“I see.” Hmm. Now I’m not sure there ever will be a script, and Mom has warned me about men that make promises to young girls that they can’t keep. I’m firm, but polite. “I’ll call you,” I say.

But I’m not going to call him. You can’t read for a part that has no script. Even if the producer is hot.

Well, not unless you want to sleep with him. And, to be honest, if I was a little older and not in love with someone else, I might consider it. Not for the part, of course. For his hotness. For his dark eyes. For his surprisingly strong arms. For his great taste in clothes.

Brooklyn is sitting at a table with my parents and Sander, who has just joined the group. Sander has Mom engrossed in conversation while Tommy and Brooklyn are watching the band. As I walk by, Sander grabs me, kisses both my cheeks, and hugs me tightly.

Brooklyn looks irritated at me.

Damian yells out to the crowd. “This song is for Brook and Keats. I better see both your asses out on the dance floor.”

The band starts to play, and Damian sings, “Little surfer, little one . . . ” Their cover version of the classic Beach Boys song is one of my favorites.

Brooklyn doesn’t look irritated anymore as he takes my hand and leads me out to the center of the dance floor. He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight. I’ve danced with him a few times in the past, but this feels different. And I’m pretty sure it’s not just my imagination or wishful thinking.

He’s holding me tighter than usual.

His body is pressed close to me.

His forehead is against mine, and his eyes are closed.

I want to scream at him, KISS ME, KISS ME! 

I mean, how perfect would it be?

I haven’t written this exact script—we’re supposed to be on the beach when we have our first kiss—but I’ve always considered this our song. If he kissed me now, it always would be.

But he doesn’t.

When our lips finally meet.

2:30am

Damian, Brooklyn, and I are sitting in the hot tub. We decided to spend Damian’s last night in town doing what we always do: smoke a little, and then stay up late talking in the hot tub. Brooklyn just ran in the house to grab some towels.

The second he’s gone, Damian turns to me. “So what’s going on? Why does Brook seem weird?”

“He doesn’t seem weird to me.”

“Did you guys hook up?”

“I wish.” I immediately cover my mouth with my hand.

He grins at me. “You’ve always had a crush on him, haven’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Kinda, but it’s okay. He crushes back.”

“Shut up! He does? No. Like, really? Has he told you that? Do you know that for sure?”

Damian laughs at me then says, “He thinks you’re hot. His friends all think you’re hot. Why do you think none of them ever hit on you?”

“Cause I have a boyfriend and they see me as one of the guys?”

“No, they see you as Brook’s. Remember that night you got drunk?”

“I thought we agreed to never talk about that night again?”

That night. It was the night Sander yelled at me about personal boundaries. I got pissed and told him I was breaking up with him. Then I walked straight over to Brooklyn’s house and told him I wanted to go to a party that some of the guys we surf with told us about earlier. At the party, I got drunk. My mom lets me drink whenever I want. We spent a lot of time in Europe, where they don’t make such a big deal out of alcohol. Our deal is that I always drink responsibly. And I do. I almost always follow the no-more-than-one-drink-per-hour rule, and it’s rare for me to have more than a couple drinks at a time. But I was pissed, feeling rejected, and didn’t care. A cute surfer with long hair and nice arms offered me shots. Quite a few shots. Then he took me for a walk on the beach. I had never really hooked up much before. I dated a couple boys before Sander and I started going out, but this guy was older and clearly looking for one thing. I remember him kissing me, and his hands being pretty much everywhere. I remember thinking it felt really nice to have a guy actually want me. From there things get kind of blurry. I remember fists flying, punches thrown, and Damian dragging Brooklyn off the guy. I remember Brooklyn yelling at me the whole way home, and Damian holding my hair while I threw up in a plastic sack.

Damian laughs at me. “You try to get me to agree, but I never have. Never will.”

“It’s so embarrassing.”

“It’s really not that embarrassing, Keats. I mean, unless you consider the way you looked. Mascara running down your face. Puke coming out of your nose.”

I hold my hand over my face. “Please, stop. Or I’ll have to remind you of the night you tripped on stage, fell flat on your face, and smashed your guitar in front of a whole bunch of people. Including that girl you were crushing on.”

“We’re getting off topic here. We were talking about you and Brook.”

“Maybe I’d rather talk about you.”

“I’m ignoring you. And you know Brook is into karma and all that shit. He’s not a fighter. He likes you.”

“He was just protecting me, like a little sister.”

“You two have fun without me,” he says with a smirk as he gets out of the hot tub. “I’m gonna go crash in the movie room. Hint. Hint.”

“You can sleep with us up in B’s room like always. Nothing’s gonna happen. Nothing ever happens.” Brooklyn has a big king-sized bed that the three of us often crash on.

“I saw how he was dancing with you. It’s gonna happen; trust me.”

Brooklyn walks out onto the deck just as Damian gets out of the tub.

I was getting ready to ask him exactly what he meant by It’s gonna happen. Because what’s gonna happen? Does he think Brooklyn will kiss me, or does he think we’ll do more? Because it sounds a lot like sex.

Brooklyn tosses Damian a towel.

Damian says casually, “I’m off to sleep in the movie room. Wake me up when you’re ready to roll.” He gives me a not-so-subtle wink that I know Brooklyn sees.

“You want to stay out here for a little while longer?”

“Yeah, sure,” I say casually, but my insides feel anything but casual. My heart is pounding. My mouth feels dry.

I take a big sip of beer.

I think I have stage fright. All of a sudden I can’t think of any of the lines from all the scripts that I’ve written. Which pisses me off, because all those sexy/witty comebacks that are supposed to be stored in my brain for this exact moment are gone!

Brooklyn slides into the tub.

His tan chest almost glistens in the moonlight. The ocean breeze blows his hair back. His hair got wet earlier and now the ends of it are curling slightly. I want to reach out and run my fingers through them. I want to tell him how I feel. How I’ve always loved him.

He slides next to me, leans back, and stretches both his arms out across the back of the hot tub. One of them touches my back and shoulders. I lean back against it, wanting to be closer to him.

When I realize what I’ve done, I lean my head back further and pretend to have only leaned back to look up at the stars.

He doesn’t say anything, so I nervously ramble. “I’m glad we’re staying out. It’s such a pretty night. Plus, I know when I get out, I’ll freeze. It’s nice and toasty in here. It’s gonna be weird without Damian around,” I babble on, mostly because that’s the only topic of conversation my brain could come up with while it’s rapidly rewriting new scenes for tonight.

Scenes where he tells me he’s always liked me. Scenes where we share our first kiss under the stars in the hot tub.

He looks up at the stars then turns toward me and narrows his eyes. “So are you and Sander back together? Is that why he showed up tonight?”

“Uh, no, we’re not! We’re gonna stay friends though. We went shopping today. It’s all good. And you were right. A couple guys from school saw my Facebook status and asked me out.”