No one even notices us—so, no different from school, then.
Alistair, Marisol, and I stand at the edge of the room. I glance anxiously around, but I don’t see Ben anywhere. I do see Camila Nunes, captain of the cheerleading squad and Ben’s most recent ex-girlfriend, perched on the marble-topped island, surrounded by pizza boxes and half-empty bottles of liquor. Her long dark hair is stylishly messy, like she just rolled out of bed. She’s all bee-stung lips and legs for miles, the girl at the top of the cheer pyramid looking down at the rest of us.
My breath catches as I realize she’s wearing Ben’s basketball jersey.
Oh God, they’re back together. I’ve totally misread Ben and he just wants to be friends. What was I thinking, coming here?
But before I can tell Alistair and Marisol that I’ve made a huge mistake and changed my mind and we need to leave right now, I spot Ben weaving through the crowd of our drunken classmates toward us. His blond hair is adorably rumpled, and he’s smiling at me in a way that immediately calms my nerves and makes me forget all about the fact that Camila is wearing his jersey. There’s definitely something behind that smile of his—something more than just friendship.
I know it.
“Emelia! You came.” Ben wraps his arms around me and lifts me off my feet. I flush at the unexpected closeness, the way our bodies are pressed so tightly together. Everyone who wasn’t looking in my direction before is definitely looking now, including Camila, and I don’t hate the feeling.
Ben sets me back down. He notices Marisol and Alistair and his smile falters for a second, but then he recovers and turns the full wattage of his game show–host grin on them.
“Hey, good to see you,” he says.
“Thanks for inviting us,” Marisol says, bouncing slightly.
Ben’s eyes flick to me and I hold my breath.
“Yeah, of course,” he says.
“I’m just here for the gasoline,” Alistair says.
Ben’s brow furrows in confusion. “What?”
“Mad Max Two. Ever seen it?”
“Nope.”
“I’m not surpri—”
I laugh and punch Alistair hard in the shoulder. “Don’t mind him. He has this weird habit of quoting movies.” Alistair wants to be a director someday, so we watch a lot of movies together. For some reason, dialogue seems to stick in his brain.
Alistair frowns and rubs his shoulder as Ben offers us something to drink.
“Olivia made some vodka punch,” he says. “I should warn you, though, it’s pretty strong.”
“I’m in,” I say.
“Are you sure, Em?” Marisol says. “Remember what happened the last time you drank—”
I cut her off with a look. Why are my friends so determined to embarrass me? Ben does not need to know that I once got drunk on wine coolers and spent the entire night trying to throw up as quietly as possible so my parents wouldn’t hear.
Marisol gets the message. “I mean, vodka punch sounds great,” she says.
Ben leads us over to the punch bowl, which happens to be beside Camila. She watches us approach with narrowed eyes, fiddling with the star charm that hangs from a gold chain around her neck.
“Hey,” she says to Alistair. “Weren’t you in my Spanish class last semester?”
Alistair gives her a lazy smile. “Sí.”
“I remember you,” she says.
“Yo también te recuerdo. Apestas en español,” he replies.
Loose translation: I remember you, too. You suck at Spanish.
Camila leans forward and grabs Alistair’s collar, drawing him toward her. “Ya no apesto. No en español ni ninguna otra cosa.”
I don’t suck anymore. Not at Spanish, and not at anything else.
She closes the last few inches of space between them and suddenly they’re kissing. She’s kissing Alistair and he’s not pushing her away! In fact, from the way his arm slides around her waist, those ridiculous fingerless gloves clutching her back, he seems to be enjoying it.
Marisol smothers a laugh, but I don’t think there’s anything funny about this. My chest burns. I mean, Alistair and I are just friends; he’s free to kiss whoever he wants. I should be happy—after all, this clearly means that Ben and Camila aren’t back together. And Ben is the one I’m here for.
So why, then, do I want to yank Alistair away from her?
When Camila finally lets him go, she glances at Ben and I realize with some relief that this is all just a show to make him jealous. Only it doesn’t seem to be working. Ben calmly ladles vodka punch into a red Solo cup for me, completely unbothered that his ex just kissed someone else right in front of him.
I wish I was unbothered.
I can feel Alistair staring at me, but I don’t meet his gaze.
He clears his throat. “Definitivamente no apestas en eso,” he says to Camila.
You definitely don’t suck at that.
I shake my head, trying to douse the little ember of jealousy inside me.
Ben hands me the Solo cup and I knock the vodka punch back. I drink it so fast that I start to cough.
“Whoa,” Ben says, rubbing my back. “Take it easy. I told you, it’s strong.”
But I’m glad that it’s strong, and I don’t want to take it easy. I want to scrub what I just saw from my memory. I want to do something that will make me forget about Alistair and Camila. I want to forget about everything except Ben.
I set the empty cup down hard on the counter and glare at Alistair.
You want to know who else doesn’t suck at kissing, Alistair Stewart?
Spoiler alert: It’s me! I don’t suck at it. In fact, I’m fairly excellent at it. As Ben is about to find out.
I grab Ben’s hand and drag him out of the kitchen, away from everyone, but especially Alistair and Camila. A cheer goes up from the great room as whoever it is that’s fighting in the boxing match goes down for the count.
“Where are we going?” Ben asks.
“I don’t know.” I just wanted to get away; I didn’t think about where we were going. I haven’t ever been inside his house before, so I don’t even know which direction to take.
Ben chuckles. “Come on.”
He leads me down the hall, and the sound of the party fades as we enter a dark room that feels several degrees cooler than the rest of the house. He plugs in a string of tiny lanterns that hang suspended from the ceiling, casting dim, soft light on a room made entirely of windows.
“This is my favorite place,” he says.
“I can see why.” Outside, snow swirls against the dark velvet of the sky. A crescent moon peeks through the clouds, glinting off the dark river that twists through the evergreen trees in his backyard.
Ben grabs a velvety gray blanket from the arm of the wicker couch. He sits down and shakes the blanket over his legs, then holds the corner up, an invitation for me to slip in beside him.
My heart is about to pound right out of my chest. I didn’t really think this through, and now that we’re alone, I’m not sure what to do. I want to kiss him—obviously, I want to kiss him. I’ve been dreaming about this moment for longer than I care to admit.
I’m shaking as I walk over and sit down beside him.
“I’m glad you came tonight,” Ben says as we huddle under the blanket. “I wasn’t sure you would.”