It was at this year’s homecoming dance, when my best friend Gen (who snagged the second junior spot in this class) tried to orchestrate a meet-cute by steering me in his direction. I bumped into him mid “Mr. Brightside” and spilled Sprite on us both. He apologized even though it was definitely my—well, Gen’s—fault. He couldn’t even look me in the eye as my hot-pink dress clung to my body, soda-wet and sticky.
This interaction will haunt me for the rest of this book.
