Then he kisses his way up my jawbone and flicks his tongue across my earlobe. “I hate to bring this up, but your mom’s not going to call the cops or anything if you don’t show up at home soon, is she?”

“Nah.” I wrap my arms around his neck and adjust myself so we’re both comfortable. “I figure I’ve got at least a couple hours before she starts worrying again.”

“Mmm.” He trails his lips down the other side of my neck. “I like the sound of that, as long as you’re sure you won’t get grounded.”

“Who cares?” I twine my fingers in his mohawk. “It’d totally be worth it.”

“You are the biggest rule-breaker ever.” Micah shakes his head and then pulls me close again. Our mouths move hot against each other as his hands explore my face and hair and back. I don’t know how long we kiss, but when we finally break apart, the music is over, the windows are white with fog and the soft drumbeats of a summer rainstorm pound the roof above our heads.

Sliding back into the passenger seat. I reach out with one finger and draw a happy face in the condensation on my window. I turn back to Micah, running a hand down the side of his face like I’m still not sure that he’s real. His eyes shine a mix of green and gold, like the forest. “Your eyes are so pretty,” I say.

“I know, right?” he says. “They’re my second-best feature.”

“What’s your best?” I ask without thinking.

He glances quickly down at his lap and then arches his eyebrows suggestively at me.

I laugh out loud. Typical guy. Just when I was thinking this might be the most romantic day of my entire life. Oh, well. Might as well play along. “Prove it,” I say. With a grin, I fake like I’m reaching toward the waistband of his jeans.

Micah slaps my hand away playfully. “I might show you. Someday.” He laughs, and it is the most beautiful sound in the whole world.

For a moment, we just stare at each other, both grinning like idiots. Both imagining a future filled with so many scary and exciting possibilities.

But first things first.

“So what now?” I ask.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what do we tell people? How do we tell people?”

“Ah.” He nods. “No ancient Chinese guidance for this sort of thing?”

“I’m done with all that. War is totally overrated.” I reach over and twine my fingers in his. “So is fighting with the people I care about.”

Micah squeezes my hand. “I agree.” “You know, we could always let Ebony discover us fooling around in the walk-in cooler. Let her tell people for us.”

I frown. “Come on. I’m being serious.”

“Me too.” He brushes my hair back from my face. “How about this? We’ve been pretending to date for most of the summer. So I say we just keep doing our thing and let people think what they think. If they ask specific questions, then you can say whatever you want.”

“But what are we doing?” I ask. “What do you want me to say?”

Micah laughs under his breath. “Oh, so you want me to be that guy, huh?”

“What guy?”

He takes both of my hands in his and turns to face me. “Lainey Mitchell,” he starts in an extra-serious voice. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

I make a noise vaguely approximating a dolphin. Taking a deep breath, I try again. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, you’ll be my girlfriend or, yeah, you want me to be that guy?” Micah teases.

I pull my right hand free of his and curl it into a fist. “Don’t make me hurt you.”

He grins. “I think I would like to propose a rule regarding physical violence.”

“No such luck. It’s too late for rules.” Reaching out with one finger, I trace the trinity tattoo on his neck.

Micah inhales deeply and his eyelids flutter closed for a second. Then he reaches over and pulls me toward him again. “I can’t even believe everything that’s happened,” he murmurs as his lips fall gently onto mine.

“I know, right?” I say between kisses. “Most epic summer ever.”

And the best part is, it’s not over yet.

Acknowledgments

This story would not be what it is without four writing partners that I have been waiting YEARS to lavish gratitude upon: Cathy Castelli, you never lost faith, you believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself. Thank you for your thoughtful comments and unfailing optimism. Jasmine Warga, thank you for years of timely feedback, the MFA perspective, and for railing against the coconuts. You deserve everything wonderful that is headed your way. Jessica Fonseca, thank you for the torture breakfast food and for being a model of patience and determination. You have figured out how to write without losing yourself, and that will serve you well on your journey. Marcy Beller Paul, thank you for being a teacher, cheerleader, confidante, therapist, cab-hailer, and wonderful friend. You, chica, have kept me sane. I look forward to returning the favor, as needed.

More thanks:

To my agent, Jennifer Laughran at Andrea Brown Lit. Signing with you is one of the smartest things I’ve ever done. I would have written a third book to win you over. To my editor, Karen Chaplin, for seeing the passion behind Lainey’s (and my own!) prickly exterior, and for pushing me to make this story come alive on the pages. To everyone else at HarperTeen, from the corner offices to the cubicles, who was involved in this book. You have played a part in making my dreams come true and I will always be grateful.

To my friends and family as always. Especially to Connie for being my Bianca, and to Publicist Mom—the best in the business. Seriously, I could not survive without your love, patience, and random edible gifts. To all the other amazing industry people who are my traveling partners on this journey, including the YA Valentines, the Literaticult, the kidlit twittersphere, Antony John, Heather Anastasiu, Elizabeth Richards, Jessica Spotswood, Tara Kelly, Rachel Harris, Victoria Scott, Julie Heidebreder, Ai-Lynn Collins, Ken Howe, Christina Ahn Hickey, and Jamie Krakover. To Shelly and Craig Clemons from Darker Violet Designs, for the website and general tech-support awesomeness. I’m sure I’m forgetting someone so [insert your name here].

To the City of St. Louis who took good care of me growing up, and to all the cool ’90s bands whose music coaxed me down from the ledges—I will never stop loving you. To everyone from Wiliker’s Restaurant, for the flour fights, charred quiche, and years of hilarious antics that have crept their way into these pages. To all the amazing alterna-boys I have been lucky enough to know, especially the one who introduced me to Henry Rollins’s spoken word stuff and the one who introduced me to the Roky Erickson story. To Adam for being “just a guy” and then some. To Evan and Jay for setting the boy-bar impossibly high. When people say Micah is too good to be true, I’m going to tell them about you two.

And finally, to the readers. Always and forever to the readers. In the end, it all comes back to you.

About the Author

Photo by Kholood Eid