Page 92 of Kiss Collector

I’m here.Kenzie’s text comes to me at eight thirty the next morning, and I quietly go to the door to let her in. Mom left for work before dawn, but Zeb is still asleep on the couch, so we tiptoe back to my room. She’s wearing shorts and a Peakton sweatshirt. Her updo from last night is now in a messy bun on top of her head after a night at a hotel with Vin. She tosses her overnight bag to the ground and climbs onto my bed. I sit on the edge.

“Well?” I pester. My heart is pounding.

She picks at my blanket, curling into herself bashfully.

“You did it!” I hiss.

She bites her lip and nods, still staring at the blanket.

“Are you okay?” I ask. “Did you use protection? Did it... hurt?”

“Yes, yes, and not really.”

I’m overly fascinated and can’t stop staring at her, half expecting her to look different, but she doesn’t.

“Did it, like, feelgood?”

“Not the first time. It was weird. But it got better.”

I can’t stop staring. “How many times did you do it?”

“Three?” She giggles, and I cover my mouth so I don’t let out a loud, immature cackle.

I can tell she doesn’t want to go into detail; Kenzie isn’t a big sharer, so I don’t ask anything else and she seems relieved.

Once we hear Zeb moving around, I get up and make us all egg sandwiches. I steal glances at Kenzie until it’s time to take her home.

“What?” she asks when she catches me staring at her in the car while we’re at a light.

I need to stop, but it’s so weird. Kenzie’s got this new knowledge, this new experience, that the rest of us don’t.

“Do you feel different?” I ask.

“I thought I would, but I feel the same. I love him.”

“I know,” I say. “You guys are lucky.”

This makes her smile and ponder. “Do you know he wants to apply to James Madison, too? He could maybe get a baseball scholarship and we could be together. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

“Yeah.” I like the thought of her not being alone when she goes off to college. But that’s over a year away. I hope they stay together. I hope she stays this happy.

I decide not to tell her just yet about my decision for next year.

The first place I go Monday morning is Mrs. Hernandez’s room. She’s just putting down her purse and sipping coffeefrom her¡Buenos Días!travel mug. Her eyes practically sparkle when she sees me.

“¡Buenos días!”

“Buenos días, señora.Can I talk to you?”

“Sure, if you don’t mind me arranging some papers.”

I nod as she gets to work. “I’ve decided to do the program abroad.”

Mrs. Hernandez drops the papers to throw up her hands. “¡Bueno!You decided to take the offer!”

The offer? Wait, does she know about the anonymous benefactor?

Her face pales. “I spoke with Mrs. Crowley,” she explains in a rush. “She gave me an update. I hope you don’t mind.” She won’t quite meet my eyes, and it’s so bizarre that my heart beats hard against my ribs.