“It’s too far away. I don’t want us to be so far apart.” I’m staring at him, and he colors. “I mean, unless that’s what you want. I’ll do whatever you want to do. If you don’t want to try for a long-distance thing, or if you do . . . it’s . . . whatever. I’m just laying out options.” He swallows. “It’s as good a school as Benedictine, too. Plus, their coach played pro ball back in the day. But . . . you know, like I said, it’s just another option. No pressure. I don’t have to decide right away.”

My heart is thrumming in my chest. This thing with me and Reeve . . . it doesn’t have to be a secret forever. I lean forward and press my lips against his. “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” I whisper against his mouth.

He pulls back, and his face breaks into a grin. “Yeah? Are you sure?”

“Sure, I’m sure!” The thought that this—we—get to continue, that he wants it to—it’s everything.

Reeve lets out a breath and relaxes his shoulders. “Okay, cool. Awesome. So we’ll just bide our time until graduation, and then we’re out of here.” He pulls his phone out of his coat pocket. “You need to get home soon.”

That he was nervous and unsure of me, it’s so sweet I could die. I want to give him something of me in return.

My hand is shaking as I unzip my coat, reach behind under my sweater, and unhook my bra. I pull it out of my jacket armhole, and I’m glad I wore a pretty one today—sheer pink with a dove-gray bow in the center. Reeve has stopped breathing and is watching me like a boy in a trance. He doesn’t take his eyes off me, and all of a sudden I feel like a queen. I take his hand, and I slide it underneath my sweater and up my front, all the way to my heart. “You can touch me,” I whisper, and I let go, and he cups his hand around the curve of my breast. I wonder if he can feel my heart pounding against his hand. It’s beating so hard and so fast, he must. I know he’s been with other girls, that this is nothing new. But the way he looks at me, like I am a revelation, a treasure to behold, it takes my breath away, and there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than here.

Chapter Sixteen

KAT

I CRASH INTO MY HOMEROOM seat, tuck my headphones into my ears, and lay my head down so my cheek is on my desk. Then I press play and turn the volume up and up and up, basically as loud as it can go. The kids milling around hear it too, because they turn and look my way for a second. Then they go back to their business of being annoying, and I go back to my business of ignoring them.

I close my eyes and try to fall asleep, but the fluorescent lighting in here is just too awful. It colors the backs of my eyelids acid yellow. So I’m forced to watch the girls parade into the room like a silent movie scored by my favorite punk band from Germany, Umlaut Suicide.

I don’t know exactly when this became the thing at our high school, but every February 14 everyone with boobs dresses up like a literal living Valentine. Red pleated skirts, pink fuzzy sweaters, white kneesocks with hearts running up the backs. They do their hair up special, barrel curled or braided with ribbons or pinned up with sparkly barrettes. I shift myself and bury my nose in the arm of my hoodie, because the smells of all the different perfumes make me want to barf.

The boys, they don’t wear anything special. They have a different responsibility today.

Since the first of the month, there’s been a mention every single morning about placing orders for the rose sale run by the student council.

Yellow roses are symbols of friendship, sold for a dollar a stem. Pink roses are for crushes, at three dollars a stem. Red roses mean true love and are sold for a whopping five bucks a stem. On the morning of Valentine’s Day, a student council person goes to each homeroom and delivers the flowers, and then the girls compare who got the most.

It’s, like, the biggest affront to feminism, like, ever.

Back when I was a freshman, anyone could buy whatever color rose they wanted for someone else. But the “rules” have changed over the years as the girls have gotten more competitive. Now you can only buy red roses for a person of the opposite gender, unless you’re g*y, because we are very progressive. It’s effing ridiculous, if you ask me.

Now, I’m not trying to shit on the very idea of Valentine’s Day. I’m a fan of love. I’m a sucker for romance. Truth be told, when I’m home alone, I usually channel surf to the sappiest movie I can find, one where the sound track is just violins and there are, like, big passionate kisses at the airport, or on some rocky beach. Or, best of all, in a hospital bed.

It’s Valentine’s Day played out inside our high school that’s utter bullshit. I mean, I don’t think I could find even one or two couples in the whole school who are really, truly in love.

Love is not a big show of spending fifty bucks on some bullshit flowers as part of a fund-raiser for school. I’ve seen plenty of girls get a red rose from their boyfriends, and then they’re screaming at each other ten minutes later in the hallway.

They don’t know what love is. They’re just hopped up on hormones.

I’m sure some people think I’m bitter because I’ve never gotten a rose. First off, none of my guy friends are going to waste their money on dumb shit like that. You can get better roses at the dang gas station for half of what our school charges, and they won’t be wilted by eighth period either.

I’ve gotten my fair share of tokens of romance. Like my sophomore year, when Vincent Upton drew a heart on a pack of cigarettes and cut off my padlock with a hacksaw he’d stolen from the shop room so he could put the pack in my locker.

So whatever.

All throughout homeroom everyone’s eyes are on the door, waiting for the flower delivery person to come by with their cart. And when ours comes with a big white box, I pull my hood up over my head.

A few minutes later there’s a tap on my shoulder. I lift my head up, and there is the flower girl with a pair of cardboard angel wings on her back and an arm full of roses. I tug out my headphones. “Yeah?”

“Can you move back a little?”

I rock back in my chair, and she sets twelve yellow roses on my desk along with a card.

I look around. A few other girls have gotten a red rose or maybe two. But no one has a bouquet in any color.

I feel my cheeks heat up as I pick up the card. The delivery girl is standing expectantly, like I’m going to read it out loud or something. I give her a bitchy look and she leaves.

The bell rings, and then I gather up the flowers and the card and head to my locker. I stick them inside because I’m not parading that shit around for everyone to see. And later, once the next period starts, I discreetly open my card.

Dear Kat,

It was hard to hear, but you were right—my Lillia Cho oeuvre was definitely junior high material. If not for your musical kick in the ass, I don’t know if I would have ever found the guts to quit writing songs about Lillia and just tell her how I really feel.

Here’s to having “No Regrets.” (See what I did there?)

Rock on,

Your friend,

Alex

Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.

Chapter Seventeen

LILLIA

BECAUSE IT’S VALENTINE’S DAY, I’M wearing a salmon-pink sweater and tomato-red cigarette pants. My mom says I look like something out of a 1960s Italian Vogue, and she insists that I wear my hair pinned up on the side with her pearl pin. I’ve always liked to dress up special for Valentine’s Day, but now everyone does it and it’s slightly annoying.

The student council starts delivering roses during homeroom. It’s part of it—you get your flowers in the morning, and then you carry them around all day for everyone to see. Red for love, yellow for friendship, pink if you have a crush on someone. Rennie and Ash and I always send each other two yellow ones and one pink.

Last year I set the record for most roses ever received by a girl at Jar High. Twenty-four! A dozen from my dad, Rennie’s three, Ash’s three, one from Alex, one from PJ, one from my chem lab partner, Tyler, and three from a group of freshman guys I gave a ride home to once after school because they missed the bus.

I already know I won’t be getting a rose from Reeve, and it’s not just because we’re keeping things on the down low. It’s a point of pride for him—that he wouldn’t ever waste his money on something so cheesy and meaningless. I’ve heard him give the speech every year, how Valentine’s Day is complete bullshit. Also, in the past he’s always had more than one girl he was flirting with at a time, and it would have been drama if he’d sent a rose to just one girl or to all the girls. So his policy is to send none. Junior year, Rennie begged him to send her a rose, and he still refused “on the principle of it,” and she wouldn’t speak to him for days.

Jamie Cochran, a junior girl from the squad, comes into our homeroom with an armful of red roses.

Jamie stops at my desk first. She drops a dozen onto my desk and keeps moving. I open the card, and it reads, Happy Valentine’s Day to my darling. Love, Daddy.

Jamie goes back to her pushcart in the doorway and comes back with a big armful, all different colors. She walks around the room, plucking out stems and handing them to the other students. And then she heads back to my desk.

Jamie hands me the last bouquet in her arms, three roses—two yellow and one pink—which I know are from Ash. She walks back to her cart and picks up an enormous bouquet of roses, all red. It’s so big, she has trouble carrying it. She stops in front of my desk and hands them to me, all of them. “Fifty red roses,” she announces loudly, and I hear people in the room gasp. “Looks like you win most roses again, Lillia!”

What!

As soon as Jamie walks away, I tear open the card.

I’ve wanted to say this for a long time, only I didn’t have the guts. But life is too short. So here goes. I’m in love with you, Lillia. Always have been, always will be.

Alex

Whoa. I can’t believe it. I put my hands on my cheeks, and they are warm. I always knew Alex had feelings for me, but never in a million years did I think he’d put himself out there like this. It’s just . . . beyond.

And I’m going to have to let him down.

As soon as the bell rings, I scoop up all my bouquets and race to my locker. I have to hide Alex’s roses before Reeve sees. I stuff them all inside as quick as I can. Some of the stems break, and a few petals fall out onto the floor. I stoop down and pick them up and put them in my purse.

*  *  *

PJ, Derek, and Alex are already at the lunch table when I get to the cafeteria. I spot Reeve in the lunch line.

I slide into the seat next to Alex. “Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” I whisper back. I mouth, Thank you.

He mouths back, You’re welcome.

I glance over at Reeve again. He’s picking out a Jell-O at the counter.

Alex leans in and touches my arm. In a low voice he asks, “Did you read the card?”

I nod and make myself smile. “Can we talk later?” I want to do this so carefully, and in private.

He nods, and I can feel my heart break a little bit.

Ashlin comes running up to the table just as Reeve sits down with his lunch. She throws down her lunch bag and shrieks, “I heard someone sent you fifty roses, Lil!” My mouth goes dry. “You lucky bitch! Who was it?” She sits down and reaches around PJ to whack Derek on the shoulder with her bag. “Derek only sent me five! Cheap bastard.”

“Um . . .” What do I say? My dad?

Ash giggles and swivels in her seat. “Was it you, Lindy?”

Alex is just smiling. I can’t even look at Reeve.

That’s when Jamie comes running up to the table with a single red rose in her hand. “Lillia, I forgot to give this one to you in all the craziness this morning.” She hands me the rose and a card and walks away.

“Open up the card!” Ash demands.

Everybody’s looking at me now. Slowly I open the little red envelope. The card says, First time I bought a rose for anyone other than my mom. Congratulations, Cho. I can feel my cheeks heat up. “It’s from my dad,” I say at last.

“Oh my God, you’re a horrible liar, Lil,” Ash says with a laugh. She reaches across the table and snatches the card out of my hands.

Desperately I say, “Give it back, Ash.”

The smile on her face fades as she reads. She puts two and two together immediately, her eyes moving from Reeve to me and back again. “Is this a joke?”

Beside me Alex has gone rigid in his seat. He looks from Reeve to me. “So you guys are together.”

I’m such a coward. I can’t even answer him. All I can do is look down at the table.

Then I hear Ash whisper, “Oh. My. God.” I look up at her, and she’s staring at me with round disbelieving eyes. “Lil?”

I open and close my mouth. I don’t know what to say to her.

Rubbing his hands through his hair, Reeve says, “Um . . . yeah. We are. We didn’t want it to come out like this, but, yeah.”

Alex quickly gathers up his lunch tray and stands up. “Feel free to throw those roses away if you haven’t already.”

Reeve reaches out to him. “Hey, dude, listen—”

Alex doesn’t let him finish. He gets up and leaves and doesn’t spare me a second look.

The entire cafeteria has gone quiet. Everyone is staring at us.

“Tell me this isn’t happening,” Ash says. She’s talking only to me. “Tell me you and Reeve are not a thing.” When I don’t say anything, when seconds pass of me still not saying anything, she hisses, “Ren’s body isn’t even cold!”

I feel all the blood drain from my face.