She looked over at the circle of kids on the kitchen floor.

  Kiki scanned their faces. Disappointment tickled her chest the same way it had when Chris, Robby, and the rest of the lacrosse crew had entered the party without Kastov.

  It wasn’t like she was obsessing over him. She wasn’t here for Kastov; she was here because Marisol and Luna were nice, and she never missed one of their birthday parties.

  It would be silly to dwell on a boy she had talked to for just seven minutes, obviously.

  Sighing, her multicolored beach towel tight under her armpits, Kiki hit the snack table. Amari paused her conversation with Nayelie to pass the vodka, but Kiki shook her head. Her mother had foolproof Mom Senses and would totally be able to tell, even if she had only a sip.

  Instead, Kiki shoved a whole handful of popcorn into her mouth, spun, and bumped right into a tall, grinning boy.

  “Kikade!”

  Kiki chewed furiously. “Kastov!” It sounded more like Athoff! She spat a few kernels at him, but he didn’t seem to mind.

  He wasn’t dressed for a pool party, or any party. He’d come straight from work at Steak ’N Go, judging from the restaurant name stitched onto his red polo. He wore a baby blue snapback backward, tufts of dark hair curling adorably at the edges.

  He took a long draw from his Solo cup, then regarded it curiously. “I didn’t know they made these in hot pink.”

  “The González twins are very particular about color schemes.” She pulled the towel tighter. “Nice hat. That shade of blue’s my favorite color.”

  “I’d let you have it, but I’ve got such bad hat hair that if you saw it, you’d run away screaming.”

  She laughed.

  And her laugh made him laugh. He looked over at the circle, and then back at Kiki.

  She looked away. “Seven Minutes is kind of the worst game ever.”

  His brow twitched.

  “I just think that if you like someone, you should tell them instead of hoping they end up sequestered in a closet with you.”

  “Sequestered?”

  “I’m being extra, but you know what I mean.”

  “Maybe people just wanna kiss other people without all that.”

  She shrugged. “Well. Yeah. I guess that’s fair.”

  Alexa spotted them from the circle and pointed a finger at him. “Kastov! Your turn!”

  His gaze remained on Kiki. Brown eyes beaming.

  Kiki shook her head. “Got popcorn kernels all up in my teeth. Super gross.”

  He chuckled. “What a shame.”

  She was grateful that he walked away, leaving her to blush in peace.

  He found a spot next to Luna. He said something to her, and the two of them giggled like kids. Kiki was beginning to understand that this was so like him. Always laughing, always smiling, always so damn glad to be there, wherever he was. She wanted to find him annoying, but he seemed so utterly genuine.

  Kastov steadied the bottle on its side. It glistened as it spun.

  Kiki’s stomach turned. She hadn’t realized until this very moment that she had absolutely no desire to see the bottle land on anyone but her.

  “Shit!” Izzy cried from the circle. “Sorry!”

  Next to her, Hanna got up and ran to the marble island, red punch dripping from her shirt.

  The bottle slowed.

  It was almost automatic, the way Kiki hurried to take Hanna’s place.

  The bottle stopped between Izzy and Tommy.

  It pointed at her.

  Kastov looked up.

  Their eyes locked, and her stomach went all fluttery the same way it had after the first spin. But it felt different. It stemmed less from anxiety and more from excitement, which was its own form of torture.

  Kastov held the pantry door open for her. “Don’t you even think about kissing me,” he said.

  “Check your ego. No one was thinking about kissing you.”

  He looked around at the absurd amounts of canned tuna, baked beans, and toilet paper. “What are we thinking? Hoarders? Doomsday preppers? Extreme couponers?”

  Kiki laughed. “I think they’re just rich.”

  “Hm, true. So, what movie are we watching tonight?”

  “My parents know I’m here, actually. They’re cool with Marisol and Luna’s dads. But they think the twins are throwing the same pizza party they’ve been doing since we were seven.”

  “Nice.”

  “But I can’t stay for the sleepover. My parents are very strict. They don’t really let me do things like other kids do.”

  Like white kids do.

  “I haven’t even told them . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  Kastov raised a brow. “What?”

  “Um. I’m applying to this fancy culinary school in August.” It wasn’t something that anyone else knew. But even though he still felt like a stranger to her, telling him was easy. Like she could say anything in the seven minutes they had and it would be okay. “The Auguste Giroud Culinary Academy. It’s in California. They’re gonna flip.”

  “Doesn’t your dad own a restaurant?”

  It took a moment for her to remember telling him that. He said it so simply, completely oblivious to what it meant to her that he’d thought it important enough to keep. “There’s a difference. It’s, you know . . .” She searched for a word to describe the nausea that commonly rose in her gut or the stress that knotted up her shoulders. “The first-gen affliction. I gotta be a doctor or a lawyer; I gotta make a gazillion dollars a year. I can’t date till I’m married.”

  “To be the child of an immigrant.” He played with a loose thread on his snapback. “My mom’s from Korea—I get it.”

  “I tried to show them the pamphlets once, and they refused to listen. If I get in, I’ll tell them. But not until then. That way I won’t have to deal with their smugness if I don’t.”

  “You’ll get in.”

  She sighed. “What about you? What’s your plan?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Dunno. I like coding, and my mom liked that idea up until I told her I want to make video games.”

  “What does your dad think?”

  Kastov laughed humorlessly. “My dad doesn’t really care.” He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “In other news, I got roped into seeing Man v. Robot 3 last week.”

  “No spoilers! Was it amazing?”

  “That robot arm slap was something. Chris couldn’t stop laughing.”

  Kiki felt her smile go stiff. “Chris Keller?”

  “Yeah!”

  She bit the inside of her cheek. “You guys are friends, huh?”

  “He’s chill. Was the first person I met here, kinda took me in.”

  Kiki only nodded.

  “So,” he continued. “Two spins. We’re on a streak.”

  “I’m sure plenty of people get the same person more than once.”

  “But I’ve only played twice. That’s . . .” He scrunched up his face and counted on his fingers. “One hundred percent.”

  “Two for two isn’t, like, ten for ten.”

  “I have a theory. Maybe we’re being pushed together.”

  “By who?”

  “The party gods!”

  “And why are the party gods pushing us together?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe you need to help me with my French homework. Or maybe I need to help you, I don’t know, refine your movie tastes!”

  She scoffed. “Careful.”

  He took a step closer to her. “Or. Maybe . . .”

  She stilled. He looked at her, eyes full of wanting, and she thought, That is a look that breaks hearts.

  “Maybe they’re waiting for us to kiss.”

  Kiki didn’t know how he’d gotten so close. She clutched her towel, suddenly feeling exposed. A braid came loose from her bun.

  Gently he slipped it back over her shoulder, his fingers slow against her bare skin.

  Someone banged on the door. “Get your clothes on, sluts! One minute left!”

  She leaned back suddenly with a jolt like waking up from a dream.

  Kastov looked away, sheepish. She hadn’t seen him like this before, all red in the cheeks, eyes cast down. He lifted his snapback and ran his hand through his hair before replacing the hat.

  Kiki screamed dramatically, covering her eyes. “The hat hair!”

  He smiled, easy and slow. “You’re hilarious. Come to Hanna’s thing tomorrow. Test my theory.”

  “Fine. But this time, I spin. If your theory’s correct, it shouldn’t matter who’s got the bottle.”

  “Just don’t go spinning on anyone else, okay? They totally don’t have what we have.”

  She knew he was just being Kastov, but her stomach flipped anyway.

  Spin #3

  Hanna Bilson’s Low-Key Thing in Coconut Grove

  June 17th

  This time Kiki didn’t hover on the fringes of the circle. When Robby waved the bottle in the air and shouted, “Who wants next?” she snatched it from him.

  From four people over, Kastov gave her a mischievous smirk. She’d grown accustomed to his cute, cozy smiles. His self-deprecating grins. His shy little laughs. This look was something else entirely.

  She held the bottle against the floor. Don’t spin too hard. Don’t spin too . . . soft? She shook her head. Don’t overthink it.

  Kiki spun the bottle.

  Cardi was blaring in the background, and she focused only on the music. Kiki refused to look at the bottle, and she certainly didn’t want to look at him. He had a way of reading her, and she didn’t need him to know that she was internally shouting his name.

  With a clack against the tiles, the bottle stuttered to a stop.

  She looked up.

  It pointed at the center of Kastov’s knee.

  He leaped over Robby’s leg to beat her to the linen closet. He opened the door, grinning devilishly.

  As she walked in wearing a grin of her own, Kiki heard someone say, “Am I high, or has this happened before?”

  Spin #4

  Amari Jones’s “HBD A-meh-ica” Party

  July 4th

  Kastov danced his way into the closet. “Kikade!” he shouted.

  The music was so blisteringly loud that the walls shook.

  “Kastov!” she yelled back.

  “I love this song!”

  She leaned in. “What?!”

  “Let’s dance!”

  She understood that perfectly but pointed at her ear as if she didn’t. It didn’t matter. He started up with his signature move, the shoulder shimmy.

  It hit her hard. Suddenly she realized how much she’d missed him these past few weeks while she was working overtime at the restaurant, testing her dad’s new recipes and dealing with tourists. It’d kept her busy enough that she hadn’t had much time to think of Kastov, but now that they were together again, she couldn’t stop staring at him.

  He wagged his eyebrows. “Come on! Dance with me!”

  “No!”

  “Who doesn’t like dancing?!”

  “I like dancing! Alone! In my room!”

  “We’re alone! We’re in a room!”

  “This is a closet!”

  He caught her by the waist and spun her around a few times.

  It was so absurd that she giggled. “You’re cute,” she blurted out, normal volume.

  He leaned in. “Huh?”

  “You’re cute!” she said a little louder, knowing full well that he couldn’t hear.

  “What?! I’m what?”

  She smiled hard. “YOU’RE”—the music cut out, then—“CUTE!”

  Instantly she slapped her hand over her mouth.

  Her heart stopped. She was going to die of embarrassment, here in a closet with a cute boy. Her parents would find out, resurrect her, and kill her all over again.

  Kastov’s perfect mouth curled into her favorite smile. The soft, knowing one, so different from his usual grin. It was the only thing that stopped her from bolting, changing her name, and fleeing the whole damn country.

  The music returned but at a lower volume. Kiki would’ve liked more noise.

  “I missed”—he paused—“this.”

  She wondered if he’d meant to say something else. “I missed this too.”

  He wore happiness well. Everything seemed brighter with his grin. “I always looked for you. At Alexa’s party, at Robby’s . . . where have you been hiding?”

  She laughed a little, like the way his voice went all low didn’t give her heart palpitations. “I’ve been working nonstop. There’s gonna be an article in the Miami Times about the restaurant. It’s super exciting, but my dad’s stressed. He keeps changing recipes and messing with the menu—he’s rearranged the seating seven times in the past two weeks! I get my anxiety from him, apparently.” She shook her head at herself. “You?”

  “Oh, you know.” He casually leaned one hand against the wall. It was so extra that Kiki had to laugh. “Acing French tests. No thanks to you . . .”

  “I was sending you good vibes, okay—”

  “. . . and avoiding spinning bottles.”

  Kiki fidgeted slightly. She hadn’t thought about him playing the game without her. “Avoiding?”

  “Eh. It got boring.” He shrugged.

  She appreciated how comfortable the following silence felt.

  Kastov sighed. “Speaking of the restaurant, I have a favor to ask. It’s an emergency.”

  “Emergency?”

  “A cake emergency! My mom’s birthday is in two days, and she deserves something nice. You remember that party at Izzy’s? You said your dad makes this awesome butter cake?”

  “Oh! Sorry, he doesn’t sell them; he just makes them for my mom and me.”

  “Okay. So, like . . . could you teach me how to make one?”

  The smile slipped off of her face.

  He laughed at her. “Don’t look at me like that. I can come by the restaurant—”

  “No, oh my god!”

  “Kikade.”

  “Kastov. My parents would kill me! You’re a boy, and they hate boys!”

  “All boys?”

  “Yes! Doesn’t matter if you’re smart or nice or—”

  He winked at her. “Cute?”

  She ignored that. “Do you want me to die, Kastov?”

  He fiddled with his snapback. “My mom’s been having a tough time since we moved. All of her family’s up north, and we still haven’t found a good Korean restaurant, and my dad’s a total dick who is going to do the bare minimum for her, like he does every year. You said the cake is like a slice of heaven.”

  Kiki didn’t know how to explain that it was even better. The butter, the vanilla, the sugar, the lime—comforting enough to cure her anxieties, ease the ache of a scraped knee, salve a hard day. She knew that good food held a certain power, but only her dad’s butter cake felt like this.

  “See?” Kastov said, catching her dreamy expression. “I need the cake that does that to a person.”

  “How about I make one and bring it to you?”

  “Well, I would like to be able to re-create it. That way I won’t have to ask next year.”

  Her stomach fluttered. He wants to hang out with you.

  She thought up a plan. “Tomorrow’s Sunday—we open late.”

  With a wild grin that made her nerves fuzzy, Kastov handed her his phone.

  She keyed in her number and her address. “Meet me at the restaurant by noon sharp.”

  He squeezed his phone. “Thank you, Kikade, you absolute angel.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek. “You can call me Kiki, you know.”

  Spin #5

  St. Germain, Prince Avenue

  July 5th

  “Kiki!” her mom called from the living room. “There’s a skinny boy on our doorstep!”

  Eyes wide, Kiki bolted from her bed.

  Her mom switched to Kreyòl. “Di li nou pa vle okenn ti liv!”

  Kiki had spent the whole morning practicing what she was going to say. Lying about going to a party instead of the movies felt wildly different than lying about meeting a boy.

  And then he had just . . . shown up. He stood at the front door with an apron rolled up in his hand and that perfect smile.

  Kastov offered his other hand to her mom. “Jin-ho.” She took it, thank god. “Nice to meet you.”

  Kiki’s mom looked him up and down. He took a shoe off, and she nodded in approval, so he slipped off the second one.

  And then he wasn’t on the doorstep anymore; he had a foot in the doorway. He was inside her house.

  Quickly, Kiki ran up to him and forced him backward onto the doorstep, her hands firm on his chest.

  He looked down at them, grinned, and she dropped them.

  “You’re here,” she said, out of breath. “Why?”

  “Uh. Cake emergency? I know I’m early—”

  “We’re meeting at the restaurant!”

  Brow wrinkled in confusion, Kastov pulled out his phone. “Two-three-three Southwest—”

  “Oh my god.” She covered her face with her hands. “I gave you my address instead of the restaurant’s.”

  Kastov chuckled. “You know, your mom seems perfectly nice.”

  Kiki made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.

  “I’m sorry, I can go—my bad.”

  “It’s okay.” Finally she lifted her head. “I have work later, so let me go change into my uniform. It’s three blocks away on Prince Ave. I’ll meet you there.”

  “Awesome. K and K, making a cake. Dream team.” He high-fived himself.

  Kiki smiled, and nodded, and slipped behind the door, and closed it.

  “It’s for his mom,” she told her own mother, who then made a sound that was uniquely hers. Close to an mm-hmm, but not quite, and Kiki couldn’t replicate it, but she knew what it meant. It wasn’t no, however, and she wondered if maybe her parents could be chill. Maybe she was too in her head.