Page 8 of Kissing is the Easy Part
Josie hops on next, yawning. She checks every box on the high school cool list: fronts a rock band, types on a MacBook Pro, and has two news articles written about her. The fact that she’s Sean’s next-door neighbor/childhood friend doesn’t hurt either. A girl needs all her resources, and it’s crucial to have someone on the inside.
Carmen is the last to join. To balance out my daily dose of negativity from Madison, I need the Hallmark Cards girl in our clique. Carmen Belle brings in some much-needed virtue, since Madison is mean, Josie is jaded, and I’m (adorably) vain. She’s my go-to when I need encouragement, and she even pretends to share my enthusiasm for Sean.
After a debriefing from me, Madison starts with, “What’s with the obsession? Sean’s not as hot as you make him out to be. You’re interested in the challenge, not him. He’s an animal head you want to mount on the wall.”
Gosh, Mads doesn’t disappoint.
“Jake is cuter,” she goes on. “But you already dated Jake, so there goes the thrill of the chase. You’re hung up on Sean because he’s hard to get.”
I sputter. “That’ssonot true. And I went out with Jakeonce, okay? ToShake Shack.”
“Sean’s great, so if you’re not serious, don’t mess with him,” Josie says.
Who is she, hisagent? Josie is definitely more Sean’s friend than mine.
“I like people,” I say. “I won’t put my social life on hold to wait for him. But Iamserious about him.”
It’s true. Even though I adore all mankind, I save a special place in my heart for Sean, like I do the presidential suite at St. Regis. I let him stay there in peace, undisturbed by the meaningless flings that come through the hotel lobby.
Madison snorts presumptuously.
“Walking you home sounds like Sean,” Josie says. “That’s the gentlemanly thing to do. I wouldn’t read too much into it.”
“What do you think, Carmen?” I ask her partly because she says nice things, but mostly to make her feel included in the conversation.
“He’ll come around!” Her voice is unnaturally bright, every word laced with forced cheer. I can practically hear the exclamation points through the phone.
So helpful, this group. The most promising young women our school has to offer, who always seem to have it together, yet they’re nowhere close to figuring this out.
After I hang up, I open my contact list. I could call Raymond for a guy’s perspective—or text my mom. Maybe. I tap on our last conversation, which is still left on Read from nine hours ago. The text before that saysIn a meeting. Mom’s away on a business trip in Madrid, and with the time difference, we’re talking even less than usual.
Ray it is.
Before I can find his name, my phone vibrates in my hand. My pulse shifts from a casual stroll to a full-on stampede.
Sean Foster:Hey, can I call you?
Stay calm. Staycalm. I breathe through my mouth, like that’s going to help. I stare at the screen for too long, then—whatever—tap his profile picture and hit Call.
Think of a fun, witty, sexy opening line.
“Hi!” I squeak the minute he picks up.
“Hi.” He sounds calm, in control. “How are you feeling?”
“Oh. I’m great!”Real smooth. And here I thought I was an expert at flirting over the phone.“Um . . . how are you?”Perfect. Even worse.
“Fine, but I couldn’t really sleep last night. How badly does your head hurt?”
“Not at all.”
“That’s good.” A pause. “Did you get in trouble with your parents?”
“Actually, no. My parents weren’t even home.”
“Ah. That explains why you went so hard last night. If they were home, you probably would’ve taken it easy in case you got caught.”
“Yeah,” I say, panicking. Here I am, letting him carry the entire conversation on his own. He’s going to hang up in a second. I order myself to come up with something—anything—as I visually rummage through my room. My designer handbags stare back at me, offering no inspiration. Sean won’t care to learn the differences between the Chanel 2.55 Reissue and the Classic Flap Bag.
