I hate you, Kiera says. I fucking hate teenagers.

“Oh hush,” I say, taking one final look in the mirror. “You do nothing but complain.” The blazer might be overkill, but I can’t read the vibe of the restaurant from its website, and I rather risk being too much than too little. It is my first official date with Izaak, after all.

Human mating is disgusting.

“Jealous?”

No. Maybe a little.

The doorbell rings and I rush downstairs, trying to get there before Mom. Izaak looks absolutely amazing, his orange jacket open to reveal the yellow sweatshirt underneath. His fashion is as bright as his smile.

“Ready?” He asks.

“Ready.”

We step into the radiant night.