“If I’d asked you . . . God, Libby, what would I have to ask? What do you want?”

She lifted up her head. She looked in his eyes. “I want you to stay home and watch Judy Garland with me.”

“I got that part . . .”

“I don’t want you to dance with pretty girls. Or worry about messing things up with them.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t want you to kiss anyone. Except your grandmother.”

“You’re telling me what you don’t want, not what you want . . .”

“Well, I’m better at that.”

“I know.”

His hand slipped down to hers. Completely unprecedented. And cold.

“Tell me what you want from me,” he said.

“Can’t we just be friends?” she asked.

“We’re really good at it.” “We’re the best.” He squeezed her hand. “Do you want me to let go?”

“No.”

“What do I have to ask you,” he asked, “to get a yes?”

“Would you rather take me to the Snow Ball than Kamrin?”

“Yes,” Owen said.

That was the best news Libby had heard all year. “I want to be on your list,” she said quickly. “I don’t want you to keep making it without me.”

“Okay,” he said.

“And I’ll go to prom with you.”

“We already missed prom.”

“There’s another one though, right? Eventually?”

“You’ll go to prom with me five months from now?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Do you want to?”

“No, but . . . I want you,” Libby said.

Owen squeezed her hand. He shoved his face forward. His chin jabbed into hers. He kissed her.

This was with. Out. Precedent.

Owen’s lips were thin. The bottom one was just a smudge, and the top one was a line, an edge, an opening pressed against hers.

The kiss was short.

“Was that okay?” Owen whispered.

“Yes.”

He tried it again. He pushed a little too hard with his mouth. Libby’s hand came up to his chest.

“Still okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I’ve never done that before.”

“Me neither.”

“Can we keep doing it for a minute?” he asked.

“Yes.”

So they did.

When Owen pulled back, he ran his hand along Libby’s hairline, untucking the curl from her ear and winding it around his finger. “I didn’t think you wanted this,” he said.

“You never asked.”

“So I wasn’t supposed to ask you to prom; I was supposed to ask if I could kiss you?”

“It’s always better to be specific, Owen.”

He huffed out a laugh. “I thought you said no to prom because you didn’t want to ruin everything.”

“What’s everything?” She was still whispering.

“You and me. Friendship.”

“I don’t,” she said. “But I’d rather we ruin it together than you ruin it with somebody else.”

“But you want this, Libby?”

“I want you.”

“I want you, too.”

“That’s nice to hear, Owen.”