of us laughing the whole way. And then I saw him.
I came up short, Whitney almost running into my back.
Adam stood at the foot of the stairs talking to my dad, his hands tucked into the pockets of his pressed trousers, his blue button-up shirt open at the base of his throat. His dark hair was freshly trimmed, falling in a wave over his forehead. He grinned at something my dad said, and the sight of that smile—one I was achingly familiar with—made my insides turn to jelly.
Our friends Skylar Murphy and Kyle Webber stood with him decked to the nines. Skylar, while wearing a dress, kept true to her trademark goth style, pairing the frilly black number with torn fishnet stockings, fingerless gloves, and thick eyeliner. She looked like the perfect undead homecoming queen.
Kyle was dressed traditionally in slacks and a green shirt with a yellow striped tie. I noticed his brown hair was also recently cut and styled much like Adam’s, which wasn’t surprising. Kyle was always emulating Adam in all things. But unfortunately, Kyle was usually relegated to the second string in sports and with the girls. He would always be Adam’s less attractive friend, which wasn’t fair, Kyle was a good-looking guy. But Adam was in a completely different league. I knew it bothered him, though he would never say anything. He was loyal to Adam to a fault. Nothing would get in the way of their friendship.
“Hey, guys,” I said, my mouth dry and my heart pounding. I focused on Skyler and Kyle so that I could get myself under control.
Chill out, Meg. It’s just Adam! I scolded myself.
Just Adam.
If only.
Skylar lifted her hand in greeting, too cool to say anything.
“Hey, Meg,” Kyle greeted with a smile, his eyes instantly zeroing in over my shoulder. “Uh, hey Whit. H-how are you? No school?” He stuttered and stumbled over his words, not even trying to hide his obvious desire for my sister.
Whitney, always oblivious, rolled her eyes. “There’s no school on the weekend, Kyle.” She forever treated him like a pesky little brother, even if he was now a lot taller than her and had developed a defined muscular build. The poor guy hadn’t even been friend-zoned. He’d been looked over entirely. She turned to me, squeezing my arm. “Go get ’em, tiger,” she whispered.
“Thanks, Whit. For everything,” I told her before turning back to my friends.
“Later, guys. Have fun!” Whitney called out, heading back up the stairs. Kyle glumly watched her leave.
Skylar elbowed him in the side. “You’re drooling, Romeo.” Kyle glared at her but surreptitiously wiped his mouth.
I hopped down the final two steps, bumping Skylar with my hip. “You clean up nicely, Murphy.” Skylar made no outward show of being pleased by my compliment. She wasn’t one to emote much. It’s probably why we got along so well. I ran hot and cold to such an extreme that Adam had nicknamed me Hurricane Meg when I was a pre-teen. Skylar had always been a balance to my intensity.
“Not so bad yourself, Galloway,” she replied, finally allowing herself to smile—only the
