it. But my brain keeps rewinding past that part, back to when Maya said I smelled like mint. When she shut her eyes and leaned forward, just barely. Maybe it was a platonic gesture that I just grossly misinterpreted? But . . . at that point, Maya already knew I was in love with her.
Am in love with her.
Because I told her.
I told Maya I’m in love with her. I made those words in my brain and I said them and Maya heard them and she didn’t freak out.
I don’t think she freaked out?
I mean, I almost kissed her.
And she almost kissed me back. I really think she would have kissed me. If not for Gabe.
Gabe. I can barely stand to look at him. He spent the whole family photo session grinning into his phone. I know that shouldn’t piss me off. It probably means good news for Rossum. Still. It’s like some kind of spell was broken the moment he showed up.
He probably has no idea what he ruined.
Sophie’s friends start trickling in, leaving gift bags near the front table. The boys are all wearing literally the same ensemble: black jackets over white collared shirts, with blue ties. But the girls have all changed into shorter, tighter dresses, most of which basically look like tubes of fabric. Maddie shows up, looking tearful, and she and Sophie hug for about an hour. Then Maddie spends another hour hugging a wavy-haired blond girl—Tessa, as I now know from Instagram. And then she gets going again with Andrea—and even Andrea’s sister. Apparently Sophie’s reception is also a Maddie support group.
“Sophie looks so cute,” Nolan says. “What a little peanut.”
I nod, but I’m only half present. My eyes keep glancing back to the staircase.
Felipe prods my arm, smiling knowingly. “She’ll be here.”
“What? No, I’m just—”
My words fall away. Maya drifts up the staircase, carrying a wrapped gift and a tote bag, and my heart leaps into my throat.
She’s dressed in pale gray lace, with delicate short sleeves. I’m pretty sure Drew’s speaking to me, but I’m just—Maya’s hair. It’s shiny and straight, curling just barely at the ends. And her skin glows golden brown in the light of the reception hall.
Forget the toast. I legitimately don’t know if I can get through the word hi. But I rush to meet her, leaving Drew hanging mid-sentence. I don’t know if I should shake her hand or hug her, and if I hug her, should it be a quick friend hug? Or one of those century-long Maddie friend hugs? Or no hug? Do I keep it verbal? I mean, she said talk. Maybe she meant that literally. A nice, collegial, hands-free platonic talk.
She steps closer, close enough for me to really see her expression. I can’t quite decipher it. She’s not flustered—not exactly—but she’s not exactly relaxed.
She shoots me a halting smile. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I’m trying not to stare. But her cheeks are so pink, and her eyes look extra Disney, and her face is closer than usual.
She’s taller. Just barely. Maybe her shoes. She smells like flowers.
“You look so pretty,” I say softly. “Your hair . . .”
She blushes, nervously fingering the ends. “Thanks—I . . . my friend Shelby has a hair straightener.” Her eyes keep flicking down to my mouth. “You look amazing, Jamie. This whole place is amazing.”
I glance back over my shoulder. “Yeah, the decorations came out really nice. Want to see the ballroom?”
She nods mutely, taking my hand.
But Drew, Felipe, and Nolan intercept us before we can even swing by the gift table. “Maya!” Drew hugs her.
“You look gorgeous,” Felipe says. “Stunning.”
Maya laughs and hugs them back, and suddenly everything’s weirdly, maddeningly normal. Nolan whispers something in Maya’s ear, and she elbows him. “Shut up!”
Felipe takes her hand to lead the way to our table. I have to admit: Mom knocked it out of the park with the reception space. The ceiling’s strung with pastel paper candy necklace medallions, and a giant chalkboard out front reads Sophie’s Sweet Shop. The table numbers are also on chalkboards, surrounded by washi-taped jars of lollipops, chocolate balls, and gummy bears. And there’s a self-serve candy display in Sophie’s after-dinner teen room.
Maya scoots her chair up close beside me. “What a great party theme.”
“Aunt Lauren is an event-planning genius,” says Rachel.
The ballroom fills slowly as people make their way to their tables. Sophie’s holding court near the back, at a long, rectangular table with her friends. I turn to my group, trying to follow