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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.

"Right. Physics." Sam took a step closer. The music from upstairs—some bass-heavy anthem they’d all forget by next summer—thumped through the floorboards. "Maya, I think I’m going to do something stupid." "Like what? Stating the obvious?" drunk teen sex

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." Maya sat on a washing machine, swinging her

The air in Leo’s basement smelled like cheap watermelon vodka and damp concrete, a scent that would forever be the fragrance of seventeen. "Right

"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."

"You’re vibrating," Sam said, leaning against the dryer. He wasn't actually drunk, just buzzed enough to lose his usual armor of sarcasm.

"I am not," Maya giggled, the sound feeling too loud for her own ears. "The room is vibrating. I’m perfectly still."