Chapters (39)
- Cover
- Dedication
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
“I’m sorry,” Dean says, and I’m pleased by the sincerity in his tone. “I wasn’t trying to push you earlier into anything. Everything’s cool, right? We’re groovy?”
I’m laughing, rolling my eyes at his use of the word groovy, like he’s trying to be some cool dude from the ’70s. He sounds like my dad.
“Everything’s groovy,” I say, and I lean in to kiss him one more time before opening the car door and stepping quietly out into the street.
“Bye, Prom Date,” he says, reaching an arm up to wave.
“Bye, Prom Date,” I echo, the words sending an anticipatory thrill through me.
He starts the car and pulls away, and I watch as he disappears around the corner.
That’s what I don’t want to risk: the feel of his fingers in mine, the twinkle in his eye when he makes a stupid joke just for me, the fact that I’m allowed to lean in and kiss him whenever I want. The two months before prom suddenly feel like freedom—now I can kiss him without any added pressure. My decision has been made for me, the date set. And a prom night with James Dean is as close to perfect as I’ll ever get.
But then the reality of the situation crashes down on me—the excitement churning to anxiety in my stomach. I have a quick vision of the two of us in bed—the moment I’ve finally agreed to give him. Why would I risk messing things up when there’s a guaranteed way to make that moment perfect?
Before I know what I’m really doing, before I have a chance to change my mind, before my brain has time to process what my fingers are typing, I pull out my phone and send a quick message to Andrew.
Are you free tomorrow after school? There’s something really important I need to ask you
SEVENTEEN
I WAKE UP in a panic. I scramble for my phone, wishing I could erase what I sent. What the hell have I done?
There’s a response from Andrew that must have come through after I fell asleep.
Are you ok?
And then, marked a few minutes later:
Collins? Jan’s before school tomorrow? Picking you up at 6:30
I glance at the time. 6:15. I have fifteen minutes to come up with a lie, to make up something reasonable, an excuse for what I texted. I scroll up on the message thread and reread what I sent.
Are you free tomorrow after school? There’s something really important I need to ask you