Saturday, February 14th 3:02 P.M.
There was a spilt second between the time when their faces met and their lips actually touched, during which Claire was strangely aware of her thoughts.
Should I tilt my head first and then close my eyes? Or close, then tilt? How will Massie react when she finds out? How many times will I be asked to retell this story? Will anyone believe me? What are the chances of his lips tasting like grape Big League Chew? Am I supposed to stick my tongue out now? What about now? What about—?
Suddenly the questions fell away and Claire’s entire body felt like it was filling up with hot maple syrup. She was actually pressing her lips against his. It was happening. It was totally happening.
So what if they weren’t at a Valentine’s Day dance. So what if he was shorter. So what if his armpits smelled like sour cream ’n’ onion chips because he’d just played soccer for two hours. I am getting my first kiss, she told herself as his wet tongue tried to poke through her closed mouth. Nothing else matters.
But that wasn’t entirely true.
Suddenly, Claire heard the sound of footsteps crunching on the frozen grass. She pulled away so fast, her eyes were still closed. When she opened them, she found herself staring at Cam, just like the hearts said.
“What are you doing?” he asked. His expression was blank, his tone flat. His voice reminded Claire of the AOL “You’ve Got Mail” guy.
“Uh . . .” was all Claire could say.
“Hey, Cam,” said Josh Hotz. He wiped his lips and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his navy sweats.
“So much for the Spanish soccer spell.” Cam looked at his Adidas cleats. Then he sighed. “And my friends.” He turned his back on Claire and Josh and shuffled away slowly, kicking up patches of grass with every step he took.
“Cam, wait!” Claire shouted after him. “What soccer spell? What are you talking about?”
He started running, just like he had during the Love Struck dash. Only this time Claire understood why.