Page 71 of How to Be Remy Cameron

“Everything.”

“Yeah.” His fingers tighten around mine. “Me too.”

It’s the most calming thing—standing in our silence, breathing in the unsaid words, exhaling the smiles they produce. This is exactly what I needed to get my mind off Liam, to take me away from how that made me feel: like a prize. Even in the queer community, race plays a factor. It’s the deciding piece in whether you’re desired or rejected, a swipe left or right. For some, it’s this holy grail, a checkmark on their bucket list. I didn’t want to be anyone’s checkmark. I didn’t want anyone to want me because of my race. I wasn’t a prize.

The night air smells like heat and sugary sap. All the insects are humming their nightly opus. When I turn to look at Ian, he’s watching me.

He says, “There’s one rule to Somewhere: You can’t leave alone.”

“What?”

“There’s one rule. You can’t leave alone.”

“I’m still here.”

“But you went away for a moment.”

I did, for a moment too long. But my fingers tighten around his. Without question, I know he can feel my heartbeat through my palm. I’m not ashamed of how fast it thumps—because of Ian freaking Park.

His eyes, hazel and blinking repeatedly, move across my eyebrows and cheeks and jaw. But he’s not coveting me the way Liam did. He’s only observing, learning my face as if he might forget it. Funny thing is, I know he won’t.

But I need to remind him. “Can I—” The words fizzle in my throat like carbonation. Then, my courage hardens like fired clay. “Can I kiss you?”

My request hangs between us. This is a moment too, except it doesn’t last long.

Ian licks his lips. “Yes.”

“Okay.” I try not to sound surprised.

He trips getting closer. And I laugh, briefly. Then I kiss him. Our lips are gentle but sure. Our noses are awkward; then his hand touches my cheek, and I find a rhythm. I bury every nerve not attached to my heart into the kiss. Ian kisses back as if he’s falling from orbit and I’ll be the one to catch him. With my fingertips cupping his chin and my eyes shut, I catch him.

We pull apart on a hiccup—from me—and a shudder—from him.

“Wow.”

I blush. Or my cheeks try to, but there’s a lot of blood flowing south of my navel. “Have you ever—Was I the first boy you kissed?”

He nods, eyes lowered.

“Wow.”

“Don’t get an ego.”

“Too late.” I snort, and his eyes lift, crinkled by his upturned mouth. “It was good, right?”

“Six out of ten.”

“Six?!”

This time, he chuckles. Gently, he says, “But I have nothing to compare it to. A second kiss might raise my score.”

Instead of pointing out the flaws in his math, I step on his toes and kiss him again. And a third time. A fourth time just to secure my superiority over any future kisses. Not that I want him to have anyone else to compare this to. I want to be the only one in his Somewhere.

It’s after midnight. October kissedGeorgia goodbye in a whisper of jack-o’-lanterns being blown out and a shout of teenagers high on sugar and an explosion of toilet paper across tree branches and houses.

I’m half-curled on the sofa with Mom. Between us, Willow’s asleep. Her little lips are parted; whistling breaths escape. Clover’s nearby, shamelessly snoring. Exhaustion weighs on me, but I’m still wired by Ian’s kisses and by the way he held my hand all the way back to my doorstep.

We sit in the dark. The blue of the television glows on our faces.It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brownplays on a loop, a Mom-and-me tradition. All the characters are dancing manically to the “Linus and Lucy” theme.

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