Page 19 of Reggie and Delilah's Year of Falling

“Yeah, you know, that reminds me,” Mom says, fixing Georgia with a look. “I think I heard someone coming in at ten thirty-six last night after a certain cast party.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket, just in time. It’s a text from Charlie.

We’re here

My stomach drops.We? Who’s we?

“Hmm.” Georgia smirks, reading over my shoulder. Even though she’s caught, of course she’s still in my business.

I roll my eyes at her and grab my bag, slipping past the happy couple. “I’ll be back bymycurfew.”

Turns out “we” includes Asher and Beau in the back seat of Charlie’s Volvo, and our fancy Valentine’s Day destination is Cultured, one of those frozen yogurt shops with a sneeze guard over the get-it-yourself toppings.

I clasp my hands tightly in my lap and try to keep a plastic smile on my face to hide my disappointment. It’s... whatever.

“Okay, top three yogurt toppings! Go!” Asher shouts over the music blasting on the stereo. It’s one of Charlie’s favorite songs, “Search and Destroy” by the Stooges.

“Blueberries,” Beau chimes in immediately.

“Blueberries! Blueberries?!” Asher hollers like he’s been personally offended. “They have M&M’s, gummy bears, and those little chocolate-chip cookie dough morsels that don’t even make you sickright there,and you’re out here trying to make a healthy snack? Bro!”

Beau shrugs. “I just like the plain yogurt and blueberries.”

“Help me out here, Delilah!” Asher leans forward, wrapping his arms around the back of my seat on the passenger side. He’s wearing a holey green cardigan, but the expensive kind that’s sold that way. “We cannot destroy the credibility of our Top Three empire by allowing this list to have only blueberries!”

“Uh... sometimes I like to add mochi to mine?” And I would have liked to do that with just Charlie tonight.

“Thank you! Thank you! Someone sees the light!” Asher flops back in his seat, his hands up in the air.

“How about top three members of Fun Gi?” Beau asks, with a smirk.

“Well,obviouslywe’re all going to pick ourselves. So I’ll start. Me!” Asher says. He counts off with fingers in his palm. “My bass solos regularly melt people’s faces off. I bring some much-needed diversity into this band, so you’re not just another group of white guys playing punk rock.” Asher is biracial like me, but Japanese and white. “AndI have the skills of Chuck Dukowski, Mark Hoppus, and Mike Watt—COMBINED! Boom! The end! Case closed!” He smacks his hands together.

“Um, okay. That was unnecessarily intense,” Beau says. “But yeah, I’m gonna say myself too.” He flexes, showing off his arms. Even though it’s February, he’s wearing a Nirvana shirt with the sleeves cut off. “Pretty sure half the audience comes just to see these boys.”

Asher shakes his head. “Your biceps areboys? Have you named them, too? Do you feel no shame?”

Before I have to worry about responding, Charlie turns the radio down and clears his throat. He’s sat out all the Top Three rounds until now. “I gotta say Delilah. She’s brought us a refresh and, this new... energy that we’ve needed. Plus her voice is kick-ass, and”—he laughs—“she’s got you beat on the diversity points, Asher!”

Okay, I kind of wish he’d left my “diversity” and its alleged “points” out of it, but I gather up the rest of the compliments like a kid at a birthday party after the piñata breaks. They don’t come often and I want to remember them to savor when I’m alone later.

“Oh, please!” Asher shouts, banging on the back of Charlie’s seat. “We all know you really think yourself!”

“Whatever, man,” Charlie says, twisting the dial far to the right so the intense opening of “I Wanna Be Your Dog” shakes the car.

When we pull up to Cultured, in a little shopping center between a Subway and a dentist, Beau and Asher jump out of the car and bound into the store, excited for their candy and blueberries. But before we reach the door, Charlie touches a hand to my wrist, holding me back.

“Hey, I’m sorry about... the guys. Being here, I mean,” he says, ocean-blue eyes focused on mine.

The questions spin around in my head.Did they invite themselves? Was this really supposed to be a date? A Valentine’s date? Do you like me like I like you?

But instead I shrug and say, “It’s cool.”

He reaches up to my shoulder, where my denim jacket hasfallen slightly and pinches the thin strap of my black dress between his fingers. “This is nice.”

His guitar-callused hands brush my bare skin. My stomach aches, and it’s very likely that I’m going to spontaneously combust right here. Whatever irritation I was still harboring toward him for this night—and all the nights of things being so unclear between us—go up in smoke.

“Thanks,” I say, and he grins, stepping closer. He’s so close that I could count every one of his long lashes, I could reach out and touch the triangle of light freckles next to his left eye. And this definitely isn’t how I expected my first kiss to go. There’s nothing romantic or dreamy about standing outside of a Cultured while our friends swirl self-serve yogurt into their paper bowls. But with Charlie... maybe it could be?

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