Chapter Five
Flora
There’s no cheerleading on Mondays, which works out perfectly.
I drag Carmen to the bleachers after school.
Varsity basketball practices are usually closed, but today they’re running a mock game in which they split into two teams and play against each other.
Madison and Josie couldn’t be less interested.
Fifteen minutes in, Carmen drops the polite pretense of watching and dives into her book.
Emily Bronte—for fun! It’s not even an assignment.
She deserves no less than a guy who’ll write her love letters with a quill and seal them with wax.
On the court, Dylan passes to Sean, and he barely catches it.
I smile at the way he fumbles, but then he shoots and scores. He casts a glance my way, and I wave.
Carmen finishes a chapter and closes the book on her lap. “I’m so happy for you with the way things turned out.”
“I texted Mads to say we kissed, and she had to ask who I was referring to. Unbelievable!”
Carmen’s curly dark hair bounces when she laughs. I take out a box of Pocky from my leather backpack and hand her a stick. “Did you do anything fun yesterday?”
“I typed up an editorial for the school paper. You?”
“Went to the mall with Charles. You know, my friend who lives in Portland?”
She nods, taking a bite. “Okay. But I thought you and Sean—”
“Oh, it wasn’t a date. With Charles. He’s in town and wanted to hang.” I point my chin at the basketball court. “This—is a date.”
She sighs good-naturedly. “Yet here I am.”
“Because you’re the best!” I link my arm with hers and rest my head on her shoulder. “I can’t sit through the whole game alone in silence. You’re a saint for putting up with me.”
“Hey, you were the nicest person to me when I transferred from Louisiana,” Carmen says. “If I can be here for you and watch Sean miss his free throws, I’m all in.”
I laugh and nudge her with my elbow. When the game ends, Sean heads straight for me.
His jersey, wolverines stitched across the chest, sticks to his body with sweat.
He pushes his damp hair from his eyes. “Hey, Carmen,” he says, polite as always, then smiles at me.
“Thanks for waiting. Can you give me thirteen more minutes to shower and change?”
“So precise,” I say. “I’ll time you.”
Carmen bolts up as soon as Sean disappears to the locker room. “Great, my shift is over.” Grabbing her stuff from the seat, she winks at me before leaving me alone on the bleachers.
I’ve watched Sean play basketball eight billion times, and he never so much as glimpses my way. Now I’m the only person left in the gym, waiting under the structural metal beams, waiting for Sean because he wants me to. I apply a fresh coat of lip gloss and forget to time him.
My phone vibrates, and Ray’s text pops up. Fort Sean crumbled in 24 hours? Wild. You spent two years laying siege, and it turns out the gates were unlocked the whole time. One good push and he’s in your bed.
Before I can think of a snappy reply, Sean comes back out in black joggers, hair still damp at the edges, and we leave together to get food.
He picks the fast-food joint near our school, and I watch him wolf down his fries.
So adorable. He seems pleased with the meal, like he’s having a bowl of truffle soup at Guy Savoy.
“What do you want to do later?” I ask.
“See a movie?”
“Ray says there’s nothing worth watching aside from the Fincher one, and I saw it with him already.” As a certified movie buff, of course Raymond refers to movies by the director.
“Oh, okay.” Sean’s eyebrows rise briefly. Then he chews on a fry. “How about the Viewpoint, then?”
“Absolutely yes!” He means the park up on that steep hill, the one with an unobstructed view of downtown.
There are always tourists and locals snapping selfies up there, but in high-school boy code, it’s where guys go hoping to make out under the pretense of stargazing.
The only sight they’re interested in checking out is a bra.
I find comfort in the predictability of it. It’s nice to be desired.
On the way up, Sean stops to get coffee for himself and a caramel latte for me.
When we reach the parking lot, snippets of lights pierce the bushes, but there are cars all around.
The smell of weed is almost stronger than the pine needles.
Not the most romantic, but okay. Sean kills the engine and leans over, and I wait for him to cup my face and kiss me, but he grabs the door handle and pushes open the door on my side.
We’re not making out in the car?
He rounds the car and holds out his hand, and I take it. “I know a better spot, but we have to walk,” he says. In a daze, I let him lead me away from the crowded lookout point. We do a five-minute hike uphill.
The trail opens up. The trees clear and an illuminated night landscape stretches out beneath us.
A sprawling sea of lights sparkles like Swarovski crystals.
Ruby red, amber orange, emerald green, and amethyst purple gems dot the darkened land, flickering like flames. The lights take it in turns to breathe.
“Spectacular,” I say.
“Right?”
We watch the city in silence. Faint laughter drifts through the air in the distance.
The night breeze is gentle as satin, whispering secrets as it stirs my hair.
Sean sits down first, then tugs on my hand and pulls me down beside him.
I sip my drink, eyes on the lights reflecting off the water around the bay.
I smell the sea, and I also smell the pleasant scent of his skin.
He reminds me of clean laundry and fresh air.
He catches my eyes, and his gaze falls on my lips before he turns away. “We’re so lucky with the weather.”
“Yeah, and you can kiss me already. Skip the small talk.”
“Oh, I have to. At least for five minutes. It’s common courtesy.”
I laugh.
“Seriously, though. I like talking to you.” He brushes my hair with his fingers. “You’re witty. Your sense of humor is the sexiest thing about you.”
I’m a girl who’s been called beautiful all her life. I’m used to getting daily reminders about how my nose is too flawless to be real, but here’s this perfect guy who sees beyond that, who thinks I’m witty. A warm glow expands in me, and it’s not the caramel latte settling in my stomach.
My phone lights up with a message. “Josie wants to know how our date is going,” I say. “What should I tell her?”
“She texted me, too, when I was getting us coffee. I said it’s going really well.” He bumps his shoulder with mine lightly. “You better tell her the same thing to keep our stories straight, button.”
This guy. This guy totally made out with me, gave me a nickname, and now grins at me like we’re in on some inside joke together.
“I’m going to say it’s even better than I expected,” I say.
“She’s always telling me to get to know you.”
“Really?” Thank you, dear Josie. She claims she doesn’t want to play matchmaker, but she put in a good word for me after all.
“Yeah, she thinks you’re great. That day you offered to help create an image for her band? That was the highlight of her freshman year.”
Josie’s band is awesome, but they lacked something to connect the group visually.
These days, it’s all about branding. Since they’re called Fishnets, I bought fishnet accessories for everyone—tights, long black gloves, scarves, and wraps—and threw in a crash course on basic makeup.
Not that I didn’t have an ulterior motive.
“I have a confession to make,” I say. “This was two years ago. After I’d known Josie for a few weeks and felt the friendship was solid, I said something like, ‘Josie, you know how much I value your friendship, right? You’re a wonderful person and I’ll never regret this,’ and she’s like, ‘Are you breaking up with me?’ and I’m like, ‘I want you to know what we have is real.’
“I told her that I noticed her because she’s friends with you.
But that was just in the very, very beginning.
I said to her, ‘Once I got to know you, I can’t not be your friend.
And Mads adores you too.’ I threw in Madison to make this friendship more appetizing, although Mads would never say she adores anyone in a million years. ”
Sean laughs. “I bet Josie took it well. She never said anything to me.”
“Yeah, she was superchill about it. She admitted she wanted a free makeup tutorial, too, in the beginning, so we’re even. And to be fair, I never bug her about you. Everything’s on a need-to-know basis.”
Some girls get a sense of pride when they give guys a boner, which I completely understand. I get my pride from seeing Sean laughing with his eyes bright. He pulls me close.
“I should’ve asked you out sooner,” he says. “You’re so interesting and easy to be around. I can listen to you talk for hours.”
If my life were a movie, this would be the part where I realize things can’t possibly go this smoothly. Something bad is bound to happen, otherwise how are they supposed to fill ninety more minutes?
But this is my life, so I snuggle against Sean’s jacket and savor the touch of his hand on my upper arm. And then we totally make out. I figure I’ve earned it.
* * *
After the Viewpoint date, the next two weeks fly by.
Sean and I spend every spare second catching each other between classes and after school, and squeeze in as many kisses as possible.
Each one makes it a little harder to let him go.
We couldn’t hang out as much as I wanted since he has a packed schedule, but he made his best effort.
When he wasn’t available, he sent the dorkiest texts to make up for it.
Exhibit A:
Sean: Here’s a biology fun fact: no two Holstein cows have the same spot patterns. They’re unique, like snowflakes and fingerprints
Sean: You’re my Holstein’s spot because you’re one and only
Swoon.