“Screw them. You’re going to UCLA in a few months.”

“In a month.”

He sucked in a breath like I’d hit him in the stomach with a bowling ball.

“There’s a pre-session I was invited to with my scholarship.”

“A month.” It came out almost like a wheeze. He stepped in close, his hand on the side of my neck. I leaned into his hold.

“I’d rather spend the next month with you, and not worrying about what other people are saying or thinking. It’ll freak me out.” I wished I were stronger. I wished I were braver. I wished I weren’t so afraid of what happened when we walked across the stage with diplomas in hand.

And then my face was buried in his chest as he wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight. “You freaked me out, Bay. If there’s something wrong, please talk to me. I can only fix what’s wrong, if I know how I screwed up.” His face was buried in my neck.

“You didn’t screw up.”

He looked down at me.

“Okay, we both screwed up. But what if you can’t fix it?” Some things were unfixable.

He pulled back, staring into my eyes with his hands on either side of my face, his thumbs brushing soft strokes across my cheeks. “I’ll fix anything for you.” A fierce sharp kiss was interrupted by the door banging open.

We jumped apart.

A voice bounced off the tiled walls. “Dare. Ms. Bishop.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Turner. We’ll be on our way.”

Mrs. Turner stood with her arms crossed, but stepped out of the way for us to leave the bathroom. The hallway was empty.

“There are going to be questions when we both show up late.” The idea of everyone knowing about me and Dare was a lot easier to handle than the reality of snide looks and whispered speculation.

“I’ll skip. I need to talk to Coach Greer anyway.” He backed away down the hallway, watching me until I ducked into the classroom.

“Ms. Bishop, you’re late.” Mr. Mercanti glanced at me as the door closed behind me.

“Theater club emergency.”

He gave me a dismissive huff. “Take your seat.”

I slid into my desk and pulled out my notebook and textbook. The rest of the day dragged on, so slowly I swore the second hand on the wall clock in seventh period ticked backward at least a few times.

After school, I looked for Dare, but didn’t see him. Asking people where he was would only have drawn some serious stares, so I headed home after stage crew, unsure of what, exactly, this newness between us meant.

And the surprise in my driveway kept the questions bubbling.

23

Dare

I popped up off the steps when her squeaky bike brakes sounded at the end of her block.

She froze at the end of her driveway when she spotted me, then walked her bike up to the garage with a tentative smile on her face.