“Clarity,” Hannah whispers, her breath passing through my lips. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
I want all of you.
“Yes,” I breathe.
Her lips are warm and perfect, not oily, not wet, but not chapped. They’re soft the way her hands are soft, and gentle like I remember them to be. Her lips explore mine tentatively, like she’s extending an invitation. So, I lean into her, deepening the kiss in a way that makes my head begin to spin. I press myself against her, the contours of her chest against mine, our hearts racing in unison. I wrap my hand around her neck, letting my fingertips tangle in her hair, using the leverage to coax her closer to me.
Her tongue sweeps against my lips, soft and surprising enough that I gasp. I need more of those sparks.
But she pulls back, cupping my face in her hand, and hovers just an inch away again, waiting.
Leaving it up to me.
“Not like this,” I say, though it comes out breathy. “Not when I’m such a mess, and so all over the place. I want…itto be when I’m ready to fully throw myself into it, because that’s what you deserve, not some half-assed, held-back—”
“So, there will be a next time?”
“Yes,” I whisper, and smile. I don’t even have to think about it.
It might not be tomorrow. It might not be before the festival, even. But I know, without any doubt in my mind, that I want Hannah to be my first. I know that when the time is right, she’s the only person I’ll want.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
My phone is ringing,I realize, and jolt awake.
“Are you dead?” Kristen yells into the phone. “Dead? Bleeding? In the hospital? Someone died? You sleepwalked to LA?”
The skate show!I snap to my senses.
“I’m okay, just running on CPT,” I say, running down the hall to my room.
“Clarity,”Kristen whines, buying my answer. “Come on, Maurice is here—”
“Not all black people run on CPT,” I remind her, catching my nest of hair in my bathroom mirror on my way to my closet.
“Are you close at least?” she asks. Before I can answer, she starts talking to someone else, the sound of skateboard wheels on concrete and wood smacking pavement filling in the space between her mouth and the microphone.
“Yes,” I lie. “I’m close. Did Maurice go yet?”
I shimmy out of yesterday’s clothes and into a pair of jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, stepping into my Air Force 1’s—because the skate show is supposed to be a date-type thing after all—andstop to spray myself with perfume and roll on deodorant on top of yesterday’s deodorant—gross—and brush my teeth megafast before hurtling back into the hallway.
“No, but he’s not too far off. This is a big deal.Hedoesn’t want you to miss it,” Kristen presses. “Gethere.”
Her hiss sizzles inside my empty stomach.
“I’m coming,” I say, hanging up.
Now that Kristen is on board with the plan to use Maurice as a beard, she has mapped out the skate show as a major moment for our fake… situationship. Other kids from school will be there, which means I can get enough visibility with Maurice to stir up assumptions abouthim and me, enough that no one will giveHannah and mea second glance. Of course, if I miss the show and he decides he wants nothing to do with me, I could lose my safety net altogether.
In the living room I find my purse on the end of the couch. I check it for gum, lip balm, emergency mascara, and my house key. A few specks of glitter fall off my bag onto the couch, reminding me of the poster mess… on the precious carpet.Thecarpet.
“You changed?” Hannah asks, far behind.
“Can you help me move this?” I ask, grabbing one side of the coffee table. “My parents are going to kill me.”
We move the coffee table and I quickly go over the carpet twice with the vacuum, then use the upholstery attachment to clean all the glitter I can find off the couch cushions. Just when I think I’ve got it all, I spot another speck and decide to go over everything one more time just to make sure.
Hannah single-handedly moves the coffee table back into position while I wind up the vacuum cord and deposit it back in the closet.