Click to Subscribe - By L. M. Augustine Page 0,49

almost-kiss between us, but when I get free time, it’s all I can think about: her lips. My lips.

At the time, our lips were like magnets. I wanted that kiss. I needed that kiss. But I pulled away.

I don’t really know why I did what I did, but it just felt… wrong. I mean, I can’t kiss Cat. Not like that, at least—not at Mom’s grave and certainly not when I’m too busy suppressing tears to think clearly. If we kiss—and I’m not saying we will—I want it to be real. Honest. I want us both to be ready, and I want it to be the best damn kiss this world has ever seen.

But even so, a part of me regrets not going through with it. A part of me wants to see how a kiss with her feels, because maybe kissing Cat will tell me whether I really do love her. But I can’t risk it. What if I feel nothing? We’ll have kissed and then that will be that, and we can go ahead and forget about ever being ordinary friends again.

I haven’t talked to Dad since our fight, but strangely, he wasn’t angry when I got back. Instead he looked… sad. Regretful, even. But I know my dad and I know how good he is at pretending, and he is sure as hell not the type of person to be regretful. Mom’s death is proof of that. Then again, he’s also not the person to fight with me that hard. It almost feels like a relief to get something out of him, something beyond the zombie insults.

Cat and I don’t have our first real conversation until a few days after that night. I mean, we talk a little here and there about the probability that our ancient History teacher lived when dinosaurs existed, but we’ve conveniently avoided the topic that is on both of our minds: the near kiss.

After school on Thursday, I throw my books into my locker, ready to go home to another uneventful night of avoiding my dad and Cat and filming another vlog, when I get her text.

It’s me, Cat says.

Shocker.

Shut up. Also, meet me outside. I brought ice cream!

For real? Jeez, Cat, you sure know the way to a man’s heart.

I know. I’m wonderful. You don’t deserve me. But because I’m nice, you get to meet me outside.

I roll my eyes as I type, Whatever.

Don’t “whatever” me, Ryder.

Oh, but I already did! Muahaha!

Do you want your ice cream or not?

I do.

Then come meet me outside.

FINE. No need to be so bossy.

Me? Bossy? No! I am sorry for whatever terrible thing happened to you as a child.

Yeah. I met you.

*gasp* Oh you did not just say that!

Oh yes I did!

I smile to myself, pocketing my phone. Talking to Cat never fails to make me feel so much better. When I’ve finished emptying my backpack, I slam my locker shut and walk down the hallway and out the door. I find Cat seated on a bench a few feet to the right of the school entrance. It’s sunny out, way too sunny to be winter, and the air is cool and somewhat icy.

“Hey,” Cat says. I turn to her. Her blue eyes sparkle in the sunlight, like hidden jewels only I know about. She holds her palm over her eyes and angles her head slightly to block the sun, so she can watch me approach. Her red hair spills over one half of her head, and her cheekbones stand out as she gives me a huge grin. Then I notice the ice creams sitting on the bench next to her.

I gasp, stick out one hand and hold the other to my chest, feigning a dramatic, soap-opera-esque moment. “Could that be… ice cream?”

“Why yes, yes it is.”

“Vanilla?”

“With rainbow sprinkles.”

I grin. “You really do know how to please a guy, Cat Davenport.”

“Like hell I do.”

I sit down next to her, taking one ice cream and handing the other to her. She gives me a spoon, says, “Enjoy! I’m a badass, I know,” and for a little while, we just eat and stare out at the other students leaving school, at the sports teams getting together for practice, anything than to meet each other’s gaze. Anything but to face the truth.

If there was a prize for most awkward maybe-couple, we would come in first.

“So,” Cat says when we’re both done with our (delicious) ice creams. “You ready for exams?”

“No. You?”

“Nah. I’m too busy buying ice cream for