Oh my God. Am I Miss Clueless?

And the fact that I need to even ask that question confirms that I am, indeed, clueless.

So here’s the thing: I like Neil. A lot. He’s one of my closest friends. And a few weeks ago, I thought something was starting to happen. We’d spent practically all of Homecoming together on the dance floor. We always made sure to sit next to each other. Every time we were together, I felt a simmering between us. It wasn’t like I could ask Marian for intel. He’s her cousin and I don’t want things to be weird. But since I’d been waiting for him to make a move … nothing. Maybe I was imagining it, but I thought he felt the spark, too.

Wouldn’t be the first thing I’d been wrong about.

Then Neil takes a step closer to me, and I feel my breath catch. The way my heart is racing I know I want it all to be true.

We are only inches apart. I can’t breathe.

And then my stupid cell phone rings.

Neil takes a step back as I curse technology for ruining a real-life moment. (Oh God, that is such a thing my dad would think.)

It’s Mrs. Dorn telling me they’ll be home in twenty. She couldn’t text me that? Or, you know, just show up whenever. Although I wouldn’t want her and Mr. Dorn to walk in on Neil and me in a full make-out session.

Not like that was going to happen. Or just whatever.

By the time I hang up, Neil is already at the door. “I guess I should go.”

“Yeah, I guess. See you tomorrow, same time, same sidewalk.” I shudder inside with how much I am blowing this.

Neil gives me a small smile as he opens the front door. He pauses for a moment before turning around. “It’s all going to be okay, Ally.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about. College? Scholarships? Us?

Whatever it is, I hope he’s right.

Chapter Four

Chapter

FOUR

“I’m about to burst,” Marian says as she rubs her stomach Saturday evening after Lee’s birthday party.

Once again, the Gleasons overdid it on food. So now we’re both lying on the floor in her bedroom, our legs up on her bed, staring at the fairy lights she has strung alongside her ceiling. Her black cat, Gizmo, keeps circling us. Baxter is going to lose his mind when I come home tomorrow smelling like cat. He always gives me a look like I’ve betrayed him somehow.

“We do this every time,” I remind her.

“We sure do.” She pauses. “But we’re totally going to have leftovers in a few hours, right?”