“Okay, okay.” The photographer snaps some pictures. “How about something a little less prom night.”

I turn around, resting my head on Wyatt’s chest, then both of us stare at the camera with his heartbeat in my ears. I wonder what his face looks like right now.

“Good! Good!” The photographer sounds a thousand times more enthused.

“Pick me up,” I whisper softly.

“What?” Wyatt asks through his teeth.

“Pick me up, twirl me around, do whatever, and act like you’re the happiest person in the world.”

I try not to panic as Wyatt hoists me into the air and we spin. I immediately become dizzy, grateful that my stomach is empty. I hear the clicking of the camera a few times, but I try not to lose focus as Wyatt looks up at me, this wild smile on his face. He makes me feel warm; he makes things feel easy.

He makes me feel wanted.

I realize that this is all just an act, that we’re two people pretending to fall for each other for the sake of a person who isn’t even here, and that, in maybe a week’s time, this will all be undone, the two of us no longer actors in a play.

But doesn’t that mean I should appreciate what we have while I have it?

Wyatt sets me down, and I put a hand to his cheek.

The camera clicks some more.

“Can I kiss you?” I ask.

“What?”

“Can I kiss you? It’ll be good for the pictures.”

My mind races with a thousand excuses. The pictures will inevitably be posted on Facebook, which Josh isn’t on, but his parents are. So maybe he’ll see them. Mother might show the pictures off to anyone who can’t run away fast enough. Lindsay might offhandedly talk about how in love we are. I can post the pictures to Instagram, where Josh will definitely see them.

But these are just excuses.

I’m doing this because I want to kiss Wyatt Fowler.

He nods swiftly. “Go for it.”

And I do.

I press our lips together, and it’s as if the rest of the world just falls away. I can taste the lilac ChapStick that I let him borrow, the spearmint gum on his breath that he chewed on the car ride over. I let my hands find purchase on his neck, feeling the jump in his pulse as he kisses me back, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me in close.

I’ve gotten what I wanted.

So why does it feel so shallow?

I don’t dare to open my mouth—that feels like a step too far, a violation of what Wyatt might find comfortable. But I’m fine with this kissing.