to make sure Señora’s attention is still diverted and then slips it onto my desk.
I count ten full seconds before looking at it, because, you know, Creature of Mystery! Totally busy and important. But in all honesty, it’s the most excruciatingly long ten seconds of my life.
I casually glance down, pretending to notice it for the first time.
Are we good?
I can’t help but shiver. Those are the exact words I used when I was the one passing the note.
I shift toward him long enough to smile and give a quick thumbs-up.
For the rest of class, I only have one thought drifting through my head.
Oh, how the tables have turned.
Do-Wah-Diddy
12:40 p.m.
After acing my history test—third time’s the charm!—I head to my locker to stash my books. As expected, I find my speech notes in the interior Velcro pocket of my bag, just as I did yesterday, and stuff them into the pocket of my dress.
When I turn around, Tristan is approaching from down the hall. I quickly turn and stare into my locker, trying to busy myself with rearranging something. Anything! But par for the course, my locker is already immaculate. Not even a single pencil out of place. So I grab a notebook, flip it open, and pretend to be engrossed in whatever I’ve written on that page.
I feel warm lips press into my neck. I stifle a giddy squeal.
“Hi there,” I say, keeping my gaze locked on my notebook.
Tristan gently turns my shoulder so that I’m facing him and then his mouth is on mine. His kiss is deep and urgent. Like he hasn’t kissed me in weeks. One hand snakes around my waist, pulling me into him, the other roams through my hair, his fingers tangling in the soft waves I spent so long perfecting this morning.
The notebook I was pretending to be absorbed in slips from my quickly numbing fingers as my whole body wilts into him. Thankfully, he’s got one arm around me, or I’d probably sink to the floor right along with my notebook.
I’m so completely wrapped up in his lips moving against mine, I almost forget about the seventh commandment.
Commandment #7: Thou shall always end the date and the kiss first. Leave him wanting more!
It takes every ounce of mental strength that I have, but I finally manage to pull away. I try not to act completely swooned by what just happened, but in reality I think my kneecaps have entirely melted. I brace my wobbly body against the locker behind me.
“That was nice,” I say lamely, bending down to pick up my fallen notebook.
Tristan lets out a laugh. “Nice? That was like the world series of kissing.”
I teeter my head from side to side. “Perhaps.”
Perhaps?
Am I a Creature of Mystery or a character from Downton Abbey?
Tristan leans in and rests his forehead against mine. “What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
He guffaws. “After that kiss? I’m not sure you want to know.”
A deep blush creeps up my neck. Do Creatures of Mystery blush?
I lower my head, averting my gaze.
“I mean,” he says, lifting my chin to meet his eye, “are you sure you’re okay?”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
His face contorts in confusion. “Yeeaaah.” He draws out the word, like he’s buying time until this conversation makes sense. “Are you coming to the practice room during lunch with us?”
“Are you coming to the practice room during lunch with us?”
Okay, I’m not sure Commandment #5 applies to every conversation.
“Huh?”
I bite my lip. “Never mind.”
“So, are you coming?”
My heart is practically doing somersaults in my chest, screaming “Yes! Yes! Yes!” but my brain is bringing down the gavel, reminding me of Operation Boyfriend Recovery (okay, I just coined that phrase, too).
Girl Commandment #10: Thou shall never accept a date request less than forty-eight hours in advance.
Although, technically, he’s not asking me on a date. And technically, given my current, highly unusual predicament, he’s not really physically (cosmically?) capable of asking me out more than forty-eight hours in advance. So, technically, I could say yes right now.
But I won’t.
Everything is turning out so well, I don’t want to screw it up by messing with the formula.
“I would love to but…” I have to force my lips to form the words. They are still tingling from that kiss and on the verge of waging a full-scale rebellion. “I really should go somewhere quiet to practice my speech.” I pull the index cards from my pocket and wave them