The next day at school, everything feels different.
I walk through the halls with a little more energy than usual, my phone buzzing every few minutes with messages from Kaylee. It's strange how a couple of late-night talks and a few kisses can completely rearrange your head. I'm still the same guy—same hoodie, same half-zipped backpack, same habit of cutting it close to the bell—but there's this new undercurrent running through me. Every time my phone lights up with her name, my stomach does that stupid little flip.
As I get closer to my locker, I spot Jace leaning against it, arms crossed, wearing the most annoying knowing grin I've ever seen.
"So," he says, dragging the word out. "How did it go?"
"What do you mean?" I play it cool, even though the smile is already trying to escape.
"Come on, man. You were out late with Kaylee last night. Don't even try it." He raises an eyebrow. "Give me the details."
I spin my combination and open the locker. "We just hung out. Talked. Walked around for a while. Nothing crazy."
"Uh-huh." He nudges my shoulder. "You've been walking around looking like someone rewired your brain. Did you kiss her?"
I hesitate just long enough for his grin to get wider.
"Okay, fine. Maybe we kissed," I admit. "A few times."
"YES." Jace pumps his fist like we just won a game. "That's my boy. Did she melt? Did sparks fly? Did you finally stop being a nervous wreck for five seconds?"
I lean against the locker, the memory of her mouth against mine still ridiculously clear. "Honestly? It was better than I expected. She's… she's really great, Jace. I like her. A lot."
He studies me for a second, the teasing softening into something more real. "Dude. That's awesome. I knew you two would hit it off. Just—don't overthink it, alright? Take it easy."
"Yeah, I'll try." I glance at the clock. "I gotta run. Catch you later."
The rest of the morning is a blur. I can't concentrate. Every quiet moment pulls my mind straight back to Kaylee—the way she laughed at my terrible jokes, the way her hand felt in mine, the soft little sound she made when I kissed her. I keep replaying the look she gave me right before I left, like she didn't really want the night to end either.
By lunch I'm basically useless.
Kaylee slides into the seat across from me in the cafeteria, and the second our eyes meet, the noise around us fades a little. She's wearing this soft oversized sweater that keeps slipping off one shoulder, hair in a loose braid that looks effortless. She still somehow manages to look like the best thing in the room.
"Hey, you," she says, voice warm.
"Hey." I grin like an idiot. "How's your day been?"
"Not bad. Mostly just counting down the hours until I get to see you again." She takes a bite of her apple, eyes sparkling. "What about you?"
"Pretty much the same. I can't think straight, if I'm being honest."
She laughs, soft and pleased, and the sound does something dangerous to my chest. We fall into easy conversation—stupid jokes, shared complaints about teachers, the way she steals a fry off my tray without asking like it's the most natural thing in the world. Every time our knees brush under the table, a little jolt goes through me. I keep catching myself staring at her mouth.
Then I hear the laughter.
I glance over my shoulder. James and a couple of his friends are at a nearby table, not even trying to be subtle. They're watching us, snickering, one of them making some exaggerated face. Heat crawls up the back of my neck.
"What's wrong?" Kaylee asks, noticing the shift.
"Just James being James," I say, rolling my eyes. "Ignore them."
"Easy for you to say." She glances their way, then looks back at me with a little smirk. "I'm pretty sure they're just jealous. You look really good when you're happy, you know that?"
The casual way she says it nearly knocks the air out of me. I reach across the table and brush my fingers against hers. She turns her hand over right away, letting our palms press together for a second under the edge of the tray.
After lunch we escape outside. The sun is warm. We settle under one of the big trees near the edge of the field, shoulders brushing. It feels ridiculously natural.
"What do you want to do this weekend?" she asks after a comfortable stretch of silence.
"Honestly? I've been thinking about the beach. There's supposed to be a bonfire Saturday night. What do you think?"
Her whole face lights up. "Sounds perfect. I love bonfires." She leans in a little closer, voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. "And just so you know… I'm kind of a pro at making s'mores."
"Is that a challenge?" I smirk. "Because I don't back down from s'mores contests."
"You're on," she declares, eyes bright with mischief. "But fair warning—I play dirty."
"I'm counting on it."
The final bell feels like it takes years to ring. I walk her to her locker, heart thudding harder with every step. The hallway is still half-full of people. I keep debating whether to kiss her goodbye or play it safe.
She turns to me before I can finish the thought. Her expression is soft but intentional.
"I had a lot of fun today, Dylan," she says.
"Me too."
"Next time I might bring my secret weapon—marshmallows of the artisanal variety." She winks, and I laugh, the sound coming out a little breathless.
"Artisanal? Now I'm really in trouble."
"Just wait," she murmurs. "You'll see."
Then she steps in, rises onto her toes, and kisses me.
It's not a quick brush. This one lingers just long enough to make my pulse spike. Her hand finds the front of my hoodie, fingers curling into the fabric, and her mouth moves against mine slow and sweet. For a few seconds the hallway disappears. There's only the warm press of her and the quiet, electric knowledge that whatever this is between us is growing fast.
When she finally pulls back, we're both a little dazed. Her cheeks are flushed.
"Later, superstar," she whispers, smiling like she knows exactly what she just did to me. Then she turns and disappears around the corner.
I stand there for a long moment, grinning like an absolute fool, already counting down the hours until the weekend. The taste of her is still on my lips. And for the first time in a long time, everything feels simple.
Maybe all of this—the late-night talks, the jokes, the kisses, the way she looks at me like I'm someone worth keeping—isn't as complicated as I used to think.
Maybe I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.