“Josie?” Bob says now, pulling me out of my reverie.
“Yeah?” I say.
“You have a customer.”
I turn, and there he is. Matt Rigby, standing at the cookie counter. Smiling that smile. I know he’s here to pick me up and drive me home, and yet a part of me still can’t believe it.
“Welcome to Fiorello’s,” I say, sidling my way along the display cases until we’re facing each other. “Can I offer you a beverage?”
“Hmm,” he says, pretending to think hard. “What do you recommend?”
“A Joseaccino, perhaps? We also have a fine selection of gourmet teas. . . .” I am dorking out, but I don’t care. This is Riggs. And with Riggs, I can act however I want. That is the beauty of it.
I know what we have may not last forever. It may not even last the school year. But it’s here now. And that is why I don’t even wait for him to order; I just lean across the glass and kiss him, square on the mouth. I can only imagine the look on Bob’s face right now. But what can I say? I’m a wild and crazy teenager, making out with my boyfriend across the cookie counter, germing up the joint.
Acknowledgments
Thank you first and foremost to the divine Joy Peskin, whose encouragement after the Night Swimming debacle kept me from taking a long leap off a short pier. Joy’s keen eye, her listening ear, and her smiley faces in the margins made her a pleasure to work with.
Thank you to Dr. Kornelia Keszler for keeping the devil Lyme disease at bay so I could write without seeing double.
To the boys of my youth (you know who you are), thanks for the memories, and for the primary source material, from which I borrowed mercilessly to write Paul Tucci’s letters.
Huge hugs to Kelsey Nickerson, who shared the minutiae of her soccer team experience (love those rubber bands) and whose diabetes research helped me to create Big Nick.
A shout-out to Party Cake and Rake Face for making me feel Sparky, even when I wasn’t.
To George, thank you for embracing you inner teenage girl, and for always wanting to read what I’ve written.
Love and gratitude to Beebo and G’Ma—grandmothers extraordinaire—and to Daddy Kuj, for manning the troops so I could write, uninterrupted, for more than five seconds.
To Jack and Ben, thank you for making me laugh and for reminding me of what really matters.
Last, but definitely not least, thank you to baby Emma, for having the good sense to arrive AFTER this book was finished.
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