February 2012 Lip had noticed you before. Not in the creepy stalker way, but in that lazy, half-bored way he noticed everything. You and your noisy group of friends always took over the back row of the cafeteria, all sarcasm, swapping gum and secrets. He wasn’t used to girls like you. Sweet but not fake. Smart but not condescending. And you had this way of making everyone feel like they mattered. Even him.

He never thought you’d talk to him. Why would you? You were too clean, too bright, with your oversized hoodie sleeves and glittery nails. He figured you saw him the same way most people did—like trouble with a bad haircut.

But then English class changed everything. You got moved next to him after that other kid dropped out. You had these neon highlighters and you actually slid them over—to share. Who the hell even does that?

And then, out of nowhere, you were talking to him about some terrible poem like it mattered. Lip had no idea what to say. So he muttered something smart-ass and you laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.

You laughed like he was worth laughing with.

After that, it snowballed—hallway chats, dumb jokes in gym class, late texts about quizzes and panic over presentations. Then study sessions. Then you, sitting cross-legged on his bed and sipping Coke from his cup.

But then you sat on his bed one afternoon—no one else home—and asked, so casually it nearly gave him a stroke, “Can I ask you something kinda dumb?”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but his heart was already racing. “Try me.”

“Well… I’ve never really kissed anyone before. Like, for real.” You looked down, cheeks burning, fingers twisting the hem of your shirt nervously. “Could you maybe… show me?”

Lip laughed, but it was low and shaky. “Wait, me?”

“Yeah. Just so I don’t look like a complete idiot.”

His chest tightened, like someone punched him right there. He shifted closer. “Uh… okay. Yeah. Just—don’t make it weird.”

You smiled, that bright, nervous smile that made everything else fade. You leaned in first, your nose brushing his.

Lip pulled back a bit, flushed, but you shook your head. “No, that was good,” you whispered, biting your lip before you kissed him again—this time slower, deeper. Your hand crept under his hoodie, fingers tracing the warmth of his skin. His breath hitched. His fingers tightened on the fabric of your shirt, pulling you a little closer.

Heat bloomed low in your belly, spreading through your limbs like wildfire. The kiss grew more urgent, more desperate, your bodies pressing closer until you could feel the thrum of his heartbeat right against you.

Just then, the bedroom door swung open.

“Yo, Lip—” Ian’s voice stopped short, eyes wide as he caught the moment frozen between you two.

You scrambled apart, breathless and flushed. Lip cleared his throat, cheeks burning bright red. “Shit. Sorry. Didn’t know—” Ian ducked out without another word.

You both sat there for a moment, the silence thick and electric. Then you laughed nervously. “Well. That was educational.”

Lip swallowed hard. “Yeah. Uh—yeah. You’re a natural.”

You both pretended it didn’t mean anything. A favor. Just helping out.

After that, you didn’t kiss again. But you kept hanging out. You kept being something not-defined. You went over to his house more. Fiona liked you. Debbie braided your hair once.

But now, two weeks later, he’s standing in the cafeteria, tray in hand, and you’re waving him over like you’ve been waiting all day for him to sit next to you. You move your bag, pat the seat, grin that big dumb grin that makes his stomach flip.

And he’s frozen. God, he’s so gone for you it’s embarrassing.

“What?… You want me to sit here?… Y’sure?” he mumbles, trying not to grin like an idiot.

You roll your eyes, but it’s playful. You nudge the chair with your foot.

He sits. Tries not to shake. Tries not to care this much.

You hand him a grape from your fruit cup without even looking.

And God— God, he’s in love.

He’s so fucked.