On Wednesday I have work again with Dean after school, and when the bell rings at the end of the day, I feel a little like I’m going to throw up. I still haven’t seen him since the night of his party, or more accurately, since the morning after, when I tiptoed out of his bedroom. Will he act differently when he sees me? Will he try to kiss me hello? I’ve never kissed anyone hello before, and the prospect of it floods me with anxious energy. How will I know which way to turn my head? How long should the kiss last? Will there be tongues involved? Or even worse—what if I only think he’s trying to kiss me hello but he’s actually just going in for a hug and I end up with his ear in my mouth?

There are a million ways this could go wrong.

Hannah’s field hockey practice has started back up after school, which means she’s unavailable for emotional support, so I have to ask Andrew for a ride to work instead.

“When are you getting your own car?” he asks on our way over.

“Soon,” I say, even though we both know I’m lying.

“I’m keeping a tally, you know. You owe me so many rides now, you better drive back and forth from California to Maryland every single weekend next year.”

“Hmm,” I say, trying to listen to him but still thinking about the probability of the ear-in-the-mouth situation. I’m wringing my hands so tightly my knuckles have turned white.

“You’re nervous,” he says; not a question but a statement, because he can likely see it on my face. “That guy from this weekend.”

“Dean,” I say.

“James Dean,” he corrects, with an exaggerated eye roll that shows how silly he thinks it is. He motions to my outfit—a pair of black leggings and a gray Prescott hoodie. “At least you look like you again.”

“That’s probably not a good thing.” I reach up to pull down the visor and look at myself in the little mirror. I turn to him. “Do I look okay?”

“You always look okay,” he says, flicking on his blinker and turning the truck into the parking lot of the video store. The compliment takes me by surprise.

“Really?”

“Come on, Collins. You know you’re beautiful.”

Beautiful. The word catches me off guard. It’s not a casual word, something easy like hot or cute, words I’ve heard Andrew use a million times.

“Oh.” My face is so warm you could probably bake cookies on it. I don’t really believe him. I know he’s just trying to be nice.

“Thanks,” I say, not looking at him.