skulked off with some girl, and occasionally I looked a little too long when he locked lips with one of them. But with him front and center, and the possibility of his kissing me being real, I knew I should decline.
“Horatio got to,” Hamlet argued. “That seems a bit unfair.” He was acting like a spoiled little boy, which made me want to kiss him far less. Which is why I did it.
“Okay?” I asked, flinging my arms wide after planting a fast, annoyed kiss on him.
He stood really still, and because the torch-shaped hall light was directly behind his head, it made it hard for me to see his expression. Then he inched forward and I could see there was no mirth on his face, only intense desire. His palms cupped my face and when his soft lips brushed against mine, I wanted to both run away and stay there forever. This was bad because it felt so good. Better than good. It felt right.
I yanked my head back and said nervously, “Okay, then, so we did it. Now… good night.”
I fumbled with my key and then opened my door. When I stepped inside, he was still standing in the same position. “Huh,” he said, bemused. “Good night.” He walked away, running his fingers through his hair as he pounded down the steps, presumably to rejoin Horatio.
That night I could hardly sleep. I spent the first half of the night thinking about how beautiful Hamlet looked as he had come closer, and how amazing he smelled, and how confident yet gentle his touch was. I spent the second half of the night thinking about how stupid I’d been to allow it.
The next morning, I didn’t talk much to my parents at breakfast. And when we all got on the royal jet, I put my backpack on the seat next to mine and pulled out my homework. When Hamlet and Horatio tried to sit with me, I shook them off, claiming that I had tons to do, and tried to ignore the kick in my stomach when Hamlet leaned in to say they’d be mere feet away if I changed my mind.
When we were waiting for our bags to be unloaded, Hamlet sidled up next to me. “You’re acting weird,” he said. “We okay? I mean, last night—”
I waved my book right in front of his face. “I’m fine. Mrs. Bernstein is tough, though, and there was a quiz while we were gone. I need to do well on the makeup. That’s all that’s wrong.” In my attempt to sound normal, I knew my voice had gotten higher and less convincing.
He shrugged, fighting back a smile, or so I thought. “Movie tonight?”
I shook my head. “Studying,” I said, looking down at my book, hoping he couldn’t see the pages shake. How had I never noticed how darn good he smelled? Seriously. Like pine trees and musk and rosemary. Had he changed deodorant? Was he suddenly wearing cologne? He was going to have to move away or I was going to fling my book aside and smooch him right there on the tarmac in front of all our parents.
He left, and I was quite relieved to have escaped such embarrassment.
The next day, Horatio drove Hamlet and me to school, much to my concern. We rode together every day, and saying no would have been an even bigger clue that I’d totally lost it. But in the car, I couldn’t talk or join in the conversation. I sat in the back telling myself to stop thinking of Hamlet. Obviously, it didn’t work.
Wordlessly, I got out and waved over my shoulder to them, slipping into a circle of my friends, resisting the urge to watch him walk to his locker. Lauren asked how France was, and I answered in as few words as I could, and then Sebastian brought up a party they’d all attended in my absence. I breathed for the first time in over twenty-four hours.
First period was history, and Ms. Stone was delivering a heartfelt lecture on the importance of due process when Hamlet opened the classroom door and said I was needed in the office. As often happened when Hamlet spoke to the female teachers, her eyes glazed over in acquiescence. I never knew if it was his good looks or his celebrity that got them, or a combination of both. Leaving my stuff behind and wondering why I could be needed, I hurried out of the room and