“Did you guys see what Aveena Harper was wearing in gym? Girl looked like she raided a hobo’s closet.” Brie’s mocking comment is nothing but background noise as we drop onto Lacey’s bed an hour after school ended.
Brielle Randall, everyone.
This girl is the definition of a snake.
She’s the girl who smiles to your face and talks about you behind your back. Lacey and I have known Brie our entire lives—small town and all—but we didn’t hang out much growing up.
Until Lacey had to go and get all chummy with her on our first day of high school two weeks ago.
I hate her.
But I like Lacey.
Therefore, I’ve learned to tolerate Brie.
“Hobos don’t have closets—they’re homeless. That’s the whole point,” Lacey counters, and I snicker, scrolling through my conversation with the Craigslist seller I’m meeting later.
Brie rolls her eyes. “I’m just saying she looks like actual shit with those oversized clothes.”
I fight the urge to tell her that not everyone is as comfortable with wearing skintight clothing as she is.
Brie is a crop top and skirt kind of gal. Meanwhile, Aveena is one of the many girls in our grade struggling to adapt to her new curves and the changes happening in her body. I’m not surprised that Brie’s running her mouth about Aveena’s.
The poor girl has been Brie’s punching bag since middle school. All because Xavier Emery, Brie’s crush, said Aveena was prettier than her while playing twenty questions.
That’s all it took for Aveena to become a target for Brie’s mood swings and cruel remarks.
I had every intention of skipping her bitching tonight, but Lacey insisted that we meet up at her place before they head out to a party at Finn Richards’s place.
I can still picture the look on Lacey’s face when I told her I wasn’t going to the party.
She kept hounding me, asking what could be so important that I’d ditch our first high school party, and I made up a story about needing to help my mom with the store.
I could hardly see myself telling her that I have a date that’s not really a date with my childhood crush tonight.
Just like I couldn’t tell her that I’d rather bail on a thousand parties than miss one of my brainstorming sessions with Kane.
Kane and I have been meeting in the shed every Friday for a month now. We both started new projects, which we want to finish before sharing, so we spend most of our meetings talking and cracking jokes.
My phone chimes when Lacey starts gushing about Theodore Cox—she’s been obsessed with him since we were kids. They made out in the woods next to the school yesterday, and she’s hoping to kiss him again at the party.
I unlock my phone to check my new message.
I figured it would be the Craigslist seller, but it’s not.
It’s Kane.
I’m so glad Mom finally convinced Evie to add Kane to the family plan. She gave him Gray’s old phone since they had to sell his old one after Mr. Wilder died.
KANE
See you tonight?
I have to chew on my bottom lip to hide my smile.
HADLEY
Absolutely. But I might be a little late. I got to take care of something.
His response lights up my screen a minute later.
KANE
You mean you have a life outside of our meetings? HOW DARE YOU?
A quiet chuckle rips from my throat.
HADLEY
I know. Scandalous, right?
I assume we’re going to leave it at that until he texts me again.
KANE
I’m almost done with my song.
Excitement soars in my chest. He’s been working on the same song for the past month, but he refuses to show me. All I know is the title.
I’m Still Yours.
HADLEY
Does that mean you’re finally going to show it to me?
KANE
It’s not ready yet.
HADLEY
I swear you’ve been saying that for like a century and a half. At this rate, I’ll STILL be begging by the time my birthday rolls around next week.
KANE
Well, then, maybe it’ll be your birthday present.
HADLEY
OR you could show me now.
KANE
Easy there, Little Miss Impatient. Last I checked, you won’t show me your new painting either.
He has a point.
In all fairness, the painting I’m working on is very special to me. It’s the first time I’ve ever attempted to paint a person instead of an object or scenery. And it’s not finished—not even close—but it inspires me.
Kane inspires me.
I can only hope that he won’t be weirded out once he realizes the person I’m painting is him.
I’ve kept the painting covered up until now, but I’m always afraid he’s going to look at it when I’m not there.
HADLEY
Fine, I’m sorryyy. I’m just so impatient.
KANE
Don’t be. I’m impatient, too.
HADLEY
About what?
His next message makes my heart skip a beat.
KANE
Seeing you tonight.
Two words.
Two stupid words and he’s got me overthinking everything. Does he mean it in a romantic way?
KANE
You were right about needing a fresh pair of eyes. It really helps. I’ve finished more songs since we started brainstorming than I have in my entire life.
His comment draws the biggest smile out of me.
Then he sets my illusions ablaze with a one-way ticket to the friend zone.
KANE
You’re a good friend, Hads.
Ouch.
“You think that’s bad? Louise’s never even kissed a guy. It’s kind of pathetic, if you ask me. We’re almost fifteen.” Brie’s snicker draws my focus back to the conversation I’ve been paying no attention to.
Lacey’s eyes shift to mine, her gaze loaded with pity.
I know it’s dumb, but being the only person in my friend group who’s still a kiss virgin makes me feel like I’m repulsive or something.
Lacey got her first kiss out of the way when she made out with Theo the other day, and I’m pretty sure Brie kissed at least four guys last summer.
I’m aware it doesn’t define my worth for a second, and I probably wouldn’t care much if it weren’t for Brie constantly making fun of other girls for it, but bring up something enough times and it’ll eventually start to stick.
“Wait.” Brie catches on when she notices Lacey’s pitying expression and turns to look at me. “Have you never…”
“Who cares?” Lacey stands up for me. “It’s not a competition. Plus, Hadley’s younger than us. She started school a year early.”
Brie doesn’t speak, but the way she bites back a scoff says plenty.
“B, don’t be mean,” Lacey scolds.
Brie shrugs. “I’m not being mean. I’m just saying, it’s kind of lame that no guy’s ever been interested in you.”
Right.
Because that’s not mean.
Lacey cuts in. “Actually, Seb Stein asked me for her number last Wednesday.”
He did?
I’m not sure if she made that up because she feels bad for me or if it really happened.
I’ll admit I’d be flattered if it were true. Sebastian is cute.
A new message coming through on my phone stops me from asking Lacey if she ended up giving him my number. It’s the Craigslist lady letting me know she’s waiting for me at the café a few blocks away.
I shove my phone into my pocket and push off Lacey’s bed. “I’ve got to run.”
I’m out of Lacey’s house and getting onto Gray’s bike before I know it. He never uses it anymore, and I figured until I’m old enough to have a car, this is the easiest way to get around town.
I enter the café five minutes later, and a woman in her thirties comes up to me to conclude the sale of the black guitar she posted online.
I’d be lying if I said riding my bike home while carrying a guitar on my back was easy.
It turned out to be much heavier than I thought, and I almost swerved off the road a few times, but I manage to make it to my house in one piece fifteen minutes later.
I never would’ve thought that spending three weeks’ worth of babysitting money on something that’s not even for me would make me this happy, but here we are.
Never mind the fact that I’m going to be flat broke and struggling to buy myself more painting supplies for a while. I don’t care if I have to babysit every day.
As long as Kane gets to play the guitar again.
I’m so excited to show it to him that I almost trip over my own feet on my way to the backyard.
My heart is hammering in my chest by the time I reach the shed. Kane’s in there. I can hear him humming melodies on the other side of the door.
Normally, I’d hold off for a bit, wait outside and soak up every beautiful note his vocal cords produce, but the anticipation is killing me, so I don’t waste another second and swing the door open.
He’s sitting on the couch when I come in, his focus directed to the lyrics he’s tweaking and his phone on his lap.
“About time, Hads,” he says, so engulfed in his writing process that he doesn’t spare me a glance.
I grin. “Sorry, I had to stop and get something on the way.”
Then he looks up.
And his face goes blank.
I wait for him to say something. Anything to help me translate the thoughts behind his eyes, but he doesn’t make a sound. He just stares at the guitar case I’m carrying without blinking.
Is he having a stroke?
On autopilot, I undo the case and pull out the black guitar I spent my last hundred dollars on, hoping that showing it to him will earn me some sort of reaction.
He pushes to his feet but says nothing.
Shit, what if he thinks I got him a guitar out of pity?
Or that I see him as a charity case?
What was I thinking?
I step closer. “I know what you’re going to say. You never asked me to get you a guitar, and maybe I’m overstepping, and I completely understand if you’re mad at me, but I think you’re amazing, and it would be such a shame for your talent to go to waste, and I—”
I can’t finish my sentence.
Because his arms are around me.
Holding me.
Suffocating me.
His embrace feels like more than a hug.
It’s like he’s afraid that I’m going to disappear if he doesn’t squeeze me hard enough.
I feel light-headed, and it isn’t long before I start to wonder if asphyxiation by hugging is a thing.
The warmth of his body transfers onto mine, and I wait for him to speak.
Still, he says nothing.
He just hugs me.
Seconds elapse before my brain reboots itself, and I return his embrace. I wrap my arms around his body, resting my cheek against his chest.
His heartbeat is a dull thud echoing in my ear.
I wish we could stay like this forever, but Kane peels his body off mine the next second, backing away and clearing his throat as though the decision to hug me wasn’t his own.
Our gazes meet, and the reflection in his eyes has me in a chokehold.
He’s getting teary-eyed.
He blinks a few times to chase the tears away, and his voice cracks. “I just… Thank you.”
I want to tell him that I’d do it a thousand times over just to see that look on his face, but I settle for a simpler, less embarrassing reply. “Don’t mention it.”
Neither of us knows what to do after that hug, so I take it upon myself to break the silence. “Want to try it?”
His face lights up. “Are you kidding? Yes. Fuck yes.”
I’m smiling so big my cheeks hurt when he drops onto the couch with his new guitar.
I snatch the spot next to him, and he begins alternating between chords.
Problem is, the guitar hasn’t been played in a while, and it needs a good tuning. Kane proceeds to tune the guitar by ear like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and my chest is so full of joy and admiration it’s uncomfortably tight.
“Not one broken string,” I point out, referring to the old, lousy guitar he was playing at the beach house, and he laughs under his breath.
The piece of crap was missing two strings, and Kane still managed to create magic with it. I can’t imagine what he’ll do now with a proper guitar.
“Shit, Hadley, I don’t know how to repay you.” He improvises melodies, strumming several strings at once.
I know exactly how to answer that. “You could sing a song for me.”
I brace myself for the rejection ahead.
Kane shocks me by saying, “One. That’s it.”
I blink at him, convinced I imagined that.
Did he just say yes?
“That works for me.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket. “One more thing.”
He knows immediately. “Not a chance.”
“Come onnnn.” I join my hands together and beg like a five-year-old who doesn’t want to get sent to her room without dessert. “I won’t show anyone. It’ll be just for me, I promise.”
“I said no.”
I scoot closer to him on the couch, batting my eyelashes and pouting, which lures a small smile out of him. “It’s just one video. I won’t share it, I swear. Please, please, please.”
He’s quiet for a while.
Then he shoves his hand through his brown hair, exhaling a deep “Jesus Christ, fine.”
I squeal. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
His grin deepens, and he shakes his head like he knows better but he doesn’t have the willpower to turn me down.
I point the camera at him like a total fangirl recording her favorite artist. He pins me with a look that’s thick with disapproval, but his smile is unwavering. “Any requests?”
My answer is a no-brainer. “Could you sing ‘Iris’ again?”
This is the first song I ever heard him sing, and months later, I’m still not over it.
He answers with a small nod.
Then I press Record.
Please let this be real.
And it is.
It’s as real as it gets.
The way he plays the chords so effortlessly. The shy little glances he casts in my direction as he starts to sing for me.
I proceed to stare at him with my mouth agape for the next five minutes.
This boy is going to change the world one day.
I know because he’s already changed mine.
My entire body yearns for more when the last note sounds through the air.
I end the recording, and just like that, it’s over.
I must sound like a broken record at this point, but I have no idea how else to describe the masterpiece I just heard. “That was… unbelievable.”
He doesn’t thank me, but he also doesn’t reject the compliment, which I take as a good sign.
Kane glances down at the guitar on his lap and flips it over in order to study the details of the body. He seems as fascinated by the guitar’s anatomy as I am by him.
“Wow,” he says like it’s just dawning on him that the guitar belongs to him. “If there’s anything else I can do for you, just say the word. I mean it.”
I didn’t get him a guitar so he would do something for me. I did it because he’s talented.
So then… why do I feel compelled to ask him for another favor?
I clear my throat. “Actually, there might be something…”
“Name it.” He seems sincere.
“I was wondering if you…”
Deep breaths.
“If I what?” he presses.
“If you could be my first kiss.”
I figured one of two things would happen after I asked him. One, he’d call me crazy and tell me to forget it. Or two, he’d get mad at me for even suggesting that he break the bro code.
I wish someone had prepared me for option three.
The awkward silence option.
Kane raises an eyebrow, studying me for a long moment before saying, “Why?”
He’s not shocked or pissed that I’d make a request like that. If anything, he seems intrigued.
“Well, um… because I’m sick of being the only one who’s never kissed a guy before. All my friends have done it.”
He nods, and then he resumes his strumming on his new guitar.
“Kane?”
“Mm?”
“Yes or no?”
He looks up and stares me dead in the eyes. “Yes.”
It’s a wonder I don’t audibly gasp when he says that.
“Really?”
“Hell no. Are you on drugs?”
Should’ve seen that one coming.
“Why not? You’re like the only person I trust enough to ask, and I… I wouldn’t tell anyone if that’s what you’re worried about.” I make myself cringe.
I’m that girl, aren’t I?
The girl trying to convince her brother’s best friend to make out with her.
“You can’t ask me that.” He rests his guitar next to him on the couch. “You’re just a kid, Hads. And you’re my best friend’s sister.”
If I had to make a list of the worst things people have told me in my life, this would be number one.
“I’m only two years younger than you!” I fire back. “And I’ll be fourteen soon.”
He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter how old you are, you’re still Gray’s sister. Take it from me, kissing’s overrated, anyway.”
I swallow the emotions clawing at the inside of my throat.
Kane’s kissed girls before.
Of course he has.
“My first kiss sucked.” He’s so casual about it, completely unaware that he’s holding pieces of my broken heart in his hand. “She used way too much tongue, and her breath smelled like fish.”
I crack a laugh, much to my disbelief.
He cringes. “And her lips… Drier than the desert.”
I chuckle, making a mental note to go stock up on ChapStick because you never know.
“Look, all I’m trying to say is, it’s not all it’s cut out to be. Not unless it’s with the right person.”
The last part of his sentence resonates with me.
I feel that way about him.
“You never held up your end of the deal, by the way.”
Green eyes bore into mine, and I mull over his statement.
“What deal?” I ask.
“The one we made the day you suggested that we share the shed.” He’s off the couch in a heartbeat, strolling to my painting station in the right corner of the shed.
All I remember from that day is how desperate I was for him to agree to my proposition.
“You said if I showed you my work, you’d show me yours. Paintings you’ve never shared with anyone. I haven’t seen anything yet.”
He’s right. I did say that.
Sirens blare in my head when he comes to a stop in front of my latest painting.
The one of him.
It’s covered with a cloth and nowhere near finished, but that’s not the real reason why I spring to my feet.
Would he be freaked out?
Flattered?
Would he love it, hate it, be indifferent to it?
I’m not ready to find out.
“Not that one,” I blurt out seconds before he rips the cloth off the canvas. He swivels to look at me, confusion gleaming in his eyes. “It’s… it’s not done.”
I thank my lucky stars that he doesn’t question it, answering with a nod. “You got any finished ones to show me?”
I stop to think.
Truth is, I haven’t finished many paintings in my life. Never mind, that’s not true. I’ve finished paintings, but I haven’t kept a lot of them.
Every time I finish one, I look at it until I hate it.
I try to quiet my thoughts. “Sure. I have one in the garage, I think.”
Kane raises a brow. “Only one?”
“Yeah, I’m kind of my own worst critic,” I admit as I walk to the door.
I’m back with the painting just minutes later, and I might not show it, but my hesitation has ascended into full-blown dread.
It takes everything I have not to run the other way when I find Kane sitting on the couch, waiting for me.
Clutching the canvas to my chest so that he can’t see it, I make my way over to him. This particular painting is of the sun setting on the beach in Golden Cove.
Now I understand why he was so hesitant to show me his songs. Sharing your work with others is nerve-racking.
I drop onto the couch next to him, my lungs compressing the little oxygen in them. “So… before I show you, you should know that I’m not a professional by any means. Everything I know, I’ve taught myself or seen on YouTube, and I—”
My heart leaps forward when his hand swallows mine.
I look up at him, failing to process the sensation of his fingers on my skin.
Our hands are touching.
Our. Hands. Are. Touching.
“Hads…” His voice comes out as a whisper, and he gives my fingers a small squeeze.
The contact has the effect of a bulldozer charging into the protective walls I built around myself.
“Just show me,” he says quietly, his voice empty of judgment and expectations.
I flip the painting over, baring a part of my soul to him.
He doesn’t make a sound.
He hates it, doesn’t he?
But then…
I realize he’s not saying anything because his mouth is open.
He just stares at the painting for long seconds, soaking up every stroke of my brush.
“You…” he starts to say. “You’re so talented.”
My throat closes around a painful lump. “You mean it?”
“Yes. It’s amazing.” He peels his hand off mine, much to my disappointment, and grips the small canvas, bringing it closer so he can take a better look. “I can’t believe you did this.”
His mouth curls into a smirk. “You better send me some sick art for my house when you’re a famous painter.”
I snort. “Only if you send me postcards from all the cool places you visit when you’re off being a famous singer.”
I think I see a glimmer of hope flare in his eyes.
I’ve told him how talented he is, but I never really bothered to ask him if he would even be interested in a career in music.
But now, I know he does.
The hopeful look on his face makes that clear.
As though he’s just come to his senses, Kane shakes his head and bites back a scoff. “Yeah, right.”
“Hey,” I breathe.
Our gazes lock together so tight I’m afraid it would hurt to look away.
“No one gets to tell you you’re not good enough, you hear me? No one. Not me, not your dad, not even yourself.”
He digs his teeth into his bottom lip. “No point in getting my hopes up. It would be impossible to—”
I cut him off. “It’s only impossible if you don’t try.”
Kane wrestles a grin. “You give some damn good pep talks, you know that?”
I chuckle. “I try.”
We spend the rest of the evening working on our own craft and bickering the way we usually do. But something feels off.
For me, at least.
While Kane was off kissing girls in New York, I was at home obsessing over him. How many times is he going to have to spell it out for me before I take the hint?
He doesn’t like me.
Just one of the many reasons why, when my phone pings with a text from Sebastian Stein a half hour later, I decide to reply.
SEBASTIAN
Hey, it’s Seb. Lacey gave me your number. I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime? Maybe go see a movie?
Kane’s not going to be my first kiss.
He’s not going to be my first anything.
It’s time I accept that.
HADLEY
A movie sounds great.
