I had intended the words as a challenge, although I couldn't have said to whom. To Julian, perhaps, who looked at me as if I were still seventeen and standing barefoot on a lifeguard stand after sunset. To Nolan, perhaps, whose steadiness had started to feel to me like a verdict on how little excitement remained in my life. Or to the younger version of myself I had been chasing in secret for months, the one who thought every summer night ought to end with a daring act and a good story. What I know now is that the dare had nothing to do with fun. It had everything to do with being seen.
Julian tipped his bottle toward me. "Then prove it," he said, smiling as if he were asking me to jump from a dock into deep water. I remember the tiny pause before I answered, the unmistakable opportunity to step away. My sister Tessa was a few feet off, arranging lemonade cups on a folding table. My father was carrying another tray of hamburgers from the kitchen. Beyond Julian's shoulder, I saw Nolan lift the grill lid and look toward us through the smoke. For one fraction of a second, all the consequences seemed to stand in plain sight.
I walked right past them.
I put one hand against Julian's chest, leaned up, and kissed him. It wasn't the accidental brush of lips I later tried to describe, nor the quick, thoughtless greeting I offered as an excuse. I made a choice, held it long enough for the conversation around us to falter, and waited for him to kiss me back. He did. I heard the sharp little sound my mother made, as if she had dropped a fork. Somebody near the picnic table laughed in disbelief, but the laughter died before I moved away.
My cousin Maren's phone was still raised. The speaker on the porch played an old summer song that had been popular when Julian and I were in high school. Tessa said my name, not loudly, but with an urgency I ignored. Julian lowered his head toward mine, wearing the pleased expression of someone who had just won an argument no one else knew was happening. I turned toward the grill because some cruel, unexamined part of me wanted to see whether Nolan had noticed. He had stopped working. The tongs hung at his side, and his face was completely still.
"Brielle," he said. I can still hear the way he spoke my name, without anger and without accusation, as if he needed one second to be certain he was talking to his wife. "Why would you do that?"