He laughed, a low sound that caught in the humid air. He reached out, his fingers brushing against her knee. It was a small gesture, but in the hazy logic of the basement, it felt like a tectonic shift.
Maya sat on a washing machine, swinging her legs, her head feeling like it was packed with cotton candy. Across from her, holding a red plastic cup like it was a holy relic, was Sam. They had spent three years being "just friends"—the kind of friends who shared notes and made fun of each other's haircuts. drunk teen sex
"I am not," Maya giggled, the sound feeling too loud for her own ears. "The room is vibrating. I’m perfectly still." He laughed, a low sound that caught in the humid air
The air in Leo’s basement smelled like cheap watermelon vodka and damp concrete, a scent that would forever be the fragrance of seventeen. Maya sat on a washing machine, swinging her
"Like telling you that I’ve spent the last forty-five minutes watching you talk to a houseplant because I was too scared to come over here."
Maya’s heart did a slow, heavy roll in her chest. The buzz didn't disappear, but it shifted, turning from dizzy to electric. "It was a fern, Sam. And it’s a very good listener."