“I cannot be-lieve you did that,” I gasp. He smiles. “Haven’t you ever been that crazy over someone? That you were willing to make a complete fool of yourself?” My own words hang between us. His hands are on my arms, burning straight through my skin. “What did you think? Did we do okay?” There isn’t a drop of moisture in my mouth, that’s what I think. “When did you have time to—?” “Monica used to be a professional cheerleader,” he says. “She did it all. The choreography, I mean, not the part where we made fools of ourselves.” I smile. “You have good friends.” “They like you,” he says. “They
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