The Best Laid Plans(77)

“Not everyone,” Andrew says.

“Not Collins!” Edwin says, and I wince. Andrew’s ears redden, but he’s laughing and the bottle is spinning, spinning, spinning. Someone hands me the tequila and I take a sip, letting my eyes blur, letting my throat burn and my stomach fill with heat. Andrew looks over at me for a brief second, our eyes meeting quickly, before he turns back to the bottle, and I wonder what he’s thinking; if he’s worried about the bottle landing on me.

The bottle rolls to a stop and I feel suddenly like I’m about to cry.

It’s pointing at Hannah.

I raise a hand up to my mouth to try to cover the sound that’s escaped from me. Somehow I haven’t considered this possibility. Somehow it’s the worst one. I know it shouldn’t matter. This is a game, so it doesn’t count. My breath is coming out in short spurts, and I want to tell them I don’t feel well, tell them to stop, tell them they’re making me dizzy. But what right do I have? We all knew the rules of the game when we sat down to play. I’ll just embarrass myself if I say anything, only make Danielle think I have feelings I don’t have.

I stare down at the floor, trying not to watch, fixing my gaze on an imperfection in the wood, a long scuff mark where someone must have dragged a chair or a table. Everyone is clapping and cheering, but I can barely hear them. I glance up, because I can’t resist, because we’re always drawn to the things we’re most repulsed by.

Andrew and Hannah aren’t kissing. They’re both looking at me.

“What are you waiting for?” Danielle asks. “Kissy kissy.”

“I can’t,” Hannah says. I feel relief flood into me, relief that has no right to be there.

“We can’t,” Andrew repeats.

“Don’t be stupid,” Danielle says. “Everyone else has kissed. You could’ve already been done by now.”

He glances quickly back and forth from me to Hannah to Danielle, and back to me.

“Just do it!” Simon shouts.

“I don’t want to, okay?” Hannah says, her voice getting sharper. “Can’t we just mutually decide to bow out of this round? He’s your prom date anyway. It’s too weird.”

Danielle turns to Andrew. “As your prom date, I give you permission.”

“It’s not going to happen,” he says.

I know they’re acting this way for my sake and I’m grateful to them, but it also makes me nervous. Did they see the panic I was trying so hard to hide?

“Fine.” Danielle folds her arms and sits back with a pout. “Fine. New rules. Whatever. Hannah, just give your kiss to someone else.”

“Hey,” Ava says, “that’s not fair. I wouldn’t have kissed Ryder if I didn’t have to.”

“Stop pretending you don’t like him,” Danielle snaps, and Ava looks away. “All right, Hannah. Who do you want to make Andrew kiss?”

“Pick Chase!” Cecilia says. “Pick Edwin!” Pick me, I know she’s thinking.

But of course Hannah will pick Danielle. She knows Andrew is in love with her—the secret I wasn’t supposed to tell. That’s why Danielle is changing the rules in the first place. Because she knows Hannah will pick her too.

Hannah picks up the bottle, holding it tentatively between her hands. Then she turns it around so it points at me.

“Keely.”





TWENTY-SEVEN





“WHAT?” I ASK, feeling my breath catch in my throat. “That’s not—”

“Keely hasn’t had a turn yet,” Hannah says to the room.

What is she thinking? She knows Andrew and I are tiptoeing around each other, trying to pretend everything is still normal. But then I realize—she doesn’t know. I still haven’t told her I went through with the Plan. She doesn’t know Andrew and I have already kissed, have already done a whole lot more. She’s wanted us to be together for so long. Of course she’d jump at this chance. She probably thinks she’s a genius.

I glare at her.

“Well?” Danielle says, motioning between Andrew and me. “We’re all waiting.”

“Right,” Andrew says. He brushes his hands off on his shorts and then moves closer to me. He’s actually going to do it. I feel my pulse quicken, my heart in my throat. My mouth is dry and I reach my tongue out to wet my lips, tasting tequila on them, the sting of lime. This won’t be so bad. It’ll be over in a few seconds. That’s all it will take—all people will expect. Just a few seconds, his lips against mine in a peck, and then it will be done. Except a part of me doesn’t want it to be over that fast. A part of me wants more than a few seconds, more than a few minutes, to sink into him, to melt against him. I shake my head and push that part far away.

“Okay,” I say, letting out a shaky breath.

“Okay,” he says back, threading his hand through my hair. I wonder if any part of him wants this too. I can’t let my emotions show on my face, just in case no part of him wants me at all.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sophie Piznarski get up and leave the room, and Cecilia lean forward to watch, her hands pressed so hard into the floor they’re turning white. But then all I can see is him, green eyes focused on mine. And then I can’t see anything at all as my eyes close and our lips touch. It’s just as I remember it. I didn’t realize you could grow familiar with someone’s kisses after only kissing them once—but that’s what it is: familiar. He tastes like home. I never knew home had a taste, a smell, could feel like someone’s lips on mine—slightly chapped and dusted with salt. All I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears—if anyone is clapping or cheering, I can’t tell.