And that’s separate from the kissing. Okay. Not totally separate. But Sam is my friend, the kind of friend I’ve never had before. Maybe the best friend I’ve ever had. Is there a way to have that, and the other stuff? The kissing? Can they really coexist? Or is it like asymptotes—two things that can get so close but are never meant to intersect?
I have spent way too much time around Asha if I’m finding love songs in geometry.
“Tomorrow’s the dance, you know,” Sam says, like it could have possibly slipped my mind.
“I know.” I look down at our intertwined fingers. “Were you serious? About being my date?”
“That depends on your answer. See, if you say you don’t want to, I can pretend I was just kidding the whole time, you know, ha ha, oh, that Sam, he’s such a jokester, and thus save a little of my wounded pride, but if you—”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Yes, I’ll go with you. Obviously.”
Or maybe not so obviously, because the smile he gives me then is so adorably earnest and pleased that it makes me tingle from the tips of my fingers all the way down to my toes.
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Awesome.”
“Awesome squared.”
“Awesome cubed.”
“Awesome to the power of infinity.”
“The square root of awesome is—”
“—Asha,” we finish at the same time, and laugh.
I quickly push a palm over his mouth to keep him quiet. Really don’t need Dad to overhear this little visit now.
He takes my hand off his mouth and holds it, his face suddenly serious. “I just need to know one thing. Very important.”
My stomach drops. What now?
“What color is your dress?”
day thirty-three