— Georgia xxx P.S. Angus the cat just walked over my notebook and sat on the “lip balm” section. That’s a sign. Probably.

Then Jas, who is secretly a genius disguised as a girl who collects ceramic frogs, said: “What if we reverse-engineer it? We spy on couples who are good snoggers and take notes.”

Right. Listen. My life is officially over. More over than Mum’s attempt to serve “gourmet” cat-food pâté on crackers for Dad’s work do.

But how? I’ve practiced on my pillow (Mr. Fluffy, who now smells of toothpaste and despair), and I’ve studied Romeo + Juliet on DVD until the menu screen burned into my retinas. Still. Zero actual lip-to-lip action with an actual boy who isn’t my cousin’s friend Tom (disaster—he laughed because I opened one eye).

So I texted the Ace Gang.

“Jas,” I said, “I don’t want organic yoghurt. I want a moment . A cinematic, rain-drizzled, eyebrow-touch moment.”