“You’re so dramatic!” Milky yelled as she followed me down the stairs and through the sitting room where my school bag sat on the coffee table. “We’re only in tenth grade! Why are you so worried?”

I couldn’t breathe, my lungs wheezing through every inhale, every exhale. My fingers shook while I went through the contents of my bag, searching for my inhaler.

“It’s not the end of the world!”

“Shut up!” I whispered. “Just shut up!” I finally found my inhaler at the bottom of my bag, right next to the economics quiz that started this mess. I got a B-. A B fucking minus. It was the worst grade I’d ever received, and I was so sure, so positive I’d nailed it. What the hell had gone wrong?

“It’s not like this one measly grade is going to affect your chances of getting into Harvard, Andie. Jesus Christ.”

I held the inhaler to my mouth, pressed down on the canister, and inhaled manufactured life into my lungs.

“You’re such a fucking brat,” my sister said.

I wanted to punch her. My dream after graduating high school was an Ivy League university, and considering our grandparents lived off their retirement, a scholarship was my only hope. My sister’s dream was to follow in our parents’ footsteps. Milky was a joke, and I’d had enough of her shit.

I offered my sister a glare and moved around her toward the back of the house, but she was there—always a step behind me, my twin. I needed air, and I needed to get away from the girl who was sucking all of it out of every fucking room she followed me through.

The back patio doors slid open effortlessly, and I stepped out, hunching over as soon as earthly air hit my lungs.

“See? You’ve worked yourself up now,” Milky said, and I gripped the inhaler harder in my hand. “And you’re making a fool of yourself in front of Matt,” she hissed.

I glanced up just long enough to see Matt standing in our yard. He’d been around a lot lately doing odd jobs for our grandparents, though they were all favors—he refused every dime they offered. Last weekend, he cleaned out the gutters, then he helped my grandmother with the weeding. A few days ago, he helped set up some new, fancy television in the den for my grandfather, and now he was cleaning our pool. It made no sense why he helped so much, especially considering his house had a pool, too, and a roof, a gutter, a garden, and I never once saw him doing that shit over there.

“Is everything okay?” he called out, and I sensed him coming closer. I should have found the energy to stand straighter, but I couldn’t. Milky was right. I had worked myself up to a panic attack, and I hated that they were both there to witness it.

“She’s fine,” Milky said, rubbing my back in an attempt to show fake concern. “She has these panic attacks.”

I growled, hating that she was exposing my secrets to a man I barely knew.

His sneaker-covered feet came into my vision when he stood in front of me, then his hand settled on my shoulder as his knees bent so we were eye to eye. The concern in his stare lit a spark somewhere between my heart and my stomach, and I tried to force a smile. I couldn’t. “Are you okay, Andromeda?”

I nodded.

Milky said, “She’s fine. This always happens.”

Matt ignored her, kept his focus on me. “What are you so worked up about? Did a boy hurt you? All I need is a name, and I’ll take care of it.” He was kidding. At least I thought he was. Because he was smiling at me as he took me in again, the way I’d caught him doing a few times before. The spark he’d set off moved lower down my body, somewhere between my hips. I stood taller, hoping to alleviate the dull ache growing there, and assured him I was fine. But I wasn’t. Not really. The constricting in my chest happened again. Only that time—I’m not positive it was panic that caused it.

“I’m okay,” I said. “I just got a bad grade. That’s all.”

Milky moved to stand between us. “Will you tell her she’s being ridiculous?”

Matt shrugged, finally dropping his hand from my shoulder. “If it’s important to Andie then...” he trailed off, and I found myself smiling at the way he understood me. “Hey, your grandparents invited me to your birthday party this weekend. You girls excited?”

Milky sighed. “It’s going to be lame. It’s just a bunch of family and friends willing to show up to a place with no booze.”

Matt laughed at her response, and unexpected jealousy swarmed through my blood.

And then, Milky being Milky, said, “Would you ever consider dating a sixteen-year-old? You know... the legal age for consensual sex in North Carolina is sixteen.”

I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. Or maybe I just wanted a hole big enough to throw Milky in. Matt laughed again, but it was softer, faker. “Age is just a number.” His eyes met mine, darkness pooled in their depths. “Right, Andie?”

* * *

I can’t recall a time when Matteo Rossi had ever not stood out from the crowd, but never more so than at Milky’s and my sixteenth birthday party. Surrounded by pink and white balloons and streamers, the man next door was at least a head taller than our friends from school and my grandparents’ friends who were invited to join in on the celebration. Milky was mature for our age, or maybe I was just immature. While she snuck out of the house on Saturday nights to party and drink the night away, spending the following Sunday hungover and locked in her room so my grandparents were none the wiser, I spent whatever time I had buried in books and school and even homework that wasn’t required. And so while we were handed gifts from our guests, mainly money and gift cards, Milky continuously scoffed at the lameness of the party, while I walked around from person to person, thanking them for their kindness and generosity from the both of us. Matt was the last to approach us, another gift card for the mall; a hundred dollars each— more than anyone else had given. Milky hugged him, her arms wrapped around his neck, her breasts pressed to his chest, and I shook his hand, smiled as I repeated the words I’d said to everyone else.

We blew out the thirty-two candles on our shared cake, and soon enough, the guests started to leave. Against our grandparents’ wishes, Milky left with her friends, and I hung around to help clean up the mess our day-of-birth celebration had left behind. Matt offered to stay, too, convincing my grandparents that it’d been a long day and they deserved to relax—another undeserved, kind gesture.

I’d thought about Matt a little—or maybe a lot—since he saw the buildup of my impending panic attack out in our yard, since he said that age was just a number—and I wondered why it was he was always hanging around. I hadn’t seen many people go in and out of his house, and I assumed that maybe he didn’t have any family. Maybe he was just lonely. I didn’t really understand loneliness. I was far too busy for it. “That was some party,” Matt said, dumping baby-pink napkins with half-eaten cake into a trash bag.

“It was nice,” I said, not looking at him. “Thanks again for coming. And for the present. It was very kind of you.”

He chuckled under his breath, before dropping the trash bag and walking over to me. I looked up just in time to see him stop. He was close now, almost as close as the time he had to help me steady myself after I collided with him. “That wasn’t your present,” he said, his voice low as he looked around us. We were standing on the patio, in clear view of anyone inside the house who happened to look out through the glass sliding doors. Matt took my hand in his, as if it were completely normal, as if he had no idea that I’d never held a man’s hand before. Or a boy’s for that matter. Tugging gently, he led me to the corner of the yard where a large hedge kept us hidden, our own little bubble, and with one hand still grasping mine, he reached into his pocket with the other and pulled out a black, square, velvet box.

My chest collapsed into my lungs, and I inhaled a wheeze, exhaled the same way.

“This is for you,” he said.

“But—”

“I wanted to wait to get you alone to give it to you. I didn’t want your sister getting jealous.”

When I lifted my gaze to his, his eyes were clear, brimming with affection, and I couldn’t comprehend why. He smiled down at me, red lips surrounded by scruff that boys my age had only failed to grow. I tugged my hand free and carefully seized the box from his possession. Then I flipped the lid, gasping when the white gold pendant sparkled in the sunlight. My name had never looked as divine as it did spelled out in cursive, all letters joining, consisting of gold and a single diamond on the final A. “This is beautiful,” I whispered, pulse thumping madly beneath my flesh.

“A beautiful gift for a beautiful girl,” he murmured, stepping forward. I took a step back, not used to the proximity, but he simply smiled, moved in on me again. That time, I held my ground, frozen in all areas that were visible. He reached up, the heat of his hand against my jaw setting my body ablaze. “Can I kiss you?” he asked simply, and I must’ve nodded, must’ve silently agreed somehow, because the next thing I knew, he was inching forward. Darkness captured my vision when I closed my eyes and felt his lips on mine. “Sei perfetto,” he murmured. You’re perfect. And then we were kissing, kissing, kissing, and we couldn’t, wouldn’t stop.

* * *

Matt left for a business trip the day after my sixteenth birthday. The only reason I knew was because my grandfather had me checking his mail every day until his return. I didn’t know what we were to each other. We didn’t have time to discuss it before my grandfather interrupted our kiss by calling out for Matt from the patio.

It had been eight days. Eight long days. And with each day that passed, I found myself more and more confused. For eight days, I walked passed Matt’s name and phone number written on a yellow card, held onto the fridge by a magnet displaying three cats and a ball of yarn. I’m sure it was there to be used in case of an emergency, like if his house caught fire, not because the adolescent girl next door was admittedly rehashing the kiss like she had memorized the eleven digits after the decimal in pi.

With Milky-strength courage, I dug out my phone from my school blazer and typed out a message.

I have your mail, I stupidly wrote.

He responded right away. Thanks, Mr. Reynor. I really appreciate it.

I wrote back: It’s Andie.

My phone vibrated in my hand, and my pulse picked up, panic swirling in my blood. I expected a text message, not a voice conversation where I wouldn’t have time to plan my responses, so I let it ring out. Then it rang again. I reached into my pocket for my inhaler, shook it, inhaled it twice, then answered. “Hello?”

“Thank fuck, Andie. I’ve been going insane.” His voice, his words, felt like a hit of the Ventolin in the canister I was gripping—the sound relaxing my muscles and allowing air into my lungs.

“You have?”

“Well, yeah.” The man in possession of my first kiss chuckled. “When I gave your grandfather the card with my number, I assumed you’d use it. I know I should’ve gotten your number, but we have to be so careful, Andie. People—they won’t understand what we have.”

What we have.

I smiled, holding the phone closer to my ear. “I know. I won’t say anything. I promise.”

“Good,” he said. Then, “Fuck. I miss you, girl.”

“You do?”

“Shit. I have to go into a meeting right now, but keep your phone on you, okay?”

“I can’t have my phone on in class,” I told him.

He chuckled again. “I don’t plan on calling while you’re in class.”

“Then... when?”

“At night,” he said, his voice low. “Hopefully when you’re in your bed. That way I can picture it.”

* * *

He didn’t call that night.

He didn’t call at all.

Not until another eight days later when I rushed out of class to check my phone was there a message waiting from him: I’m home! Please tell me there’s even the slightest possibility I’ll be able to see you today. Please?

A smile stretched across my cheeks, and I covered it with my hand to hide it from the other students standing by their lockers.

I have college admissions prep class I have to go to. But there’s a general store a block east of my school. Do you know it?

His reply came in less than a second. Yep.

Can you meet me there just after 4:30? There’s parking at the rear. Wait for me.

I’d wait forever, babe.

* * *

I’d stood on a stage and been judged more times than I can count. I’d interviewed for and been interviewed by local and statewide media for various scholarly accolades. My academic achievements had always been the major cause of my anxiety and panic attacks, and yet I kept on with it, knowing it would somehow lead me to greatness. But none of those things would ever compare to the nerves twisting in every one of my organs as I walked through the general store—pretending to be interested in adult diapers—toward the rear exit. On the other side, a man was waiting for me, a man who’d given me a gift I’d been too afraid to wear in case it roused questions I couldn’t answer. A man who’d taken the lame expression of “sixteen and never been kissed” and made it just that: an expression. Not my reality.

Palms sweating, blood pumping, I pushed open the heavy glass door of the store and immediately locked eyes on the black SUV in the parking lot. Chrome rims and blacked-out windows, the vehicle belonged in a rap music video—not the leafy suburban town that’d been my home since my parents had left us.

The few yards felt like miles as my cement-weighted feet led me to the passenger side, fingers grasping my skirt, shoulders aching from the weight of my backpack.

I reached up and opened the door, the chrome handle acting as a mirror, reflecting my disheveled state. I didn’t look at him when I got in the car, leather seats squeaking under my weight. “Hey,” I said to his dashboard.

If smiles could be heard, swear I heard his when he said, “You have no idea how badly I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

“We should probably get going,” I said, still too afraid to look at him. What if he’d changed? What if the image I’d had of him standing in front of me with affection in his eyes was no longer the man sitting next to me. I added, “If we stay at one place too long, people can see us.”

“Tinted windows, babe, no one can see inside. And why are you refusing to look at me? Did you change your mind about us?”

Us?

Were we an “us?” He said it like we were, so we must have been. I found the courage to finally face him, but he was already watching me, his jaw flexing as he chewed gum between his teeth, the occasional green of it exposed every time his mouth moved. He was everything I remembered, everything I imagined him to be. He smiled, his eyebrows lifting, expressing he was still waiting for a response.

“No,” I said. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

Matt’s smile drifted higher, taking my heart, my hormones, to places they’d never been before. “Then get over here,” he said simply, motioning to his lap.

I ignored my nerves, the flush of heat crawling on my skin at his words, and climbed across the generous car seat until I was perched on his lap, my back against his door.

His nose ran a trail from my shoulder, up my neck, and to my jaw, where he kissed me once. Twice. And on the third time, his hand found my bare thigh, and my mouth found his.

I was so lost, so consumed, so infatuated with the man whose stubble rubbed against my cheek, whose tongue danced effortlessly with mine, whose murmured words in a foreign language set alight a throb in the center of my being. And when his hands drifted higher and higher up my leg, I should’ve willed my body to protect its most sacred place.

I should’ve stopped him from pushing my panties aside, should’ve stopped him from using his fingers to fuck me until my pleasure was soaked on his palm.

I should’ve stopped him from covering my mouth with his to drown out the sounds of my very first orgasm.

I should’ve stopped it from the beginning.

Instead, I should’ve asked him where he’d been and what he’d been doing.

I should’ve asked why he never called when he said he would.

I should’ve asked what exactly he did to earn him the car we were cocooned in.

I should’ve done a lot of things I didn’t.

And did a lot of things I shouldn’t have.

Like getting in the car in the first place.