| W H E N  C A N D A C E  M E T  J U D E |
• • •
| Candace |

Candace couldn't believe herself. Only a few hours beforehand, she'd kissed someone she barely knew on the lips. In front of at least half of the entire junior and class that had attended the party. But even after all of the humiliation and dread that came after the kiss—that was still the best kiss she'd ever experienced.

     It was better than all the times she had kissed Finn, any other guy, any other girl—it was simply just better. But once she delved back into the thoughts of the kiss, she began wondering if she would ever see the girl again. And what the kiss might've meant to her.

     Because Candace might as well crawl into a hole and die if Jude hadn't felt the same way. But how could she not? The kiss was genuine, sweet, and passionate all at once. Candace had never experienced anything like it before. Not even playing tennis—something she loved so dearly—could surpass the night before.

     Thankfully, once Sloane had dropped everybody back off at their respected homes, Candace had managed to find her way back into her home without anybody noticing. Not even her father, who practically slept with one eye open.

     Candace lied there in bed, a dumb smile playing itself on her still swollen lips. She held her comforter close into her chest, not wanting to get up and begin the day. But alas, not all great things last forever and the young brunette was awoken by her shouting sister.

     "You better be getting ready!" Serena shouted from the other side of the door, knocking frantically. "I have an AP test during first period and I cannot be late. So, if you are not downstairs and ready in under thirty minutes—you can find another ride to school."

     This was enough to pull the sluggish girl out from beneath her comforter. "C-Coming!" She shouted back, jumping out of bed and into her restroom. She didn't need to rush too much seeing as it wasn't like she needed a long time to pick her outfit. She wore the same thing everyday. With the exception of jewelry or her book bag.

     Those changed occasionally.

     Her uniform and school shoes were already primed and ironed by her mother, and placed on her desk that stood right beside her bedroom door. After a shower and dressing herself, Candace sat down at the desk, beginning her hair and makeup.

     The alarm that sat on the nightstand beside her bed told her that she had only about ten minutes left before Serena would, without a doubt, leave her at home. Candace pulled her hair back into its accustomed ponytail, coating her skin with its usual layer of light makeup.

     After slipping into her school shoes, poking her hoops through her earlobes and a soft spritz of perfume, she and Serena were out of the front door. The two girls spared their parents a last goodbye before pulling out of the gated driveway, and heading off.

     Serena was quick to abandon her younger sister for her first period once they'd pulled into the parking lot. Candace watched as she speedily walked away, not wanting to get a warning for running, but still needing to get to class on time.

     Candace tightened her hold on the strap of her book bag, making prompt steps through the front doors of the familiar building. She'd told herself a dozen times that today wouldn't be as bad as the last. But even she couldn't convince herself. Anything could happen.

     Just like any other day, she trudged into her French class, greeted with a glare from Mr. Arquette, who didn't seem to like Candace very much already. She took her assigned seat beside Whitney, who had a mischievous sort of look on her delicate features.

     "What?" Candace asked, as though she had no idea what Whitney's stare could be about.

     Her curly-haired friend raised a dark brow. "You know what."

     Candace slid her bottom into her desk, turning her head toward the direction opposite of Whitney. Her friend noticed this, making a noise of disapproval. "Stop staring at me," she whispered, sparing Whitney one last glance. "It's creepy."

     "Not until you spill every last detail about last night." Whitney whispered back, obliging the command Mr. Arquette had given about opening their text books and turning to page—whatever page they were on. Candace couldn't remember while being questioned about Jude.

     "There's nothing to spill," she lied, biting onto her bottom lip to contain a grin. "You saw what happened. We kissed." Saying that she'd kissed the beautiful, tall, dark-haired girl from the night before felt like a dream. A dream Candace never wanted to wake from.

     Whitney gave her a look, a look that said she knew her best friend was lying. "Yeah, but how? Like, what lead up to the kiss?"

     Candace thinks back to the other night, the memories washing over her like a fresh breath of air. She'd been reliving that kiss in her head all morning. So, it really wouldn't kill her to talk about it. Actually, it'd do more good than bad. "It wasn't anything crazy," another lie. "We were talking, then she started flirting, telling me how good I looked in my dress—and then the next thing I know we're making out."

     Whitney couldn't help but squeal, a high-pitched sound escaping her perfectly glossed lips. "Oh, Candace, I'm so happy for you!" She said louder than it seemed she meant to, earning a warning look from Mr. Arquette who'd been busy scribbling nonsense onto the chalk board.

"Don't get too happy," Candace sulked, "I'll probably never see her again." Whitney's mood seemed to darken, as she let out a breath of realization.

"Oh, my gosh, I wasn't even thinking about that. I'm so sorry, C." Candace shrugged, not bothering to give her a response. She merely sent her a light smile, and began sifting through her textbook.

The rest of class carried on with Mr. Arquette scolding the two girls in the front of his classroom whenever he got the chance. Candace clenched her jaw when realizing that for whatever reason—he detested she and Whitney.

Once French had finally ended, the two girls went their separate ways, sending each other one last look before going down opposite ends of the hallway. The rest of her classes before lunch seemed to go by as slowly as any other day. Candace felt as if she was mere minutes away from exploding.

But once the lunch bell rang, and her AP Art class dismissed by the teacher, she stuffed her portfolio into her book bag, before practically hauling herself toward the lunchroom.

Once Candace walked through the large double doors of the room, she felt several pairs of familiar eyes follow her to her seat. She sat, her skin crawling at the quietness that came from the usually buzzing table.

Claire's eyes seemed to burn holes into the side of Candace's face as she slowly dug into the chicken salad she'd bought minutes before. She resisted the urge to snap at Claire, knowing that she didn't mean any harm. But after the summer Candace had, she couldn't stand to be stared at while she ate.

After deciding that Claire obviously wasn't going to initiate conversation, Candace turned, asking, "what's up, Claire?"

The joyful blonde shook her head, although she didn't look away. She merely leaned even closer toward Candace, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. "Nothing, I'm just wondering how you can act so normal after being such a slut last night."

If those words had been said by anyone else, Candace would've been insulted. But knowing Claire and her inability to get things out right, Candace simply asked. "What?"

"There's nothing wrong with it," Claire smiled, clearly teasing. "I mean, you hear about what people say about me—I swear, you hook up with one virgin and he just has to tell the whole damn school—anyway, we're not talking about me. You kissed someone after only knowing her for like three hours. I'd say that's your new record." She ended her words with a wink.

Candace wasn't sure how to feel about Claire's words. Had she acted slutty the night before? Not that, that would inherently be a bad thing but she'd never been called that before. It felt . . . different. And she wasn't sure if she wanted anyone to call her that word again.

"Please shut up, Claire," Sloane interrupted, giving the blonde her undivided attention. Which was never a good thing. "Nobody needs to hear about when you hooked up Lyle Windsor."

"No, we were talking about last night," Claire tried to defend herself, "about Candace and the really tall girl—what was her name? God, I was so drunk. I don't think I've ever been as drunk as I was last night. Ugh, my parents were so pissed—"

"Oh, my God!" Sloane interrupted once more, leaving Claire to sit there silently with reddening cheeks. "Do you ever stop talking? Seriously, it's like eleven in the morning on a Tuesday, aren't you tired of hearing yourself talk?"

Claire turns her attention down toward the table, fingers picking at the hem of her school sweater. She seemed to be hiding her face from the rest of the table, most likely holding back tears so she wouldn't embarrass herself any further. Candace sent a death glare to the back of Sloane's head.

The only reason the malicious blonde was even acting so crabby was because it was Tuesday—meaning that she would be having kale smoothies for breakfast, lunch, and dinner—per her mother's request. Sloane was always even worse than usual on her smoothie days.

Candace reached across the table, her hand finding Claire's. Claire looked up, eyes meeting her friends. The young blonde smiled in appreciation. But before she could say anything, her eyes seemed to focus on something else, her lips parting in shock.

"Holy shit."

Sloane groaned, head snapping in Claire's direction. "Didn't I just—"

"Sloane, shut up," Whitney sent her fist into the blondes shoulder, trying to gain her attention, but only earning a glare. "Look."

Candace didn't bother looking up in the direction that Whitney was pointing at. She poked at the chicken salad that sat before her on the table. She narrowed her eyes down into the plate. Tomatoes sat directly on the lettuce, as though mocking her. She hated tomatoes.

And every other vegetable.

"Candace, you'll never guess who just walked in," Claire whispered-shouted across the table, causing Candace to frown in confusion. "Turn around—look!"

Candace turned in her chair, and paused in her very spot. She could've move, the shock was too paralyzing. What were the odds that the girl she had made out with the night before would waltz into the lunchroom during Candace's lunch?

Before Candace could've sworn they were impossible. But apparently not.

Jude seemed to glide into the lunchroom, the short plaid skirt complimenting her long, pale legs with elegance. She wore an exact replica of Candace's outfit—except for her school shoes, which seemed to be a pair of sneakers rather than heeled loafers.

Candace's chest heaved when the two of them held one another in intense eye contact, as if not believing their sights. She let out a harsh breath, "shit."