Blaming him for kissing me in such a way that I can’t think straight might seem like the obvious choice, but the concussion speaks for itself. He doesn’t even remember it. He doesn't remember the feeling of his lips on mine, and he probably never will. But I do, and that’s the issue. That kiss is burned into my brain, obliterating everything in its path. I can’t let something like this come between us. I won’t let it. So, I have to backtrack and make things right before I lose my best friend.
Over a kiss.
An impossible-to-forget kiss.
“Alright, people! We have five days, and this place looks horrendous!” Emma projects across the gymnasium floor withher hands on her hips, stewing over our lackluster attempt at decorating. The theme isA Night Books Are Written About—a theme I’m still trying to wrap my head around as I glue old book pages to the inside of vintage picture frames.
“So, this theme…” I trail off, trying desperately to rid myself of the glue residue that encases my fingers. “What does it mean?”
Emma scoffs at me. Not just a light scoff, but a forceful, how-dare-you-not-get-it type of exhale that has me wishing I had kept my mouth shut. “Books are tangible representations of life, and love, and stories you dream of.” She waves her arms overhead, as though giving a world-changing speech, and I wince in regret even more. Emma on an artistic, life-is-better-with-art tangent is my least favorite version of her. She gets very pompous, and it takes her a long time to come back to Earth. “Books are art in the simplest of forms,” she continues, “speaking to us in a thousand different ways. You know George R.R. Martin said he has lived a thousand lives because—”
“He reads,” we all say in a monotone unison before she can finish.
She jabs a finger in the air at us individually—first at Benny on top of the eight-foot ladder, weaving string lights around the basketball hoop, then at Ellie who is knee deep in glitter and hot glue, then at me with my plastered page fingers, and then behind me.
“Don’t shove that finger at me. I just got here,” Malcolm grumbles.
I turn and see him carrying a giant wooden sign—probably something Emma forced him to make by hand—as he sets it down and presents it to our dictator.
It’s a huge carved, wooden sign, standing just a few inches taller than him, painted cream with intricate vines and small books engraved around the border, with the wordsGlendale Prom 2024in deep red painted script at the top. It's beautiful.
Emma gasps and clasps her hands at her chest, then sniffles, “It’s perfect.” Her tyrant aura fades as she gives Malcolm a hug, easing the tension in all of us. He winces at the affection, trying to avoid colliding with her growing belly before conceding and hugging her back. I catch his eyes for a moment, the icy blue warms at me for a moment before freezing over again.
Don’t lose him.
It’s probably just me overthinking, but this whole going-back-to-normal thing is starting to feel less and less friendly than before. Maybe I became so engrossed in his closeness that anything besides that is jarring. Or maybe it’s the fact that I can’t get the thought of his lips out of my head. Or his hands. Or his scruffy jaw rubbing against my cheek.
I press my fingers to my pulse point, the beat erratic and bounding, as I watch the corners of his lips twitch up in conversation as he focuses on Emma and not me. Why is this bothering me so much? He’s allowed to have friends other than me. He’s allowed to talk to other people and not immediately come up to me.Get over yourself, Katherine.
“Dude, it looks so good!” Benny says, climbing down from the ladder.
Malcolm nods. “Well, I still have to finish the banners—”
“I thought I was in charge of the banners?” Ellie asks from the floor, insult pinching her eyebrows.
“Well…” Emma gnaws on her lip. “His are back-ups. In case yours…” She trails off as she gestures to the unsightly crinkled banner at Ellie’s knees. The letters are different sizes and off center, angling toward the corner. A huge blob of glitter from where she dropped the bottle earlier has now been turned into a lumpy moon, with a Sharpie border encircling it.
She gazes up at all of us. “Is it bad?” I have to bite my lip to keep from giggling at the sincerity in her voice.
“It’s beautiful, babe,” Benny says, rubbing her back. “We will definitely use it, won’t we?” He eyes Emma and me for support. I look away. His puppy-dog eyes are unbearable sometimes.
“We. Will. Use. It.” Emma says through gritted teeth.
“Maybe in the bathroom,” Malcolm mumbles quietly to me.
The response is startling. I look around to see if anyone else heard him or if it was really just for my ears only. I turn to face him and watch as his smile deepens before he gives me a wink and focuses on the banner at our feet. The glitter reflects the sunlight and shimmers under us, accentuating the silver in his eyes.
“Hi,” I breathe. I feel my heart hammer in my chest as his smile widens, his perfect teeth on display.
“Hey,” he whispers softly, still eyeing the banner.
I’ve missed you.It’s all I can think and all I want to say. Even standing a foot away from him, he feels so far away. He scratches his jaw, and it sends a jolt through me, the memory of that scruff rubbing against my face and neck plowing through my mind with force. It threatens to throw me into hysterics right here in the middle of the gym. I can’t deny that I want to kiss him again, that I can’t stop thinking about it. But I’d be kissing my best friend. A man older than me, a man with a different life than me, and different interests. I can’t imagine Malcolm wanting to be with someone like me. A girl so flippant and erratic at times. A girl who can’t commit to a paint color in her kitchen because her mood changes like the seasons. I have eight different colored brush strokes in the center of my island, welcoming guests. Malcolm has one color throughout his entire house—white.
“Where is your brain at right now?” he whispers to me, leaning so close that his minty coffee breath tingles the corners of my mouth. I blink away from his lips and watch him rake his fingers through his tousled hair. “Do you need some food?”
My stomach growls in response.
“Come on, let’s get out of here.” He tugs on the hem of my shirt.
