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Seventeen Years Old, Tennessee

“He’s a good kisser,” Meagan says when I walk into the library Monday morning. “Isn’t he?”

I claim the chair across from her with a coy lift of my shoulders.

“Come on,” Soph says. “Spill.”

“You guys, she doesn’t have to,” Paloma chides before turning a smirk on me. “Unless she wants to.”

I grin. “He’s a very good kisser.”

Their laughter is enough to summon the librarian, who hushes us with a benevolent roll of her eyes. Softer now, Sophia says, “You seem happy.”

“I feel happy.”

Paloma squeezes my hand. “Have you told your parents about him?”

“Not yet.” I never used to keep things from Mom and Dad, but now I’ve got a growing list of secrets. Hiding Isaiah away as if he doesn’t matter… I don’t feel good about it. “They loved Beck, and they’re super loyal to his parents. I’m not sure they’ll understand.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Meagan says.

“I know. I’ll tell them, eventually. I mean, Isaiah and I haven’t even defined our relationship yet. I don’t want to get my parents worked up over something that might be casual.”

“You and Isaiah aren’t casual,” Sophia says.

“But I don’t know that we’re together.”

“You’re together,” Meagan says with conviction.

I shrug. “For now, I want to keep him to myself.”

“Then that’s what you should do,” Paloma says with a resolute nod.

***

Later, in Ceramics, I’m sitting on my usual stool. I’m starting a new project today, the slab house that’s next on Ms. Robbins’s syllabus. I’ve collected a hunk of clay, a rolling pin, and guides, but I haven’t started working because I’m busy offering Paloma moral support as she texts Liam, who’s being the world’s biggest dick—her sentiment, not mine.

“He’s still worked up about being waitlisted,” she tells me.

“I get that.”

“Me too, but he wants me to be all mopey with him. Shouldn’t I be able to celebrate my acceptance?”

“You absolutely should. Is he still coming for spring break?”

“That’s the plan. Everything feels so up in the air right now though, you know?”

I give her a sympathetic smile. “I really do.”

Her phone buzzes with another text. She glares as she skims the message. “I swear to God,” she mutters. “I’m dating a toddler.” She looks at me, her exasperation palpable. “If he were sitting here—if we could have an actual conversation—this would be so much easier.”

I reach over to loop her ponytail behind her shoulder. “Long distance is tough.”

Her thumbs move furiously over her phone. “ Liam is tough.”

“Liam doesn’t know how good he’s got it,” a sage voice says.

I turn to find Isaiah. The combined scents of juniper and wintergreen settle over me, and anticipation scatters like sparks on my skin.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” I return, a greeting that lights his face.

He touches my neck with a warm hand, bending to kiss me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Paloma clears her throat.

She drops her phone into her bag, then raises her eyebrows at me. “Casual, huh?”

As the bell trills, she leaves the table to retrieve the slab house she started last week.

Isaiah takes the stool next to mine. He pokes my shapeless clay and asks, “Casual?”

“The girls wanted a status update during Advisory.”

His mouth lifts in an uncertain smile. “And you told them we’re casual?”

“I told them we hadn’t talked about it.”

Gripping the base of my stool, he hauls me closer. Quietly he asks, “Is that what this is for you? Casual?”

Being with him is like holding my beating heart in my hands. He makes me happier than I’ve been in more than a year. He makes me wonder if I might actually be able to do it: start over again. But I’m terrified—absolutely petrified —of the unknowns. How will my parents react? How will Bernie and Connor respond? How will he and I survive beyond our time at ERHS?

Is admitting the seriousness of my feelings for Isaiah a final goodbye to Beck?

“I’m not really into casual,” I tell him.

“Me neither,” he says, his shoulders relaxing. “Do you think we need, like…a label?”

I’m trekking through uncharted territory. Beck and I never required a conversation like this. We were assumed. We were requited. With Isaiah, question marks abound. I like that he’s asking, though. I appreciate that he gives as much as he takes.

“I don’t hate the idea of a label.”

He pulls a pen from his backpack. He extends his open palm, his eyes meeting mine. I slip my hand into his, and he begins to draw. “So, I’m into you and…you like me okay.”

“I like you more than okay.”

Focused on the winged insect he’s inking onto my wrist, he smiles. “What if I call you my girlfriend?”

“Then I’ll call you my boyfriend.”

He lifts his gaze, and we share a grin until, over his shoulder, I see Paloma on her way back to the table.

“We’re about to have company,” I tell him, “so unless you want to be part of an all-new status update, you should go get your project.”

He nods, adding a curled antenna to his dragonfly doodle. He caps his pen and stands, trailing his hand along my shoulders as he leaves the table.

“Well?” Paloma says, plopping down on her stool.

“You guys were right,” I tell her as she lifts plastic from her clay. “Not casual.”

She smiles, smug. “Girl, I’ve been sharing space with you guys for too long not to know as much.”

Rendezvous

When the semester began,

the glaze closet was utilitarian, dim, dusty.

Now it’s a wonderland of temptation.

A nudge to her foot, a nod of his head, a playful wink.

All she has to do is catch his eye.

He gets up first, strutting a casual path,

giving their teacher an innocent smile on his way.

He might as well link his hands behind his back and whistle a tune,

she thinks, holding back a laugh as she gets up to join him.

It’s never more than a few minutes.

The way he engages her senses,

the intensity with which she wants him

—even when she has him—

leaves her breathless.

He’s worth the risk of getting caught.

He takes her hands and kisses her mouth.

He lights her like a torch.

She leads him backward, until they’re hidden by the partially closed door,

then ignites a fire in him.

He brushes her hair back and says…

“I think I could do this forever.”