Kissing is the Easy Part

Chapter One

Flora

Nine failed attempts at small talk, five uneventful group dates, one tutoring session, and two shared classes—and now, maybe my last chance. Tonight, I might finally have a shot with Sean Foster.

One of Raymond Corbett’s legendary parties is in full swing. The socially relevant slice of the junior class is here, which means Sean should be too. I owe it to myself to give it another try. Steeling myself, I step into the foyer.

The thick mix of beer, sweat, and cheap perfume hits me in the face.

It smells like hope. Someone must have hijacked the playlist; raucous rap music pulses against the walls and through the marble floors, contrasting with the modern clean lines of the living room.

But Ray’s dad doesn’t care what he does as long as he pays someone to clean up afterward.

Everywhere buzzes with people clutching black Solo cups, shouting over the music, snapping blurry selfies as they spill through the open-plan house all the way to the kitchen. Still, no sign of Sean.

Raymond stands at the counter, and I make my way over—which sounds easier than it is in practice.

Every few steps someone grabs my arm for a picture, a hug, asks me where I’ve been, and in return I squeeze hands and pose and dish out (genuine) compliments—I love your dress!

Your shoes are so cute! By the time I reach the other side of the enormous room, my pulse is already racing.

“Don’t worry, I invited him in person. Twice,” Ray says. “He said he’d come.”

Raymond knows all about my battles. New school year, new beginning, new party, same old crush.

When I first saw Sean Foster, we’d stepped into the hallway of Lakeridge High as freshmen.

He wore minimalistic white sneakers and a gracefully aloof attitude, and his eyes were the most captivating kind of rainstorm.

If my life were a movie, Sean would be next to me on the glossy poster, smiling like he already knew how the story would end.

And it wouldn’t be the kind of slow-burn romance in which the girl finally wakes up when she sees her best friend in a suit at prom, because for me, it was instant. I knew.

Sophomore year, he tutored our mutual friend Josie Wang in math. I weaseled my way into their first session. That afternoon, the only thing I understood was that my never-ending crush on him would go on like the numbers behind pi.

Over the summer, when he made varsity basketball, I joined the cheerleading squad to yell his name and mask my enthusiasm behind school spirit. Still, my cheering didn’t catch his attention, so three days ago I tagged along with Josie and him to a movie, thinking we’d bond over caramel popcorn.

We didn’t. Even though he was polite, he didn’t laugh at my jokes. I got home after walking half a block because Sean refused to drop me off at my doorstep, claiming he couldn’t make a U-turn.

Now, it’s the first weekend of junior year, and I’m standing in the middle of Ray’s kitchen, looking for Sean.

Pulling up a stool and sitting down opposite Ray, I sigh. “Madison says I’m too direct and it’s scaring him off. She says when you’re feeding wild animals, you don’t wave your arms and run after them. Wait, lurk, and he’ll come to me when he’s ready.”

“Apparently, Sean’s the type of wild animal that would rather starve.” Ray cackles.

“Exactly. Some guys need a bit of a nudge.”

Or a snare for me to trap him.

It’s time to launch one final attack against Fort Sean.

More friends come up to catch up with us, and my phone doesn’t stop vibrating with texts and mentions.

Ray slides the key to his room across the counter.

“You won’t be able to talk to him with all these interruptions. Feel free to use the focus booth.”

Ray’s dad works at Microsoft, although I never know what his exact job is since he keeps getting promoted.

Ray once told me how his dad goes to the office to immerse himself in the “collaborative culture,” only to sit alone in a focus booth for six hours.

Now Ray jokingly refers to his own bedroom the same way.

Jake and Dylan, also on the varsity basketball team with Sean, are sitting on the sofa.

Waving goodbye to Raymond, I make my way over.

Used cups are scattered on the glass coffee table, some half filled with beer.

A cooler sits nearby, cracked open just enough to reveal a slosh of melted ice and a mix of crushed cans and bottles.

“Hey, have you guys seen Sean?”

Dylan looks up, the metal of his watch catching the light as he shifts. “Hello to you, too, Flora. He’s around. He’ll be right back.”

“Want a drink?” Jake nudges the cooler open with his foot. It’s just like them to hoard the entire stash, but Jake was voted Most Gorgeous two years in a row and gets away with everything. “We have Bud Light, Pbr, a couple of Rainiers, and whatever’s left of the Smirnoff—there he is.”

When I turn, Sean emerges through the crowd, a water carafe in one hand and a bucket of ice in the other.

His muted gray Henley is unfairly perfect—fitted just right, accentuating his lean build without looking like he tried.

The color is a strategic choice, complementing the espresso tones of his hair.

He sees me, and my heart speeds up. Dear god, he’s such a beautiful, beautiful boy, even when he’s in the middle of something so mundane.

“Sean! Join us!” I take the ice bucket from him, tug on his arm, and make sure to pull him down to sit next to me. Our legs brush against one another. His fingers are icy, and he slides his hand out of my grasp when he stretches his arm along the back of the sofa.

“Hey, Flora,” Sean says.

“Took you long enough.” Then I glance over. “Jake, know any good drinking games?”

Of course he does. Jake does a perfect bottle flip for no reason, then sets down a row of plastic cups and, with a sweep of his arm, pulls a few bottles from the cooler, adding them to the lineup.

He gestures at the makeshift spread in front of us.

“Here’s how it works. On the count of three, we all point to a random bottle.

If two or more people pick the same one, they have to drink. Simple.”

He fills our cups with slightly flat beer to start. “Or we can say ‘Go Wolverines!’ before we pick—whatever works.”

“Go Wolverines!” We chant in unison, then we all point.

I don’t even register which bottle I chose before I realize my finger is aimed at the same one as Sean’s.

Jake motions for us to drink, and I tip my head back and finish in one go.

The beer’s warm and bland. I slam down my cup. “Go Wolverines!”

The syrupy fruit-flavored vodka and the fizzy seltzer in the next two rounds are just as repulsive, and then something darker and harsher, a cheap spiced whiskey, burns all the way down my throat in that unmistakable way only cheap alcohol can. A small firework explodes in me.

Beside us, a group of girls initiate a dance-off.

Jake laughs and his eyes light up. With a mop of golden hair and a dimpled smile, Jake’s attractiveness is in-your-face, while Sean—Sean is filling up my cup with ice cubes, leaving almost no space for the beverage.

Dylan catches this and snickers, shaking his head.

A new song blasts from the surround system. Someone must’ve turned up the volume. Where is the music coming from? My eyes can’t focus. The scenes in front of me move in slow motion, like a movie playing frame by frame.

“Are you okay?” Sean asks.

I grin, then, realizing I’m showing too many teeth, close my mouth and reform it into a demure smile. A slight sense of wooziness kicks in, and my head feels heavy.

“How’s everything? You folks having fun?” Raymond sails by, checking in on his party guests as part of his routine. Sometimes I wonder why he bothers throwing parties since he has no time to enjoy himself. All he does is rotate around the room, making sure no one’s miserable.

“Awesome party. Thanks!” Dylan raises a cup. His bicep bulges against the fabric of his shirt. The airplane tattooed on his arm blurs.

Raymond places a hand on my shoulder, leans down, and whispers, “Please don’t mess up my sheets later.”

I laugh and shove him away.

Our drinking game resumes. I down two consecutive cups before Jake removes another bottle from the table, narrowing our choices.

With fewer options, the odds of picking the same one as someone else spike.

This time, I nearly knock over the bottle of peach schnapps when I try to point, but Jake catches it just in time.

He pours us both drinks, finishes his, and nods at me. “Your turn.”

My head snaps up. I reach for the cup in front of me.

Sean lays a hand on my forearm. His fingers are warm now. “Hey, maybe you should take a break.”

“Game’s still on. No mercy,” Jake says.

“Don’t go soft on us now,” Dylan says.

Sean slides my cup out of reach. “You don’t want a headache later.”

“It’s three times the penalty if you’re going to drink for her.” Dylan props his elbows on his knees, grinning. Pretty sure he made up that rule on the fly.

Sean presses my hand down, his touch firm but gentle.

The veins on his forearm are so attractive.

Without speaking, he picks up my cup and drinks—three in a row.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Dylan and Jake exchange a glance and look over at me.

My heart does a somersault inside my rib cage.

“Count us out the next round.” Sean pours me a cup of water and presses it into my hand. His eyes linger on me when I chug it down, as if he wants to make sure I don’t miss one drop.

Still in a daze, I dwell on the delicious fact that he said us. Hello, we’re an us!

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks.