The Boy Who Lives In My Garage > jariana (COMPLETED)

fifteen

The outfit I select for the party is one of my favorites—my newest dark-wash skinny jeans with a black crop top. Straightened hair and dramatic makeup complete the look.

Call me conceited, but I look good.

My parents go to bed around 10:00. Once Dad is snoring, I sneak into their room, thankful that the door is not in need of WD40 and also that the carpeted floors are sans squeaky boards. My heart races the closer I get to my parents' bed, or more importantly, the green glow of the clock on the nightstand.

With careful fingers, I feel around for the "alarm off" button. My worst fear is that I'll accidentally hit the "play" button to make the radio start blaring. If I can pull this off, they'll never be able to prove it was me. If I can't pull it off, I might end up in boarding school.

Finding what I hope and pray is the right button, I press it and watch as the "Alarm 1" light on the display disappears. My sigh of relief is too loud, but Dad keeps snoring and Mom doesn't stir. I turn off the second alarm and tiptoe out of the room, leaving my parents sound asleep. It's too easy, really. I should have tried this a long time ago.

In the garage, I turn on the light. "Justin?"

"Ariana?"

My name sounds better on his lips than it does on anyone else's. When I reach the Trans Am, he's sitting with a suspiciously familiar flashlight and his copy of The Perks of Being a Wallflower. He dog-ears the page he's on, puts the flashlight and book in his backpack, then shoves the backpack under the car. "Stealing our flashlight?" I ask.

"I like to call it 'borrowing.'" He stands and looks me over, head to toe. "You look incredible."

"Thanks. You're not so bad yourself." He's wearing a different shirt, not the plain white T-shirts or hooded sweatshirt I've seen him in before. This is a button-up shirt, and it looks really, really good on him. "New shirt?"

His smile widens to reveal his blinding white teeth. "Bought it a couple of hours ago, actually."

I run a finger over the soft fabric on his chest, where the shirt is showing through his unzipped jacket. "I like it."

"While we're liking things..." He leans in and presses his lips to mine. As my eyes fall shut, I melt into him. He kisses like it's the first and the last time we'll ever kiss. Always. He kisses his way down my neck to where the Petoskey stone rests against my skin. Lifting the stone, he blows a breath of cool air against the uncovered skin before pressing his lips there, too. Goose bumps spread over my skin. "Are you sure about this whole 'party' thing?" he asks, voice deep and soft.

It takes all of my effort not to say "no" and spend the rest of the night right here with him. After one last kiss, I force myself away and say, "Yes. It's going to be great. Let's go."

When we arrive at the end of the subdivision, Misty's van is already waiting.

"Nice ride," Justin observes.

"Oh, it gets better. Just wait until you're inside. Hey," I say, opening the door and crawling in, bypassing my usual seat for the one next to it. I knock hangers and clothes and for some reason, tennis balls on the ground so we can both sit.

"Hey, late girl," Rosalinda says.

"Like thirty seconds late," I argue. Justin sits down and closes the sliding door behind him. "Rosalinda, Misty, you remember Justin?"

"Hey," Justin says. "Nice to see both of you again."

Rosalinda spins so that she's facing him. "You, too." She's a bit too enthusiastic and winks at me. Dork.