Page 1 of One True Loves

Chapter One

My life is not a romance novel.

That’s what I’m trying to explain to my best friend, Tessa, as she’s going all heart-eyed and swoony over my summer vacation plans. But the girl is having none of it.

“Lenore, you don’t understand,” she says, throwing herself on her bed like it’s a goddamn fainting couch. “I literally begged my parents for this scenario for years. Years! Or it wasat leastin the top five.”

I arch my eyebrow at her in the mirror as I add another layer of mascara. I want my eyelashes to be thick and spidery, like Diana Ross’s in the seventies. “Top five? That sounds very official. Was it, like, written down?”

“Yes, in fact, but I can recite it from memory.” She nods her head all serious and straightens her spine, oblivious that I’m messing with her. “Number one”—she starts pressing a pink-manicured finger into her palm—“summer camp that’sconveniently popular with boy band members just trying to live a normal life. Number two, small town that’s inexplicably having a monthlong Christmas festival. Number three—”

I throw my hands up. “Okay, I got it, sis. You really don’t have to continue—”

“Number three,” she cuts me off, narrowing her big brown eyes at me. “European vacation. And on a cruise ship too! The Mediterranean! The summer after graduation! It’s like you’ve hit the romance jackpot! Except instead of money pouring out of the slot machine, it’s hearts and cute boys and sunshine and gelato and romantic historic buildings, and, I don’t know, maybe even condoms.”

A mischievous smile spreads across her face, and I think back to the Tessa I first met last year—mousy and anxious and likely to fall into a conniption if anyone even spoke the word “condom” in her presence. I know this is positive growth or whatever, but man, she can be irritating.

I turn around, rolling my eyes at her. “You’ve conveniently left out my parents and my sister and my brother, who, oh yeah, I’m sharing a tiny little room with. Ain’t no condoms happening anywhere near me this summer.”

“Not with that attitude,” she snorts. She holds her hands out wide, and her eyes go all unfocused, like my grandma Lenore (yes, we have the same name) when she’s talking about what she got on a T.J. Maxx run. “I can see it now. You’re in a floppy striped hat and that red high-waisted bathing suit you bought at Target last week—”

“How do you remember that? You weren’t even with—”

“Lying outstretched on the pool deck, your skin glowing in the sun. And a handsome stranger with a, like, ten-pack walks by, and is mesmerized by your beauty, and notices you’re having trouble reaching the very middle of your back with your sunscreen... well, maybe not sunscreen because we don’t wear that—”

“Hold up,” I say, and she’s jerked out of her heart-eyed daze. “What you mean, we don’t wear that?”

“I mean, we don’t need to wear sunscreen. You know”—she waves vaguely—“melanin.”

I blink at her, but noI’m just fucking with yousmile appears. This girl is for real. “Of course we need to wear sunscreen! Tessa, are you really out here just walking around in the sun unprotected?”

She shrugs and heads for her bookshelf. “Anyway, that’s not important right now.”

“Uh, skin cancer is important.”

“This is a love emergency, Lenore!Loveis important. Honestly, you need to take this seriously,” she scoffs, and now I don’t know if she’s messing with me.Love emergency?Ma’am, I’m going on a family vacation.

“We really don’t need to be doing this right now,” I say, but she’s ignoring me, hands on her hips as she stands in front of her huge bookshelf with the spines arranged in a perfect rainbow. “Research,” she mutters to herself, tapping her chin. “She needs to do research.”

I shake my head and return my attention to the mirror,putting on a coat of bright coral lipstick that pops against my skin. Mom braided my locs into an intricate updo earlier today, and I tuck a few wayward strands in.

This is how Tessa is. Well, it’s a little extra, even for her. Probably just nerves for tonight. And lord knows I’ve got them too. Jay still hasn’t texted. Maybe I should check one more time. Tessa’s too busy to notice and try to stop me, after all...

A loud crash stops me from grabbing my phone that Idefinitely should notcheck one more time. Tessa was, judging by the chaos of fallen books around her, standing on something to reach a book on the top shelf. That wouldn’t be too difficult normally, except it is right now, considering she’s wearing a fluffy, pale pink tulle ball gown. Because, oh yeah, back up: we are about to leave for prom. Which means we actually really,reallydon’t need to be doing this right now.

“Are you okay?!” I jump up, gathering the skirt of my teal lace mermaid dress, and rush to where she’s flat on her back, lost in her fluttery confection of an outfit. The only body part I can find is an arm outstretched in the air, holding tight to a paperback book.

“I’m fine!” she insists, batting away fabric so I can see her face. “Fine, fine! This is what I was looking for!”

She smiles slowly, and then presents the book to me, cradling it like it’s some sort of holy text.Anna and the French Kiss.It’s hot pink with a heart and a picture of the Eiffel Tower, i.e., something I wouldn’t read if you paid me. Well, okay, maybe if you paid me. But it would have to be enough to buy a PyerMoss dress straight off the runway or something, and I know that’s not what’s happening here.

“I need you to read this before you leave, and then”—she chuckles with a knowing smirk—“and then, well, you’ll see.”

I shake my head. “Get out of here with that. You know I don’t have time to read this. What with finals and grad night and graduation. And the kinda big thing happening in, uh”—I check my phone for the time, and also to see if Jay has texted (he hasn’t)—“two hours! Here, let me fix your hair. The back is flat now.” I gently put the book that I’m no-way-in-hell reading on her nightstand and grab a pick to fluff up her curls. But her arms are crossed and I can feel the scheming energy just wafting off her. “Plus,” I add, hoping it’ll get her to let that book go, “I’m not even going to Paris.”

She dives for her desk, almost losing a fistful of curls in the process, and picks up a piece of paper. “Oh yeah, you’re right. This says Marseille. But they’re both in France, so how different can they be?”

Is that...?I move in for a closer look.It is.Our cruise’s itinerary. I don’t remember giving her that, but okay.

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