Prologue
I came alive when I met you.
—My Big Fat Greek Wedding
Ten summers ago
Pot brownies, Jordan is learning, hit differently for everyone.
His cousin Denz goes from his usual overactive, overthinking, over-plotting (see: scheming) self to instantly chill. Comatose, really. After one full square, he’s a goner, drooling on his thousand-thread-count sateen pillowcase on his California king bed.
Happy and content.
For Denz’s best friend Jamie, the brownies have the opposite effect.
Jordan has always thought of Jamie as the human equivalent of a border collie.
Loyal and energetic, with an acceptable dose of affectionate.
But, somehow, the weed multiplies everything by ten.
Jamie inhales two squares before Jordan can finish a corner of his own.
Thirty minutes later, he’s a sunburst of energy, giggling as he bumps into Jordan with every twist and turn Toad—his favorite Mario Kart character—makes on Denz’s wall-mounted flat screen.
It’s … a lot.
For Jordan, the high—if you can call it that—brings focus. Elite concentration. He goes from great to god-like on Mario Kart.
They’ve just started their ninth round. An hour ago, Jamie was confidently beating him, four to two. But since finishing half his brownie, Jordan’s become untouchable.
Now, they’re officially tied.
Summer sleepovers at Denz’s house are more than just a tradition for Jordan. They’re a necessity. Being an only child has its perks, especially for birthdays and holidays, but it’s lonely too.
Summer is a big event season in Atlanta.
Parties all the time. Being the executive assistant to 24 Carter Gold’s CEO means Jordan’s mom is either the first to arrive or the last to leave a celebration.
Sometimes both. And there’s no offseason for Tevin, his mom’s husband.
He’s a semi-famous music producer who’s constantly flying to major cities for recording sessions.
Jordan needs these weekend getaways with Denz.
The silly swim races. All the hot dog–eating contests and movie marathons. It’s nice to have someone around his age to talk to.
And, yes, Jordan also needs the bimonthly visits with Jamie too. Even if it means he’s buzzed and laughing at his own character falling off Rainbow Road at one in the morning.
Jordan remembers the old bungalow his cousins used to live in.
With its creaky floors and cramped living room, nights like this couldn’t happen.
But their new house is modern and spacious.
It has an obscene number of bathroom options.
When Denz turned sixteen last July, his parents renovated the finished basement into a bedroom.
To give him more privacy, of course.
“No one wants to walk in on you reading freaky Teen Wolf fanfics again!” Kami, Denz’s older sister, had teased.
Now, the three of them are free to be as noisy as they want during sleepovers. Usually, they’re not high off their asses while doing so, but, well …
That particular gift is thanks to Jamie Noah Peters.
He arrived earlier with a sleeping bag, one of his trademark crooked grins, and a plastic-wrapped batch of special brownies tucked neatly into his backpack.
Jordan and Jamie are shoulder to shoulder on the floor, their backs braced against the foot of Denz’s bed.
Jamie is all smiley, his pink-rimmed eyes scrunched.
Jordan’s almost too fixated on the game to notice.
His Bowser laps Toad for the second time.
Denz snuffles and snores into his pillow, dead to the world.
“Wait! Start over,” Jamie cries. “You’re cheating!”
“I don’t cheat,” Jordan argues.
Not all the time, he doesn’t add.
For better or for worse, Jordan is a very competitive person.
He’s not sure where he got it from. The only person his mom ever tries to one-up is her fraternal twin sister, Eva.
Maybe Jordan got it from the biological dad he’s never met?
Who no one in his family, including his mom, ever talks about?
(Jordan’s not interested in going down that road right now.)
Point is, he hates losing. Badly. So, he works hard not to. Sometimes, that requires devious tactics. He’s not ashamed of his past delinquencies, but Jordan also doesn’t need a shortcut to beat Jamie.
It’s all about skill. World-class concentration. Being so determined that—
“I heard Yasmine Romero asked you on a date,” Jamie says.
Jordan’s Bowser swerves into a wall.
He pauses the game. Heat scorches the back of his neck. He doesn’t look at Jamie when he says, “You—what?”
“Yasmine Romero,” Jamie repeats, as casual as the first time.
“I, uh,” Jordan stammers. “Who told you that?”
“Denz might’ve mentioned—”
Jordan almost throws his game controller. He expects this kind of behavior from his mom. She loves gossip almost as much as she loves raspberry truffle cheesecake. But Denz? That’s unprecedented betrayal.
Wonderful, now Jordan has to murder his cousin. He hasn’t decided how yet. Waterboarding? Poisoning one of his energy drinks? Death by an overpriced memory foam pillow?
He’ll figure that—and his alibi—out later. Right after he deciphers why the hell Jamie is staring at him weirdly.
“What?”
Jamie gives him a wide grin. God, he’s such a border collie. Happy and friendly and hard to look away from.
“She’s into you, right?”
Jordan shrugs. “I guess.”
The thing is … he’s not really sure?
He’s shared classes with Yazzie for the last two years.
They’ve been lab partners and study buddies.
In the spring, they were each other’s date for the junior prom.
She had asked him. Not that that matters.
It’s just—the idea of asking her never even crossed his mind.
Proms were an excuse to dress up, take silly photos, and dance until your feet hurt.
Which they did. For hours.
When the DJ announced the last slow song, Jordan dutifully led Yazzie to the dance floor. She locked her arms around his neck. His hands rested awkwardly high on her waist. They shuffled around the other couples to John Legend’s “All of Me.”
It was a good night between two good friends.
Was there supposed to have been more?
Jamie squints at him. “You guess?”
“Um … yeah?”
“Do you like her?”
An inhuman noise rattles up Jordan’s throat. Like he’s speaking an alien language. “She’s cool,” he gets out.
“She’s cool,” Jamie repeats. Amusement lifts the left side of his mouth. “Two words every girl who asks you out loves to hear.”
“How would you know? You’ve had, what? One girlfriend?”
“Three,” Jamie corrects. “And one kinda boyfriend. We didn’t put a label on it. To be fair, it didn’t last long enough for us to label.”
Jordan bites the inside of his cheek.
Two sleepovers ago, Jamie came out as pansexual. For some reason, he had seemed nervous telling Jordan. Which was strange. To him, Jamie’s still Jamie. A playful dog with his head out the window, tongue lolling in the wind.
“That doesn’t make you an expert,” Jordan tells him.
“Oh, I know things, Jordan.”
“Really? What’s the square root of 125?”
A thoughtful expression blooms across Jamie’s face. He quickly shakes it off. “I’m queer. We don’t do math.”
Jordan snorts loudly.
Jamie edges closer. He drops his voice to say, “Let me help you. I’m good with people. Even better at dating.”
Jordan can’t relate. To the dating part.
The other thing is: Jordan’s competitive streak doesn’t end with video games. It extends to school too. He’s always been so busy being the best student, the best point guard on his varsity basketball team, that he’s never invested time in learning basic social etiquette when it comes to dating.
Like what the signs are when someone’s flirting with you. How do you know someone likes you in that way?
He’s sixteen. He just assumed he’d figure it out eventually.
Most of his basketball teammates have been dating girls since they were fourteen. Some have done a lot more than that. Jordan tends to tune out during those overly detailed stories.
Still, there’s no way he’s depending on Jamie Peters for advice.
“I’m good,” Jordan says evenly. “The whole Yazzie thing isn’t a big deal.”
He restarts the game.
Immediately, Jamie pauses it again. “It doesn’t look that way.”
Jordan grips his controller tightly. He stares straight ahead, unblinking.
“Jordan,” Jamie singsongs in that sweet lull he’s used on Denz before. On Jordan too, whenever Jordan gets in one of his moods after losing a game. It’s silly. Stupid, really. Yet it works every fucking time.
Sighing, Jordan turns his head.
Denz’s bedroom lights are off. Jamie’s illuminated by the bluish glow from the TV.
His bangs fall in thick waves over his forehead, casting shadows across his eyes.
He doesn’t have any facial hair, unlike Jordan who’s already sporting a grown man’s mustache, light stubble on his chin.
But there are little changes Jordan’s noticed in Jamie.
Like his slimming cheeks. A more pronounced jaw. After his seventeenth birthday in the fall, Jamie had a growth spurt. Now he’s over six feet tall, making Jordan feel short without even trying.
His eyes never leave Jordan’s as the left side of his mouth rises again.
A shiver dances up Jordan’s spine. The blast from the air conditioner is stronger down here.
Jamie says, “Are you scared to go on a date with a girl?”
Jordan’s nostrils flare. “Fuck no.”
“Wait, wait, wait.” Jamie raises both hands, palms out. “Sorry. Wrong word choice.” His voice slips into something smooth, like velvet. Deep like the middle of the ocean. “Are you nervous about going on a date?”
Jordan doesn’t know how to answer that.
Correction: He doesn’t want to answer that.
Jamie bumps his shoulder. “You can tell me. We’re friends.”
They are.
When Denz introduced them two summers ago, Jordan saw Jamie as the hyper-friendly classmate Denz let hang around. Now, Jordan looks forward to Jamie joining their sleepovers. And not just because Jordan can kick his ass at video games.