Page 9 of Last First Kiss

“Do youlikeher?”

An inhuman noise rattles up Jordan’s throat. Like he’s speaking an alien language. “She’s cool,” he gets out.

“She’s cool,” Jamie repeats. Amusement lifts the left side of his mouth. “Two words every girl who asks you out loves to hear.”

“How would you know? You’ve had, what?Onegirlfriend?”

“Three,” Jamie corrects. “And one kinda boyfriend. We didn’t put a label on it. To be fair, it didn’t last long enough for ustolabel.”

Jordan bites the inside of his cheek.

Two sleepovers ago, Jamie came out as pansexual. For some reason, he had seemed nervous telling Jordan. Which was strange. To him, Jamie’s still Jamie. A playful dog with his head out the window, tongue lolling in the wind.

“That doesn’t make you an expert,” Jordan tells him.

“Oh, Iknowthings, Jordan.”

“Really? What’s the square root of 125?”

A thoughtful expression blooms across Jamie’s face. He quickly shakes it off. “I’m queer. We don’t do math.”

Jordan snorts loudly.

Jamie edges closer. He drops his voice to say, “Let me help you. I’m good with people. Even better at dating.”

Jordan can’t relate. To the dating part.

The other thing is: Jordan’s competitive streak doesn’t end with video games. It extends to school too. He’s always been so busy being the best student, the best point guard on his varsity basketball team, that he’s never invested time in learning basic social etiquette when it comes to dating.

Like what the signs are when someone’s flirting with you. How do you know someone likes you inthat way?

He’s sixteen. He just assumed he’d figure it out eventually.

Most of his basketball teammates have been dating girls since they were fourteen. Some have done a lot more than that. Jordan tends to tune out during those overly detailed stories.

Still, there’s no way he’s depending onJamie Petersfor advice.

“I’m good,” Jordan says evenly. “The whole Yazzie thing isn’t a big deal.”

He restarts the game.

Immediately, Jamie pauses it again. “It doesn’t look that way.”

Jordan grips his controller tightly. He stares straight ahead, unblinking.

“Jordan,” Jamie singsongs in that sweet lull he’s used on Denz before. On Jordan too, whenever Jordan gets in one of his moods after losing a game. It’s silly. Stupid, really. Yet it works every fucking time.

Sighing, Jordan turns his head.

Denz’s bedroom lights are off. Jamie’s illuminated by the bluish glow from the TV. His bangs fall in thick waves over his forehead, casting shadows across his eyes. He doesn’t have any facial hair, unlike Jordan who’s already sporting a grown man’smustache, light stubble on his chin. But there are little changes Jordan’s noticed in Jamie.

Like his slimming cheeks. A more pronounced jaw. After his seventeenth birthday in the fall, Jamie had a growth spurt. Now he’s over six feet tall, making Jordan feel short without even trying.

His eyes never leave Jordan’s as the left side of his mouth rises again.

A shiver dances up Jordan’s spine. The blast from the air conditioner is stronger down here.

Jamie says, “Are you scared to go on a date with a girl?”