“Because it keeps getting better!”
The group reconvenes, drifting toward the exit as the fair begins to wind down. Drew has somehow acquired an inflatable palm tree. Nathan is carrying a bag of kettle corn the size of his torso.
And Oliver walks beside me, close enough that our hands brush occasionally, sending sparks up my arm each time.
Jackson appears at my other side. “Hey,” he says quietly, falling into step with me. “You okay?”
I consider the question. My lips are still tingling. My heart is still racing. My entire understanding of myself has shifted on its axis in the span of a single Ferris wheel rotation.
“Yeah,” I say. “I am.”
Jackson studies my face for a moment, then grins. “Good. I’m glad.”
He doesn’t push for more, which is one of the many reasons Jackson Monroe is my best friend.
The dorm roomdoor barely closes before Jackson rounds on me.
“Okay.” He tosses Derek the penguin onto his bed and turns, eyes bright with barely contained excitement. “Spill everything. Now.”
I set my jacket on my desk and take my time stepping out of my loafers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ryan Abrams, don’t you dare play coy with me.” Jackson crosses his arms, but he’s grinning too wide for the stern pose to be effective. “I saw your face when you came back from that Ferris wheel. That was not the face of someone who just looked at stars.”
My cheeks heat. I flip back the corner of my bedcover, smoothing out the wrinkles with trembling fingers. One button at a time, I work my way down my shirt, the fabric still carrying the faint scent of fairground popcorn. My shorts drop to the floor with a soft whoosh. I peel off my socks, the elastic leaving faint red lines below my knees. “The stars were very nice.”
“The stars were very—” Jackson makes a sound of pure frustration. “Ryan! Did something happen with Oliver? Did he finally make a move? Didyoumake a move? Oh my God, if you did, that would be incredible. That would be character development of the highest order.”
“I didn’t make a move.”
“But something happened.”
I straighten, meeting Jackson’s eyes. He’s practically shaking with anticipation, his whole body leaning toward me. This is Jackson in his element—supportive, enthusiastic, and ready to celebrate whatever I’m about to tell him.
“He kissed me,” I say.
The noise Jackson makes is not quite human. It’s somewhere between a squeal and a scream, high-pitched enough that I’m concerned about the RA filing a noise complaint. “HE KISSED YOU?!”
“Jackson, volume?—”
“Oliver Jacoby kissed you! On the Ferris wheel! Under the stars!” He’s bouncing now, causing the furniture to shake. “Ryan, this is the most romantic thing that has ever happened to anyone, ever, in the history of romance!”
“That is an exaggeration.”
“It’s not! He took you to the top of a Ferris wheel and kissed you! That’s literally the plot of every teen movie from the early 2000s!” Jackson grabs my shoulders, his grip tight with excitement. “Tell me everything. How did it happen? Who leaned in first? Was there tongue? Oh God, please tell me therewas tongue!”
“Jackson!”
“There was tongue! I can tell by your face! Your face is doing the thing!”
“What thing?”
“The ‘I just had my first kiss, and it involved tongue’ thing!” He releases my shoulders and does a little spin, arms thrown wide. “This is incredible! This is momentous! This is—wait.” He stops mid-spin, eyes narrowing. “How was it? Scale of one to ten, how was the kiss?”
I sink onto my bed, the events of the night finally catching up with me. My lips still feel warm and tingly. I can still taste the faint sweetness of Oliver’s ChapStick. Blueberry, maybe?
“Eleven,” I say quietly. “Maybe twelve.”
Jackson’s expression softens. He crosses to my side of the room and sits beside me on the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. “Yeah?”
