The movie sucks. It keeps shifting back and forth between some CIA agent’s past and present and then flashing to some unrelated story about some unshowered teen-mom and her crying kid. Instead of trying to figure out how the agent is related to the mom and boy, my head spins with the possibility of kissing Sean at the end of the night.
I hate first kisses. Or rather, I hate all the stress that leads up to a first kiss. I’ve never been kissed first. It’s not that I’m some kiss-crazed control freak, but it’s more about just wanting to get it over with. I’d rather not deal with that whole crazy “is he going to kiss me?” anxiety or the end of the night awkwardness with him wondering whether he should or shouldn’t. My preference is to alleviate any anxieties on both parts. But, Sean’s different. I’ve never really been on a date with someone I like this much already.
As I scoop a handful of popcorn and this CIA lady dashes through a parking garage with a briefcase in high heels, I second-guess myself for telling Sean so much. Maybe he thinks I’m a baby for fighting with Kallie. His issues are way worse than mine. Before my negative what-ifs start reproducing, I’m jolted back to the movie as a car spins and screeches after the woman who’s still running.
“Why is she not kicking those heels off?” I whisper.
Sean smiles and slides his hand over the top of my thigh and under my hand, sending a wave of goose bumps up my calf.
“Hey, let’s get out of here,” he whispers. He clasps my hand.
I don’t care if the movie lady drops her briefcase or makes it out of the parking garage, I just want more Sean. The palm of my hand gets hotter beneath the pads of his fingers. As he pulls me through the dark theater, I wonder who’ll let go first. He answers the thought by dropping my hand, but it’s a somewhat graceful transition into him pushing open the bulky theater door for me.
“I hope you weren’t into that movie,” Sean says. “I’m sorry. I told you, you should’ve picked it.”
“Yeah, for a thriller, it wasn’t very thrilling. As soon as my hot tamales were gone, I had nothing left to care about,” I say. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep tonight knowing whether the lady gives the briefcase to the scientist or her grandma’s bingo rival or whoever it belonged to.”
Sean laughs as his phone buzzes and he reaches into his pocket for it. “Hmmmm … We could go to Monroe’s? I guess he’s having people over. That could be interesting or obnoxious, depending on how you look at it.”
I get an anxious pit in my stomach that’s inscribed Not so good with the parties. Ergh. Fake it ’til you make it flashes in my brain like a neon 7–Eleven sign.
I say, “Yeah, that sounds cool.”
In Sean’s car, I do a quick hair check and reapply my lip gloss—the shiny sticky, bubblegum smelling one reserved for special occasions like this. Sean calls Chris and asks for a reminder on where he lives and asks me to write down the directions. On our way, Sean looks over and asks me if I’m wearing the rubber band.
“I am and I will never take it off. Seriously, though, it’s really just a rubber band, right? You totally cheated me out of a real prize.”
“Aaaah ya got me. Well, sort of. I don’t even know where it came from. It’s been in my jacket pocket for a year or so. I couldn’t throw it away, for some reason I kept thinking I’d need it one day. So, it’s kind of like a lucky rubber band.”
He glances over and I hold his eye for a quick skeptical second.
“You got me. I guess I still owe you,” he says.
“Actually maybe it is lucky. I better keep it. Don’t even think about trying to take it back now.” I start to feel a little more comfortable about the party as we get closer to Chris’s house. Maybe it’d be good to talk to these people considering I have to meet with some of them this week at school for Prom stuff anyway. If Kallie’s there maybe she’ll talk to me, too.
We pull up to at least ten cars parked alongside the street leading up to Chris’s house.
“Jesus,” I mutter, “I guess his parents are out of town.”
“Yeah, this is definitely more than a couple people over. You’re still cool with going, right?” Sean asks.
“Yeah, of course,” I say.
As we walk in, there are clusters of kids from school everywhere, including the corners and lining the walls. Not just the Molly/Jane clique that I figured would be running the party. We squeeze through a crowd by the door and two girls from school say hi so I let my guard down, smile back, and scan the room for anyone else I might know. Mainly Kallie. But there’s no sign of her glossy black hair that usually shines so hard it bounces the light off it. Chris Monroe catches my eye from across the room, looks at Sean next to me and walks over.
“Hey guys,” he says slapping Sean on the side of the arm. “Bree. You’re in my Bio class. You never talk though.”
Sean smirks and slaps Chris’s shoulder. “Maybe you should shower more. At least every other day, bro. Then you too, can get your very own …” Sean trails off.