Obviously I don’t sit with Nick on the bus after I snub him, or when we stop again, this time for dinner at a huge buffet-style restaurant. I lurk in the corner of the dining room, justifying how rude I was by reminding myself that I’m not fit company for anybody. My breakup with Leo is less than forty-eight hours old. My parents’ marriage is imploding. I’m keeping a huge secret from my sister. I’m over here remembering Darius, of all people, who I haven’t thought about in a long, long time.
I’m a hot mess.
The look on Nick’s face, though, was awful. I just caught, as I was turning around, the way his eyes clouded over, this smile dropping from his face. It was way worse than my “I’ll take two, please,” moment with Darius, because I did it to him deliberately. But I tell myself I’m actually doing Nick a favor by rejecting him. Sometimes, according to one of Pop’s favorite songs, you’ve got to be cruel to be kind.
I’m feeling moderately okay about this decision until they bring out the birthday cake, a small, round pineapple upside-down cake with a blazing candle in the center.
It’s his birthday.
Kahoni sets the cake on the table in front of Nick. Everybody starts to sing off-key. Nick hunches over the flickering candle with a look of bemused embarrassment. He doesn’t look at me, even though I’m sure he knows I’m here. He looks at everyone but me.
Because I hurt his feelings. I made him feel small and stupid. On his birthday.
That was a dick move. I am a dick.
“How old are you?” Kahoni asks after the singing dies down and Nick blows out the candles. Nick mumbles an answer. I can’t hear it, but I know what it is: he’s sixteen, the same as me now.
“Sweet sixteen!” Kahoni says, clapping him on the back again.
“Have you ever been kissed?” asks a red-faced woman at the next table—Penny Jacobi, because of course it is. She looks like she had too much wine at dinner. “Well, have you?
Nick stares at her incredulously, like Penny just asked him if he’s ever walked on the moon. “You mean, like, romantically?”
“Well, I don’t mean by your mother.” Penny smirks.
Nick doesn’t have a mother that I know of. Everyone calls his dad a “confirmed bachelor,” whatever that means. Nick’s mother must have been in the picture at some point, but what happened to her, I don’t know.
“No,” Nick murmurs. “I’ve never been kissed.”
“Maybe we could fix that.” Penny giggles and looks around. “Who wants to kiss this young man on his birthday?”
Silence.
“What, no takers? Oh, come on, he’s not that bad-looking!” slurs Penny. “Who will volunteer?”
Every girl of a remotely eligible age turns away. I’d like to say I’m different, that I stand up then and give the Jacobis the finger and plant a big fat kiss on Nick’s surprised lips in front of everyone.
But I don’t. I just sit there, keeping my head down, hoping I don’t catch Penny’s eye.
“Sit down, Mom,” says Kate finally. “Leave the kid alone.”
“Yeah, don’t be a jackass, Jacobi. Sit down before you fall down,” says Marjorie Pearson, and nobody messes with Marjorie, so Penny stumbles back to her seat.
Kahoni puts his hand on Nick’s shoulder and squeezes. “Don’t worry, dude. It will come. That first kiss, it’s too special to waste on just anybody.”
Here we go again. Special.
“Right,” Nick agrees faintly. Kahoni seems like an expert on the matter, being that his name, I remember, means “the kiss.” He squeezes Nick’s shoulder one final time and then wanders off to talk to some of the other guests.
Everyone goes back to what they were doing before the cake. Thankfully that includes the Jacobis. I watch Nick pick at his cake.
Unkissable.
Unfuckable.
And suddenly, I just think, no.
No, I think. So I do what I should have done earlier.
I stand up.
It’s like an alien has taken over my body. I don’t linger. I don’t practice what I should say. I don’t try to think of something clever. I don’t hesitate. I march straight over to Nick’s table and I say, “Hey.”
His eyes still light up when he sees me. I didn’t misinterpret him before. He likes me.
“Happy birthday,” I say.
“Thanks.”
“I’ll do it.”
“What?”
“I’ll kiss you, if you want.”
He stares up at me, stunned. “You will?”
“Also, do you want to have sex with me?”
“Yes.” Then my words actually register. His eyes widen. “Wait—what?”
“I don’t mean now, obviously,” I say. “Maybe, like, tomorrow?”
His mouth opens and then closes again.
“I’ll see you later,” I say, and then I walk away.