That was the second time we'd kissed.
The first time? An accident. A clumsy stumble at the lockers that ended in lips colliding and both of us pretending it didn't happen while blacking out emotionally.
And now this? A dare. A dare I was bullied into by social pressure and the threat of eternal cowardice.
Will I ever have a normal kiss? Like, one that doesn't involve surprise, shock, or complete public humiliation?
Apparently not. Yay, me.
Without saying a word, I walked back to the circle with the composure of someone who hadn't just lost five years off their life expectancy. I sat down, grabbed the bottle, and spun it like I had no soul left to lose.
"My turn," I said dryly, because sarcasm is my only functioning survival skill.
An hour later, the crowd had thinned, the dares had gone from chaotic to lazy, and I was ready to burn this entire house to the ground and never speak of any of it again.
It was time to go home. The only problem? Kaisha was missing.
This could not be good.
I shoved through clusters of sweaty teenagers, dodging dancing limbs and the scent of questionable body spray, searching for one very specific drunk brunette.
"Isha?! Where are you?! You better not be doing something you'll cry about tomorrow!" I called into the chaotic abyss.
"Navs! NAVIA!" a voice yelled over the music.
I turned around and spotted Liam—smiling sheepishly—with Kaisha draped over his shoulders like a designer handbag. A very drunk, giggling handbag.
"Oh my gosh, Isha!" I ran over, practically yanked her off of him like she was my drunk toddler.
"Thank you, Liam," I sighed, adjusting her weight on my shoulder as she slurred something about unicorns.
"It's nothing," he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck, red-faced.
Why was he blushing?
Okay. Not my problem.
"Well, we're heading out. Thanks for keeping her from accidentally joining a cult or whatever." I grunted under Isha's weight, dragging her toward the door.
"Did you drive here? Do you need help?"
"Yes, I drove. And no, I can handle this drunk demon spawn. But thanks."
"See you around," he said, still blushing.
We left. I dragged Kaisha out the door like she was a sack of wet laundry with legs.
Even when we got home, I was still dragging her—up the stairs, into my room, across the floor.
She giggled at the ceiling. "Your carpet is soooo soft."
"Good. You can marry it."
I pulled her into some of my pajamas, wiped off her raccoon-eye makeup with the gentleness of a war medic, and tucked her into bed. She was asleep in seconds.
I, meanwhile, dragged myself to the bathroom, peeled off my clothes, took a gloriously hot shower, and brushed my teeth with the intensity of someone trying to scrub away emotional trauma.
And that's when it hit me.
The kiss.
Cameron.
His lips.
His minty breath.
His hand on my jaw.
My brain betrayed me and replayed it in 4K—the way time had slowed, the way the room had vanished, the way my heart had stuttered like it was buffering.
But it meant nothing. It was a dare. A joke.
Right?
I stared at my reflection for a long moment.
Then I crawled into bed beside Isha, buried my face in my pillow, and pretended none of it ever happened.
The next morning…
Rustling.
Sniffing.
Hairdryer?
I cracked one eye open and saw Kaisha sitting in front of my vanity, towel drying her hair.
"I woke you up," she said, wincing. "I was trying to move like a ninja."
"You're about as quiet as a marching band in a thunderstorm." I stretched like I'd aged 30 years overnight.
But she looked… fidgety. Guilt-ridden. Sitting like someone who had a secret and really needed to confess it to a priest or Oprah.
"What did you do?" I asked, already exhausted.
She paused, biting her lip.
"I think I made a mistake last night."
I narrowed my eyes. "What kind of mistake? Did you join a pyramid scheme? Sell your soul to a TikToker? Gave your V card to a stranger???" I gasped. "You whore."
"What??!!! No!!!" She sputtered, eyes widening.
"Then what is it?"
"I… Liam."
I blinked. "I'm sorry. Did you say something? Or was that a dying squirrel sound?"
"I kissed Liam!" she shrieked.
I launched across the room like a superhero, smacking my hand over her mouth. "Shut up! My parents are home!"
She peeled my hand off her face with ninja strength. "Relax. They left for work already. They came to check on us earlier. You snored through the entire thing."
"Ah." I nodded slowly. Then my brain caught up.
"Wait. Back up. You did what with Liam? You kissed him?! Like—voluntarily?!"
"It wasn't a dare," she mumbled, eyes on the floor. "I… I was drunk."
I stared at her.
"Okay. But do you like him?"
"WHAT? No! Me?! Like Liam?! Pfft! That's—insane. Who said that?" She was suddenly examining the ceiling like it had life advice.
Which meant: yes.
She totally liked him.
But I didn't push.
"If he brings it up, just say you were drunk and it was a tragic lapse in judgment. Boom. Crisis averted."
And with that, I disappeared into the bathroom like the wise, emotionally burned elder that I am.
Monday morning.
Kaisha and I walked through the school gates with the enthusiasm of two kids being forced to attend their own funerals.
"Can something please happen to shut down the school?" she moaned.
I snorted. "Yeah, like the math building catching fire or something."
Kaisha shot me a look. "You joke, but I'm desperate."
We headed for our lockers, shoulders slumped.
And then—
BOOM.
A deafening bang echoed through the halls like someone had set off a grenade in the cafeteria.
Seconds later, the fire alarm wailed. The sprinklers activated, spraying icy water everywhere like the school had started sobbing.
Students screamed. Smoke filled the hallway.
"This is Principal Winston," the intercom crackled. "There is a fire in the school. I repeat: all students must immediately evacuate."
"Oh my god," Kaisha gasped.
"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered as water drenched my hair. "Did you make a deal with the devil for this?!"
"I just manifested! I didn't think it'd actually happen!"
We joined the stampede of screaming teenagers and made our way out into the chaos.
So… yeah.
The school might be on fire.
But at least I don't have to explain why I kissed Cameron St. Laurent in front of half the junior class.
That's tomorrow's crisis.