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“It’s downright disrespectful.”

“Remy,seriously.”

“It should be outlawed.”

Lucy sighs. “We live in Georgia.”

“Exactly! Everything should be made of peaches.”

“There’speachsweet tea.”

I frown at the sky. “What has this world come to?”

Lucy’s laughter is contagious, and it infects me like a wild fever, shifting from my belly to my chest in hyper speed.

“Anyway, I can’t.” I reach for my phone. “I’m supposed to meet Mom and Willow.”

A text notification from Mom awaits me. Under that is a Facebook reminder:Friend request from Free Williams. I forgot all about that. But I don’t have time. I swipe away the Facebook notification, already anticipating a lecture from Mom for being late.

After dusting off my jeans, I help Lucy to her feet.

“It’s cool. I’ll just hit Rio up,” she says. “We’ll grab milkshakes. She’s always down for those.”

“Are you trying to make me jealous?”

“Maybe.” Lucy grins as if the lie is puckering her lips. “Is it working?”

“Hell yeah!”

Lucy’s fingers wrap tightly around my elbow before we reach my car—full-on death grip. I wince, trying not to squeal like a trapped puppy. She’s pointing toward the doors outside the gym.

I suck in a shallow breath. The universe truly loves me. Ian, shoulders pulled forward, chin lowered, eyes the ground while the swim coach talks to him. Coach Park, Ian’s dad, has been a staple at Maplewood High for a decade, continuously leading the team to championships or at least runner-up status. He’s quiet and stern and slightly intimidating.

My eyes are drawn to Ian. He’s a spot of blue ink against a gray canvas, a prism of rainbow light in a sea of ordinary, a promise and a bad decision.

“He’s cute,” whispers Lucy. “That likeable kind of weird.”

I lick my suddenly dry lips. My heart twitches, then turns into an entire drumline inside my ears. But I don’t know why. It’s just Ian. Of course, that’s not how my brain works, or my body. My fingers tingle, and my lips are itching to smile. On all future job applications, I think I’ll add‘has zero chill when looking at cute, potentially dateable people’under the Other Skills heading.

“No new relationships, Lucia,” I remind her—and myself.

“Are you remixing Drake?”

I exhale dramatically.

“Fine.” Lucy pouts. “Let that jerk-face Dimi ruin your future love life. Kill your barely existent sex life in the process.”

I should’ve never told Rio or Lucy about losing my virginity: massive, unforgettable mistake. Not the sex part, though, that was—actually, I don’t want to think about that part. I don’t want to waste anymore brain cells on Dimitar Antov.

“You can date again.” Lucy’s hand slides up to my shoulder, squeezes. “It’s legal.”

A lump the size of Mars clogs my throat. “Yeah, whatever. I’m late.” I wave and jog to my car. I’m desperate to get away from conversations that lead nowhere, nowhere except frustrated sobbing and a playlist of tearjerkers and bad acoustic cover bands. I don’t want to go there.

* * *

Fact: I might be thecoolest high schooler in all of Georgia. Of course, cool is defined by being the only high schooler grocery shopping with his mom on a school night, but whatever.

Willow is here too. She’s the epitome of badass with a beanie pulled to her eyebrows, rainbow tutu, mini Doc Martens, and a Jack Skellington shirt. Her outfit alone scores more cool points than I do in a month.