by Kiara London
“Oh, c’mon, June,” he says with a roll of his eyes. He passes his laptop back over to a still-snickering Lenny and turns his body to face mine. “It’ll be a less-than-a-second, quick little lip touch. Besides, we kiss each other on the cheek all the time.”
My mouth is still agape as I continue to stare at him in disbelief. I have previously saved my mouth kisses for those I had deep feelings for—relationships. What Jasper and I have is friendship. And sure, we’re close. We’re neighbors, have had sleepovers, slept in the same bed, changed in the same room. And it’s because of this that I don’t want to cross any boundaries. People have already considered us too close as it is.
“Chicken,” I say simply, and turn my head away from him to look at the camera. “I totally chicken out of this one, TeamJacob3012.”
Jasper makes a scoffing noise and slaps my shoulder. “Don’t chicken!”
“Jas, I’m not kissing you,” I say seriously, and cross my arms. “That’s too weird.”
“Oh, suck it up,” Lenny chimes in. “I ate lime Jell-O in mayonnaise today. You’re getting off easy.”
Jasper raises his eyebrows, waiting for me to respond to that. I can’t understand why he’s so adamant about doing this dare. I mean, I guess we’ve all been dared to do grosser, stranger things. It’s just that this goes against a lot of my personal rules, especially my rules about Jasper.
“It’s just me.” Jasper shrugs. “Could be worse.”
Sitting forward, I put my head in my hands and let out a deep sigh. “This is ridiculous.”
“Is that an okay?” Jasper asks, and I can hear the victorious smile on his lips.
“Fine,” I groan, sitting up. “It’s just a kiss.”
“Exactly.” Jasper nods. “It’s just a kiss.”
“Right,” I say, because now it feels uncomfortably tense in the room, but maybe that’s just me.
Before you’re about to kiss someone, there is usually that moment. It’s when you both realize you’re thinking about it, you exchange glances, you lean in, lids flutter closed, and you wait for their lips to brush yours. It’s romantic and sweet.
There is nothing romantic and sweet about this.
I turn toward Jasper and let my hands rest in my lap. He watches me settle in and I see Lenny peek around his shoulder to watch with a goofy half grin on his face—which is about as creepy as it sounds.
Jasper clears his throat then and runs a hand through his hair while I raise my eyebrows. “Okay, ready?”
“I guess.”
“Ready . . . go!” Lenny cheers over Jasper’s shoulder.
It’s all so bizarre that I have to giggle, but I’m a bit too late because Jasper’s already leaned forward and pressed his lips against my smile. It’s quick, like he said it would be. A little lip touch that leaves me barely enough time to close my eyes. No goose bumps, no blush. Just a kiss.
Leaning back, Jasper grins and gives two thumbs-up to the camera. “Only took six years,” he jokes at the camera. “There is hope for the friend zone!”
I roll my eyes and jab an elbow into his ribs. “Oh, stop. No sparks, everybody!”
He was right, after all. I had worked myself up over nothing. There was nothing—no sparks I was afraid I’d feel. Simple. Easy.
Jasper shakes his head. “Lies. We all know June thinks I’m a babe.”
“Jas . . . ,” I warn, eyes hooding.
He sighs dramatically but gives in. “Fine, she’s right. Sorry, guys, but no sparks. It was a ship effort, though. That’s what matters.”
Lenny glances between us and giggles. Then he looks down at the computer screen. “There, challenge complete. Next.”
Jasper moves over to read the next comment. “It’s truth.” He grins. “And this one is for June.”
I make an unimpressed face at the camera. “Really, why is it always me?”
After filming, Lenny leaves with the footage to edit, but I hang around as always to do homework and hang out with Jasper. I like to stay away from my house as much as possible. It’s small and empty a lot of the time. My dad works the night shift and sleeps most of the day, and my mom works during the day and doesn’t get home until my dad is leaving for work. So when I’m home, I have to chill out and be quiet. It’s boring, so I stay at Jas’s to keep him company until his mom comes home from work.
Jasper’s parents are divorced, but he lives exclusively with his mom, who works a thousand and one jobs while going to school for a business degree. That’s why we mostly film at his house. It’s empty and we can be as loud as we want. I know Jasper wishes his mom was around more, though. I can’t really blame him. He’s alone a lot, and that’s why I tend to stick around.
When Lenny’s gone, Jasper disappears into the kitchen and I settle into the overly furnished living room with my backpack and make myself comfortable.
“Dr Pepper or Fanta?” Jasper yells from the kitchen.
“Dr Pepper!” I call back, and pull out my calculus homework. I’m shit at numbers and Jasper’s good at them and willing to help me with my math homework in exchange for history refreshers.
A moment later, Jasper enters the room with a bag of chips and two cans of Dr Pepper.
“Hey, did you get problem seven? I don’t think Mr. Wright even taught us how to solve this,” I ask him as soon as he sets the snacks beside my feet on the coffee table. My fingers work around one of my strawberry-blond curls as I stare at the problem in frustration.
“I don’t know. Let me check.” He sits down next to me heavily and digs through his backpack stretched open beside his legs.
I tap my pencil against my lips and frown at my textbook, thinking how this problem is too hard to be on the upcoming test.
“Hey,” he says suddenly. “Did we mention next week’s question theme, earlier?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe not. We’ll just answer random questions next week. No biggie.”
The pout in his voice is evident when he says, “It’s more fun with a theme.”
Dropping my pencil in my textbook, I glance up at him incredulously. “It’s a recipe for disaster.”
“What?” He pulls a notebook from his backpack and flips it open, not paying me any attention. “Because this time we kissed? So?”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
He finally looks up, but slowly, skeptically, his brown eyes zipping across my haggard expression. “No? I thought we were past this. . . .”
“Our viewers won’t be,” I state bluntly. He lets out a breath and reaches for his soda to sip before answering.
“They know how we felt about it. Remember? No sparks.”
“And that was true, right?” I clarify, now moving my schoolwork from my lap to make room for the bag of potato chips. If he lied about that, I don’t know how I’m going to handle the situation. My gut says not well.
“Duh,” he replies, and takes a large gulp of his soda. “We could kiss again and I’m pretty sure I’d still feel the same way about it—not that you’re a bad kisser or anything, well, not that what we did could even be considered a proper kiss. But, yeah.”
“It was an awkward situation,” I add, and shove a couple of chips into my mouth to let the crunching fill the silence. He nods and reaches across me for my textbook to look for the corresponding problem to the answer in his notebook.
After a few moments, he suddenly dumps the books onto the coffee table and grabs the bag of chips from my hands. “Want to make sure?”
Frowning, I roll forward and reach for the chips. “What are you talking about?” I groan when he pulls the bag away from me.
“That there’s nothing there—you know, feelings?” Like before, he’s uncharacteristically calm about the subject. His eyes remain steady on mine; there’s no involuntary charm. It’s Jasper being serious.
“I’d rather not find out,” I admit, because once upon a time fourteen-year-old me had a crush on Jasper Lahey, and eighteen-year-old me would rather not find out if it sti
ll exists. I’m sure it doesn’t. We’ve grown too close for those kinds of feelings to blossom. My reluctance is based on the idea that this could create wiggle room our friendship probably doesn’t need.
“You aren’t curious?” he asks me.
I laugh a little at the absurdity. “Curious? Jas, bad things happen when friends experiment.”
“Not if we do it right.” He shrugs and then bumps his leg against mine. “So, what do you say? Want to make sure?” The usual playful twinkle is in his eyes when he says this, and I know I’ve got no choice but to give in. Now it’s like a challenge to prove I’m wrong about experimenting.
I slap my hands on my thighs and turn to him with a pointed look. “All right, fine. Better now than never—because you know that’s not the last kissing-on-camera request we’re going to get, right?”
“That’s why I want to make sure.” He nods and then turns himself completely toward me. “Proper kiss.”
“This is not normal,” I remind him, and he chuckles.
“Have we ever been normal, June?”
I think about this, and well, maybe he’s right. The dynamics of our relationship have been irregular since I can remember, and we’re thrown into weird situations because of our chosen hobby—which is also not normal. I guess this was bound to happen anyway.
“Guess not,” I say.
“All right then.” He smiles, and with that leans forward to capture my lips with his own.
This time it’s not a little lip touch. It’s leaning completely forward, turning heads so noses don’t bump, open-mouth kisses but avoiding tongue—because, yeah, that’s going too far—and fingers tugging at the back of each other’s necks. It’s long, longer than anticipated, and I know because soon I don’t taste Dr Pepper on his lips anymore. I just taste Jasper.
When we finally pull away, I’m startled to find that I actually don’t mind kissing him—it’s nice and comfortable. And the best part? I can look him in the eye, fingers trailing down his shirt, and say, “Nothing.”
He nods with a cheeky smile and replies, “Me too.”
THE VIDEO CAMERA is mine today, as it always is on Fridays. Out of all three of us, I am the one who has the camera the least. Some might say it’s because I film uninteresting things, others because I borderline on having short-term memory loss—meaning I often forget I have the camera and therefore don’t end up filming a single thing. The latter is often the culprit. It drives Jasper crazy and might just be the reason that we don’t upload anything on Fridays, which isn’t a big deal since our weekends are about as exciting as the night shift at a nursing home—minus the demented residents.
A typical Friday night for us usually goes something like this: Lenny hibernates at his house to watch Desperate Housewives and ogle Eva Longoria. Meanwhile, I go over to Jasper’s house to eat his food and force him to give me a foot massage while we watch endless hours of Criminal Minds. This usually results in me spending the night because I’m too paranoid to walk across the street back home at midnight.
So is it even worth filming when I know editing isn’t going to get done and our plans are practically set in stone? Nope.
I decide to take the video camera from my backpack and place it on the top shelf of my locker, knowing that I won’t film anything today. In mid-replacement of textbooks, the hood of the sweatshirt I’m wearing gets forcefully tugged over my head and smothers my wild curls to my forehead.
“I was wondering where my hoodie went,” Jasper’s voice teases, and he bumps me out of the way of my own locker to snatch the video camera. “Why do I give you this thing again?”
I pull the hood off my head and attempt to straighten my now fuzzy hair with one hand while the other struggles to hold up my heavy backpack. “Because it’s only fair.” I poke my tongue out at him and reach for the camera. “Besides, we never do anything on Fridays. Unless, of course, you’d like me to film you being thoroughly whipped tonight while you rub my feet.” I smirk and swing my backpack over my shoulder, still trying to retrieve the camera from him before I close my locker.
He laughs, dodges my arm, and then sends me a sly smile. “And how do you know that tonight will be boring?” he asks, and wiggles his eyebrows. Laughing, I roll my eyes and slap him on the shoulder when he leans in and makes a noisy kissy face.
Pleased with the scene he’s made, he puts the camera back and shuts my locker door for me. Then his eyes glint and he falls against my locker door, leaning into a suggestive pose while attempting a sultry expression.
“You’re an idiot,” I tell him, and he grins boyishly while placing a hand on his hip.
“Aw, babe,” he murmurs with dark, smoldering eyes as he reaches for one of the tassels hanging from my sweatshirt. “Don’t pretend you don’t love me.”
He’s a natural actor, always playing up the drama to make someone laugh. I’ve become immune to his performances but am entertained, nonetheless. If anything, I’ve learned to play along.
“You’re right,” I sigh as I walk away. “I’m truly, madly, deeply in love with you.”
Catching up, he throws one of his long arms over my shoulders and tilts his head down to whisper in my ear. “I knew it.”
“Mhm,” I hum, and nudge him off. “Anyway, it’s cool if I come over tonight, right?”
“Totally.” He nods and returns his arm to rest on my shoulders while we walk. “Mom won’t be home until two. No idea how I’m going to occupy myself, otherwise.”
My eyes follow the marbled floor, watching as feet zip in and out of my line of sight. “And Lenny’s ditching us again?” I ask, even though I obviously already know the answer.
“Eva Longoria is far more intriguing.”
“Right,” I reason, and shake my head critically. “And Criminal Minds is on the agenda?”
He chuckles at this and pulls me to a halt outside his classroom. “It’s the only way I can get you to spend the night,” he teases with a wink before disappearing inside.
Surprisingly, my dad is awake when I drop my school things off at home. The smell of brewing coffee meets me at the door, and I find him leaning against the counter beside the coffeepot when I go to investigate. He’s barely awake enough to notice I’ve entered the kitchen, because when he finally looks up he seems startled to see me—and he should be. It’s not very often I see my dad in anything other than scrubs. But this afternoon he stands before me in an old T-shirt and plaid pajama pants, wild blond hair and five o’clock shadow included.
“Well, you look dashing,” I comment while trying not to smile. His eyes follow me to the nearest cupboard, where I pull out a granola bar from the bottom shelf and open it quickly to feed my gurgling stomach.
“Hey, June Bug,” he finally says, flinching when the coffee timer goes off. “I had a long night at work.”
“Crazy people come to the ER?” I ask, mostly used to the hilarious and sometimes disturbing stories about the people who visit the emergency room late at night. Some people go to the ER for shits and giggles and waste everyone’s time, but others come in so messed up they stress my dad out and he can’t sleep.
“Always,” he laughs softly, and then his face goes grim. “We had a burn victim last night. Burns so bad her skin was charcoal black and flaking off. I can’t get her out of my head.”
My face distorts and my stomach suddenly wants to deny my granola bar’s entry. Some of these stories make my skin crawl. And the worst part is sometimes when we have dinner together as a family, he’ll tell us all his ER adventures and completely destroy my appetite, like now.
“What happened to her?”
“Her and a couple of friends thought it would be a smart idea to play with gasoline and lighters in a game of chicken.” He looks up from his freshly poured coffee and frowns. “It makes me worry about you, Lenny, and Jas.”
I snort. “We’re dumb, but not that dumb.”
“I know,” he sighs. “I know we’ve talked about peer pressure and all of that, but I still w
orry. People can get hurt if you take games too far.”
“We don’t play games like that,” I remind him gently, and cross my legs under the kitchen table. “We vlog. It’s like a video diary. The last dumb thing any of us did for laughs was nothing in comparison. Lenny ate a toxic-looking concoction of peaches, mayo, Jell-O, and pickles.”
Dad sips his coffee carefully, eyes tearing up when he burns his lips. “Just be careful?”
“Of course,” I say, grinning. He nods and brings his coffee to the table. I watch him pull out the chair beside mine and sit down. “Hey,” I ask, and he glances at me, tipping his mug for me to continue. “It’s cool if I hang out with Jas tonight, right?”
“Are you spending the night, again?”
“Most likely.”
He’s silent for a while, lips pursing behind his coffee cup as he stares straight ahead. My eyebrows furrow questioningly, unfamiliar with his hesitation at the request. “You guys aren’t having sex, are you?” he asks suddenly, gray eyes sliding over to meet mine narrowly.
I sputter, taken aback at his suggestion and blushing at the idea. Jasper and me? The boy’s awkward and lanky, too tall for his own good, with a haircut that never seems to look right. He wears weird graphic T-shirts, openly burps and farts around me, and says and does things without thinking about how stupid he looks—and my dad is implying that I’d have sex with him? I couldn’t even kiss him yesterday without feeling all sorts of uncomfortable until it was over and I realized it really wasn’t that bad. But the point is, the idea of having sex with Jasper is enough for me to scrunch up my nose and squawk, “Jasper? Are you kidding me? Gross, Dad!”
After seeing the absolute alarm on my face and hearing my protests, my dad almost chokes on his coffee with laughter. “He’s a good-looking guy! I had to make sure,” he defends himself with a glimmer of humor twinkling in his eyes. “I wasn’t expecting you to be so disgusted.”
It’s not that Jasper is unattractive; in fact, he’s long past the middle-school phase of long skater hair and Pokémon T-shirts. Now his dark hair is well groomed and his face only soiled with blemishes every once in a very great while. To anyone he’s considered good-looking, but I’ve seen him in his darkest hours. I’ve seen more than just his exterior, but his dorky interior as well. I love the guy to death, hell, he’s my best friend, but I could never see us being romantically involved. Not now, anyway. Maybe when we were fourteen and I had a little freshman crush on the charming class clown who wanted me to be in on his vlogging project, sure. But not anymore. You learn a lot about a person when you spend time with them. We’ve grown so comfortable with each other that any romantic feelings would get swallowed up in awkwardness and giggles.