Page 20

Twenty

September was, by far, my favorite month of the year.

There was just something about it I especially loved.

Maybe it was the fact that the weather was still summery but the air was crisper when I woke up and met Connor to run through the Christmas tree farm every morning.

Maybe it was because high school field hockey season somehow felt more relaxed than my club team.

Or maybe it was because of my birthday.

I turned eighteen on September 10.

My parents surprised me by renting out a private room at an Italian place I loved; when we’d walked in, Connor, Natalie, Davis, a couple of my teammates, and even Samira popped up from behind the table and shouted, “Surprise!”

It had been a great night, even though Austin hadn’t been there.

He was battling bronchitis, which we all suspected he’d caught from one of his patients.

Katie was, of course, also invited, but she didn’t come.

I wasn’t going to lie—it hurt, but I couldn’t say I was heartbroken.

We hadn’t spoken much since I ditched everyone at the Finger Lakes last month.

“It was really fun!” I’d told Austin when he’d asked about the weekend, and Katie must’ve corroborated my version of the truth.

I shifted my focus entirely to my future and field hockey.

I knocked out my Penn application forty-eight hours after college applications went live, and asked Mrs. McCallister—an English tutor—to proof my essays before I hit submit.

There, done.

Natalie was convinced the only way for me to get over Marco was a rebound.

“I know you guys never actually went out,” she said, “but you fell for him like an elevator.”

“Thank you very much for that image,” I said dryly.

“Really, Nat, I won’t think of it at all the next time I use one.”

“Sorry.” She giggled from her spot on my bed.

I was in the bathroom, changing into my bridesmaid dress.

Dad had stopped by the Gallants’ house to pick it up the other day.

“Maybe you don’t need a rebound, per se,” she amended as I slipped on the cranberry-colored velvet gown.

“Maybe you just need someone to make out with; I think that might be good for you.”

I made a face.

“In what way?”

“Well, first, you should kiss someone else, for practice and peace of mind. It’ll make you forget about that Jacob guy’s saliva dripping all over you.”

She has a point , I thought.

Not wanting to kiss Jacob again, I’d made up excuse after excuse to dodge dates until he said he didn’t think things were going to work out between us.

I’d been more relieved than upset.

“Connor is still with Lauren,” I reminded her.

“Good,” she replied.

“Connor cannot be your next kiss.”

I zipped up the dress.

“Why not?”

Marco aside, I had never wanted to kiss Connor so much.

For my birthday, he’d gotten me a new field hockey stick, one I’d been lusting after for months .

Black with a red handle and white skulls and crossbones all over it.

“Lady Death,” he’d nicknamed it.

Natalie snorted. “Because he’s Connor , Mads. Kissing him would mean something.”

I didn’t respond, distracted by myself in the mirror—horrified by reflection.

The dress was all wrong.

Nana had taken my measurements, and there was no way in hell they translated to this!

The gown looked about five sizes too big, its waist not hugging mine whatsoever and with the sleeves falling off my shoulders and the scoop neckline sagging below my chest. I was even wearing my bridesmaid heels, but the fabric still pooled at my feet.

Text the chat , I thought.

Ask if anyone else’s dress is a disaster…

But the last thing I wanted was for bridezilla Katie to get wind of anything being amiss.

Instead, I called Nana, and when she didn’t answer, I called her salon and asked for her.

“Hello, darling!” she said.

“I’m about to do a cut and color—”

“My bridesmaid dress is a nightmare,” I said, suddenly all choked up.

Why did this have to happen?

! “I’m swimming in it, Nana. You can full-on see my boobs.”

Nana laughed before assuring me that she’d be home by 6:30 if I wanted to come over that night.

(She did some seamstress work on the side.)

Phew , I thought later, after leaving an extremely pinned gown in my grandmother’s capable hands.

That was one less thing to worry about, so I started obsessing over Natalie’s suggestion to casually hook up with someone.

When I mentioned it to my club teammates, they agreed with her.

“A one-time thing can be fun,” our goalie said.

“I think you should go for it…”

So that’s how I found myself dancing with Robbie Nielson at Council Rock North’s September semiformal.

“You never go to Friday-night dances,” Connor had commented when I offered him a ride.

For whatever reason, he and Lauren were driving separately.

“I know,” I’d told him.

“But it’s senior year, so I think that should change, don’t you?”

Robbie and I had been chatting over the app for a couple weeks, and we shared several classes, so I didn’t mind his hands moving along my body or when he whispered Dad Jokes in my ear instead of sweet nothings.

It was so much better than State Night with Derek at Princeton.

I felt safe (partly because I knew I could beat him up if necessary), and I didn’t hesitate when a song ended and he asked if I wanted to get some air.

“Sure,” I said, anticipation and excitement rippling down my back.

Five minutes later, he had one hand on my waist and the other tangled in my braid as we frantically kissed under a maple tree.

And oh, wow, it was the perfect amount of saliva being exchanged.

“You are such a good kisser,” Robbie murmured.

“Really good.”

“You are, too,” I murmured, but wondered why we couldn’t slow down a little.

We had the whole night; we didn’t need to rush.

What was wrong with wanting a slow and steady but spark-filled kiss?

Or was that too Swiftian?

At least I’m not thinking of anyone else , I thought, now trying to keep up with Robbie.

My hands were on his shoulders, squeezing them tightly.

Not thinking of him at all…