I push ahead. The old me would have gone flush, then gone home. New me focuses on the butterflies in my tummy. That curve his mouth makes is so damn cute; parenthesis spread from cheek to cheek.
I’ve gone into my mental zone where every sound around me is muted. It’s a trick I’ve always used for test taking and started deploying it to my little social dares. Locked in, I brush the shoulder of a girl as I enter a circle of cool kids I would have run away from two weeks ago. These are the students at Woodcrest High who get all the attention—the girls who wear all the best clothes, who start trends and change them on whims. And the boys everyone pounds fists with in the hallways, the ones who make out with a different girl every week. Caleb doesn’t do that, though. He’s faithful. His lips have only been on Abby Summerland’s for the last three years.
Until two weeks ago.
When they broke up.
And I got a fortune cookie.
Caleb’s mouth straightens out as I near his personal space. Two seconds separate my now from a carefully plotted after. Less than two seconds. A breath--
And suddenly, Abby.
“Excuse me.” The words sound indifferent as they slip from my mouth, and I’m not even sure I said them aloud. My body moves past Caleb, along with my gaze, and I’m momentarily drunk on the richness of his Gucci scent. His hand brushes back the dark blond hair that’s fallen over his right eye, and I’m pretty sure I caught a glimpse of his arched and curious brow as I promenaded through the middle of the It crowd as if they were ghosts who were merely in my way.
What am I doing?
My feet are on autopilot, eyes acting as radars, scanning the darkened room around me, ruling out the row of chairs against the wall and the exit to the right. Sound starts to break through my muted barrier, and my pulse begins to race as the panic seeps in. I’m failing. This was a fail. Abby is here with him, which means … well, who knows what that means really. It’s too late to stick to the plan. I need a new plan. I need to turn left.
With a quick change of direction it takes my eyes a single blink to spot a haven. He’s new and in my third hour as of Monday. I think his name is Devin, or maybe it’s Kevin. It rhymes with heaven, that much I’m certain of, which is maybe why my brain and eyes are in cahoots right now in deciding to carry my body right into his. My hands fall into line next, one meeting the right side of his jaw, which is warm and unshaven. My left presses against the other side of his face, taking in his green and so very wide eyes.
He’s shocked.
Hell, I’m shocked!
This is freaking shocking!
My eyes close but his don’t, and I bet they aren’t going to. It’s just a hunch. I’m doing this. My toes lift me up, my chin raises and my hands pull his face toward mine until my lips part and take in the soft warmth of his mouth.
“I’m so sorry.” This, of course, is only being said in my head. He can’t hear it. All he hears is the pounding in my chest and the puff of air that just left my nose as all breath was knocked out of my lungs. I’d breathe through my mouth, but it’s busy kissing a boy whose name I just threw a mental dart at.
This plan has gone off the rails.
This is certain death.
But Devin Kevin sent from Heaven…he’s kissing me back.
TWO
I’M NOT REALLY a runner. I’m the girl that speed-walked the mile in freshman PE just to come in under the ten-minute mark so I could maintain straight A’s. But last night, when my heels came back down to earth and my eyes opened on the stunned—and probably traumatized—gaze of Devin Kevin, I busted out of that gym laying down times that would probably turn heads at the NFL combine.
I was too embarrassed to rehash every misstep with Shay when she showed up at my house a full thirty minutes later. Refusing to unravel myself from my favorite quilt, which I’d wrapped myself in like a burrito, I pretended to sleep long before I actually did. Shay knew I was faking, but she eventually gave up, or grew bored of trying and popped