Excerpt from The Last Boy and Girl in the World by Siobhan Vivian, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

I had her passenger door handle half-open when a pair of hands squeezed my hips. I buckled because I'm super-ticklish and also because of the sheer surprise of Jesse Ford touching me. He snatched my phone away. I tried wrestling it back from him . . . but not with enough force to actually take it, because even though I'd only ever kissed two boys in my lifetime, I wasn't a total dummy.

Fending me off with one hand, Jesse plugged in his phone number with the other and then sent himself a text from my phone so he'd have mine. Then he returned my phone with a wink and shuffled off to catch up with his friends.

I checked my sent messages. He'd written,

Jesse, you are hands down the hottest senior guy. Also charming, funny, and kind to small animals. Can I pretty pretty please have all of your babies?

I steadied myself against Morgan's car and tried to catch my breath.

"What was that about?" Elise asked, one eyebrow curiously raised, as she climbed in.

"Nothing," I said, playing it cool. "Jesse just wanted to ask me something."

Morgan flipped down her visor and adjusted it so she could see into the backseat. "Hey, Elise, did I ever tell you how"—and this was where I started trying to cover Morgan's mouth with my hand, because I knew what she was about to say—"Keeley would make me pretend to be Jesse when we were in middle school? She had a whole scene worked out—dialogue, costumes, and everything."

Elise leaned forward so her head was in the front seat with us. "Umm, why am I only hearing this now?"

Morgan looked at me, her lips pressed together like she was about to burst. Though she wanted to, she wouldn't tell Elise unless I gave her permission. She was that good of a friend.

I wasn't embarrassed for Elise to know. My crush on Jesse Ford wasn't something burning and constant and tortured. Okay, maybe it had been when I was in middle school, but I blame that on the introduction of hormones into my bloodstream. Once I got to high school, it turned into something much quieter, something I hardly thought about beyond silently acknowledging how hot Jesse looked on whatever day, or momentarily wishing I was whichever pretty girl he'd be kissing in the hallway as I walked past them. Because by that time, I had matured enough to understand that Jesse and I would never happen.

As soon as I gave Morgan a nod, she couldn't get the words out fast enough. "Keeley would make me draw on a moustache and get down on one knee with a Ring Pop and beg her to marry me!"

I quickly clarified, "Just remember, Elise, this was middle school. Like, long before either of us had boobs." Because Elise sometimes made little comments about how fun-loving or free-spirited I was, which were all polite versions of immature. Part of me could actually imagine her thinking I still acted this way.

Then I swatted Morgan. "You kind of sucked at it."

"How could you say that?"

Turning to Elise, I explained, "There was no artistry to her performance. I'd have to keep reminding her to talk in a deep voice and—"

"Sorry I'm not as big of a ham as you are!"

"Whatever. I made the best of it. My love of Jesse transcended your awful acting."

Morgan was laughing so hard she could barely get the next question out. "Wait a second! What were the names of your three kids again?"

"Jesse Jr., Jamie, and"—the last name we said together—"baby Juliette."

Elise settled back in her seat and pinned the swoop of her hair with a bobby pin. She'd been growing out her bangs since Christmas. She laughed too, but more out of politeness, respect for a friendship that predated her.

Elise grew up in Hillsdale, where Saint Ann's Church was. Morgan knew her from Sunday school and then teen youth group.

Excerpted from The Last Boy and Girl in the World by Siobhan Vivian. Copyright © 2016 by Siobhan Vivian. Excerpted by permission of Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.