Kissing syndrome

My heart did this weird fluttery, painful thing, like a trapped bird trying to beat its way out of my chest. It happened sometimes, out of the blue. And the only cure? A kiss from Noah freaking Evans, my nemesis since birth.

One minute we'd be locked in a death glare, the next I'd be clutching his shirt, tears welling up, begging, "Please, Noah, just one kiss."

He'd raise an eyebrow, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "Any kind of kiss?" he'd ask, all teasing and infuriating.

See, Noah and I had this rivalry that went back to diapers. Our dads, best friends turned bitter rivals, had this ongoing competition about, well, everything. Grades, sports, jobs, even whose lawn was greener. When Noah and I came along, we became the next generation of competitors. If I didn’t beat Noah at something, my dad signed me up for extra tutoring. So, yeah, Noah Evans was the reason I never had a summer vacation.

The day our SAT scores came out, my dad was ecstatic. I’d gotten a 1550, a sure shot at getting into Stanford. I was pretty pumped too, mostly because I’d overheard Noah complaining about bombing the test. Finally, sweet freedom! No more Noah Evans in my life.

My dad called Mr. Evans, laying on the faux sympathy thick. "Hey, John, heard Noah got his scores back too. Gosh, Sarah didn't do as well as we hoped, just a 1550. Looks like Stanford for her."

Mr. Evans' booming voice came through the speakerphone. "1550? Oh, that's…disappointing. Let me see, Noah just got his… what was it again, son? My memory isn't what it used to be."

A bored voice answered, "1570."

"Right, 1570. Well, I guess he didn't do so hot either. Stanford it is, then." He sounded so smug it made my teeth grind.

I furiously texted Noah.

Me: "You said you bombed it! You liar!"

Me: (gif of a chihuahua breathing fire)

NotSoSouthernBoy: "Anything under 1600 is bombing it."

NotSoSouthernBoy: "Gotta go. See ya at Stanford."

I could practically see him, lounging back in his chair, a smirk plastered on his face. Why? Why couldn’t I escape him?

The good news was, even though we were at the same college, he was pre-law and I was English Lit. Different campuses, miles apart. A month into the semester, I’d barely seen him. Bliss.

Then came the basketball game.

"OMG, guys! There's a game tonight, Comp Sci versus Pre-Law. Guess who’s playing?" Chloe squealed, waving her phone.

Amy, always up for some gossip, chimed in, "Who? Is he cute?"

Olivia, our resident cool girl, raised an eyebrow. "Judging by Chloe's reaction, it’s gotta be Noah Evans. She's been stalking his social media ever since he became a campus heartthrob."

Chloe giggled. "I appreciate all cute guys. So, are we going or what?"

"Sure, why not?" Amy and Olivia agreed instantly.

"Sarah, you in?" Chloe turned to me.

I was about to say absolutely not when a robotic voice echoed in my head.

Debuff: Angina. Countdown: 30 minutes.

Cure: Kiss Noah Evans for 5 seconds.

What the… Was this some kind of sick joke?

A kiss? W...