Page 21 of Kissing is the Easy Part
Sean
Flora is thirty-seven minutes late, somewhere between the margins of “running behind” and “completely bailed.” It’s homecoming night, and, naturally, my car is in the shop. She offered to pick me up.
I smooth the collar of my shirt and adjust the cuffs of my blazer. It wouldn’t be so bad if I was waiting alone, but Lindsey is staring at the door, convinced that I’m bluffing about the “goddess from Instagram” being my date.
“She stood you up.”
“She’ll be here.”
“Text her!”
“I’m not texting while she’s driving.”
When the doorbell finally rings, Lindsey’s head snaps around so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t sprain her neck. Through the window, Flora’s silver car gleams in the driveway.
“She drives aMercedes?”
Before I can answer, Lindsey shoves past me and yanks open the door.
Flora stands there in a green dress, radiant in a way that makes my front porch brighter. Her eyes, somehow larger than usual, catch the light, and today they’re golden brown. With a wide smile she extends a hand to my sister. “Hi! Lindsey, right? I’m Flora.”
Lindsey gapes.
“I’ve been dying to meet you.” Flora’s smile doesn’t waver. “Sean told me you’re in eighth grade?” They shake hands, and then Flora’s eyes find mine.
I don’t even like dances, but Flora makes it feel like maybe I could. I can’t resist her even though my instinct tells me she’s more than I can handle. My heart reacts to her like francium—unstable, volatile, and probably ready to explode.
I should be thinking about homework. Basketball drills. Anything else. But here I am, caught in the orbit of someone who’s all shine and chaos. And her tanned legs are going to mess up my physics exams.
“Hi,” she half whispers, like we’re sharing some secret no one else could understand. Her eyes are half teasing, half innocent, like saying,You have no idea what you’re in for.
That doesnothelp.
“You look incredible,” I say.
“Let me give you a tour!” Lindsey says, as if there’s anything remotely worth showing around our house, unless Flora’s conducting field research on the banality of middle-class charm in its most average form.
“I’d love that,” Flora says, “but let me say hi to your parents first.”
With that, Lindsey seizes her hand and drags her to the backyard. As a weekend ritual, my parents are grilling hamburgers. Dad looks up from the grill, wiping sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand, while Mom stirs a pitcher of lemonade at the table. Flora introduces herself. “You have such a beautiful house. It’s so homey, and I love the art collage on your wall.”
“Thank you, we add to it bit by bit over the years,” Mom says. “It’s so fun watching it grow. Are you excited for the dance?”
“Yes, especially because I’m going with Sean.” Flora flashes a quick glance in my direction, and my heart takes off. “I’m sorry for being late, by the way. Traffic was worse than I expected.”
Dad pauses midflip at the grill. “It happens. Friday nights can be brutal around here. Sean mentioned you live in that tall glass building near the interstate?”
Flora nods. “Yeah, the one shaped like a crystal. My parents call it the Shard, after the one in London.”
“The lighting must be gorgeous,” Mom says. “We remember when they first started building. It even made the news for bringing luxury high-rises to the suburbs.”
They don’t mention how those conversations always ended withWhat kind of people can afford living there?and I don’t tell them I kissed Flora in her bedroom, and how it’s the only place in the house that looks lived in, like all the warmth in the universe has been drawn in and condensed into that one small space.
“Well, the view is nice,” Flora agrees. “But I love your sunroom, and this backyard is amazing! The smoke detector went crazy the one time my mom tried to cook frozen potstickers in our apartment. We don’t get to have outdoor dinners like this.”
“Did you get a chance to eat before coming over?” Dad asks. “Anyone feel like having a burger?”
“I’ll have one!” Flora says without hesitation.
