he traffic at this time is crazy, but for once I'm not impatient. Alyssa talks so much that almost an hour later feels like ten minutes. She touches on things I have no knowledge of, like the college process and farmers markets and a bunch of other crap, like teen romance shows I've never heard of. If she were anyone else, I'd have fallen asleep at the wheel by now, but the way she lights up whenever she talks has got me excited.

"So, what," I say, making a left turn, "he wanted to date a girl who looked just like his old dead girlfriend?"

"Yeah," she says. "They were dopplegangers."

"And he's a vampire," I clarify.

"Uh-huh." She's smiling at me, surprised by my interest, but God help me, I am interested. Not in the inner workings of her batshit crazy shows, but in her.

I used to think you had to have everything in common for a relationship to work. I never believed in the bullshit of opposites attract: humans aren't magnets, we're social creatures who enjoy being around people just like us, but around Alyssa, I find myself questioning everything I've ever believed.

"He sounds like a creep," I say.

"You think everyone's a creep," she replies. "What was it you said about Romeo? Oh yeah, that he's impulsive and naive."

"He is," I insist.

She laughs. "You're not really the romantic type, are you?"

"Not really, no."

We pull into the old Sears Parking lot next to Sears. I glance at Alyssa, watching as she takes in the several cars pointed toward a large flat screen extended in front of a backdrop of stars. It looks even better than I'd imagined right now: we're catching the last showing of Grease, which means there are hardly any cars around, and the glow of the stars against the burnt dusk sky casts a strange purple glow against the clouds.

She breaks into the most wonderful grin as I pull up in front of the screen. Not far from the car is a popcorn and drinks stand, so I ask her what she wants then make my way over to the stand. I end up coming back with more than she asked for: coke, two bags of popcorn, and several chocolate bars. We lay it all out on the dashboard and recline in our chairs, where I feel her looking at me.

"What?" I ask. "Did you want something different?"

"No," she says, still smiling. "I'm just impressed."

Relief settles in the pit of my stomach. I hadn't admitted it to myself, but a part of me was scared she wouldn't like this, and that feeling is one I am definitely not used to.

"Grease is one of my favorite movies," she says, reaching for the popcorn. "Good choice."

"I've never seen it," I say, settling back.

She pauses, then turns mid-popcorn bite. "You've never seen Grease? Max, have you been living under a rock? What's wrong with you?"

I can't help but laugh. "It's not really my kind of film. I like things with violence."

"That says a lot about you."

"I know."

As soon as it starts, we both fall quiet. Or I do, at least, Alyssa chomps on her popcorn so loud, I turn and give her this look that says, Seriously?

"What?" she says. "It's crunchy. How am I supposed to eat quietly?"

I shake my head, laughing, before turning back to the screen. I was right about Grease not being my thing, and the whole thing is cheesy as hell, but every time I look over and see Alyssa smiling, I know it was worth it.

"This is a toxic relatioship if you ask me," I say. "I mean, he spends most of the film pretending to be someone different for her, then she changes for him. Isn't the whole point that you get to be yourself?"

Alyssa rolls her eyes. "Why are you so anti-love?"

"I'm anti-stupidity."

"Love is stupid," she says. "It's making dumb decisions because you can't think straight. It's wanting to impress the person you like because you want them to like you back."

We share this look, and for a second it's like I'm seeing her in a different light. She's usually so confident, so self assured, but right now she looks vulnerable.

"Do me a favor," I say.

"What?"

"Don't change for me."

She smiles and turns to the screen, but for a moment, the relief on her face is unmistakable.

At some point, when Sandy is in the middle of another one of her boring ballads about the guy with too much hair gel, Alyssa grabs my hand and pulls it into her lap. Her fingers entwine with mine, and my heart does this rhythmic jump in the way it only does around her.

For the rest of the movie, it's like I can't concentrate. Her hand feels warm as her thumb traces circles on my palm. I keep looking ahead, jaw clenched, trying to focus on these ridiculous characters, but now I can't stop thinking about kissing her.

It's like she knows it, too, because she glances over, and it's like I lose all restraint. I lean over, gently snaking a hand around the back of her neck before pulling her closer. Her lips hover near mine, pink and inviting.

My lips find hers, and the second they do, I can't think straight. My hands grip her face, pulling her into me, desperate to taste. She responds with a moan, allowing her tongue to gently trail mine as she snakes her arms around my neck.

There's this second where everything fades into nothing. This primal instinct takes hold, filling my chest – and other places – with warmth. Our tongues are tasting, tangling, tasting, over and over. I gather her hair in my fists at the same time she slips a hand beneath my t-shirt, trailing her nails down my back.

I shiver from her touch. She pulls back a little, lips red, swollen, slightly out of breath, and I can't help but think how goddamn beautiful she looks. Slowly, she takes my hand, placing it on her collarbone. My heart pounds as I trail it across her chests, breasts, before my fingers reach the zipper of her jeans. I'm about to pop the button when my phone vibrates on the dashboard. I go to ignore it, but another three texts come through in quick succession.

"You should look at it," Alyssa says, pulling back. "It could be an emergency."

I sigh, because even though I want to keep going, that was my first thought, too. Reluctantly, I reach for the phone and glance at the screen. The texts are from Khalil, inviting me to a party tonight.

"Who was it?" she asks.

"Khalil," I say. "Inviting me to some party tonight." I'm about to put my phone away and pull her in again, but she stops.

"Why don't we go?" she asks.

I raise an eyebrow. "You want to?"

"Yeah." She pauses. "Unless you don't want me to."

I shrug. The idea of her seeing the kind of parties Khalil likes to drag me to, as well as potentially meeting some of my friends, makes me hesitant.

She must sense it, too, because she says, "The people you hang out with can't be any worse than my friends."

She kind of has a point. "All right." I pull out of the drive-in as soon as the credits roll, and Alyssa turns up the radio, bobbing her head to my Tupac playlist in a way that horrifies me. She gets up the lyrics of All Eyez on Me and attempts to rap along, but she's out of tune and out of time. Still, listening to her rap to one of my favorite songs has me grinning from ear to ear.

"My turn." I turn up the volume, give her this look, then burst into the next verse. I've probably listened to this song a thousand times over, so I know every word off by heart.

She laughs as I pull to a slow at the stoplight, and for a second, my brain captures this snapshot of her, like a mental photograph: mouth wide, hair gently blowing in the breeze of the rolled down window, and the city lights like a backdrop of stars behind her. Even if I fuck this up, which I'm bound to, I know that deep down, I'll never forget this moment.

It's getting late, so it doesn't take long to get through the traffic and make it to the house. It's small and cramped, sandwiched between a row of similar houses, all with barbed gates across the front lawn. Dogs back loudly in the distance and the sound of music pumping from inside can be heard from all the way out here. I glance at Alyssa, expecting her to change her mind, but instead, she pulls her hair into a ponytail, puts on some lipgloss, and climbs out.

I climb out, too, and grab her hand, suddenly feeling nervous as we walk through the crowd of people huddled on the lawn. The grass is already strewn with bottles, the air thick with testosterone and weed. Tonight is either going to be great, or terrible, and the quiet feeling of dread in my chest tells me it'll probably be the latter.

I just hope to god I'm wrong.

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