be the first group called in for photos. I didn’t have a single spare moment to go to the bathroom to fix my hair. By the time Owen and I made it in from the rain, the first-period warning bell was already ringing and I had to head straight to class.
I manage to catch a peek at the photographer’s viewfinder as I pass, and oh my God, it’s more horrifying than I thought. My eyes are totally bloodshot from the rain. My makeup has smeared. My hair looks stringy and limp, like a kindergartner attached it to my head with Elmer’s glue.
Fortunately I won’t see Tristan until next period, and I should have time to duck into the bathroom and touch up before then. I need to look perfect when I see him. Or, at the very least, presentable.
9:50 a.m.
As soon as the bell rings, I jam my earbuds into my ears and scroll through my playlists until I find the one I want. “Mood Altering Substances.”
The soothing sound of Donovan crooning “Mellow Yellow” floods into my ears and I feel myself relax somewhat. I keep my head down as I navigate through the crowd toward the girls’ bathroom, but a tap on my shoulder makes me jump. I spin around to find—
Oh, please no.
This is not happening. It was not supposed to go down like this. I was supposed to look breezy and happy-go-lucky and, above all else, nonfrightening when I first saw him today. Not like I just walked out of the House of Horrors.
I rip my earbuds out and do my best to sound cheerful. “Tristan!”
God, he looks gorgeous today. His dark blond hair is all tousled and oh-so-touchable. He’s wearing the faded loose-fit jeans and black leather jacket combo that I love. Although to be fair, he pretty much wears that every day.
He’s staring at my face like he’s trying to decipher an ancient Egyptian scroll. “Are you trying out for the play?”
Ouch.
I dab uselessly at the skin under my eyes. “No. I was just … it was the rain. I didn’t bring an umbrella. I was on my way to the bathroom to clean up.”
Remember. You are drama free. You are the embodiment of chill.
“I mean, not that I care,” I add quickly. “What’s a little rain, right?”
“Right,” he agrees, hitching the strap of his guitar case up his shoulder.
“I just hope it clears up before tonight.”
Confusion is back on his face. “What’s tonight?”
I wince inwardly. Did he forget?
“The town carnival?” I remind him. “Tonight’s the last night.”
I’ve only been looking forward to it since I was ten years old. Okay, so I didn’t actually know Tristan when I was ten. He moved to our town freshman year. The carnival comes to town every year for two weeks. I’ve been going to it since I was a kid, and when I was ten I saw this couple there who looked so head-over-heels in love with each other, I kind of became obsessed with them. I followed them around all night, tracking their date like a private investigator.
I looked on whimsically as they held hands in line for the rides. I smiled a goofy smile as he won her the biggest stuffed animal at the ring toss game. I swooned when they sat down to share a milk shake and he reached across the table to cup her face in his hands, like he was trying to hold her together. I got a crick in my neck following their progress on the Ferris wheel (a ride I’ve still never gone on due to my paralyzing fear of heights). Then, when their car paused at the top and they shared a moonlight kiss, all I could think was I want that.
I want to be in love like that.
To this day, it’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever witnessed.
But until five months ago, I’d never actually had a boyfriend to go to the carnival with.
“We’re still going, right?” I ask, cringing at how whiny my voice sounds. Maybe I really am turning into a drama queen.
He nods, but I can tell his mind is elsewhere. “Sure. Sounds fun.” He clears his throat. “So, that thing. Last night. I thought we could talk about it.”
Oh God, he wants to do this now? Here? While I’m looking like this?
I take a deep breath. Time to defuse a bomb. “Yeah, I wanted to talk about it, too. Look, I’m so sorry about that. I completely overreacted. It’s all my fault. And