“Have you ever told anyone?” I ask.
“No. Not because I’m afraid to, but I’ve never seen the point. It’s not like I’ve ever had a boyfriend.”
“Me neither,” I say. “I mean, duh, that’s obvious. I’ve never had a relationship with boy or girl.”
“I’ve never kissed anyone,” the stranger admits.
Those four words wash me in relief. “Same,” I say. “I know practically everyone our age has, but I’ve just never had the chance. Or found someone I like that way.”
“Even though I have no interest in dating,” the stranger says, “sometimes I wish…you know…”
“Yeah?” I breathe.
“You must know what I’m referring to,” he says, sounding shy again. “The hormones and everything… sometimes I wish I could shut my urges off like a switch.”
I laugh, but realising how it could come across, I sober up immediately. “I completely understand,” I say. “It would be nice to kiss a guy. And to touch him. And…”
Of course, I’ve thought about it. Every teenager thinks about sex several times a day.
“I do feel kinda insecure about it,” I confess. “All of my friends have lost their virginity. Not that I think it’s a race or anything, but…”
“It’s fine to be a virgin. I am,” the stranger says.
“And you don’t feel…embarrassed about it?”
“Nope. I’ve got bigger things to worry about.”
I wish I could be as confident as he is. Even when he goes a bit shy, he still speaks openly. I’m being honest too, of course, but there’s no way I could speak like this out there with the lights on and people’s eyes on me.
I shift my legs. “I’ve got pins and needles,” I say, and my leg accidentally touches him. I jerk it away. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay.”
“You know, I, uh… I’m really glad I met you, whoever you are.”
He lets out a huff of laughter.
“Seriously,” I continue. “I’ve never talked like this with someone else before.”
“I’m glad I met you, too,” he says. “Honestly, this is the first deep conversation I’ve had in a long time.”
I smile at that, even though he can’t see. I don’t regret coming to this party anymore.
There’s a rustle as he moves. “It’s a bit cramped in here,” he says.
“‘A bit?’” I tease.
He pulls his legs in, but that must be uncomfortable because he stretches them out again. One of his legs is right next to mine. They’re not pressed together, but his pants are definitely touching my pants. He’s a lot less aware of contact than I am because he doesn’t wrench his leg away immediately the way I would.
Should I move my leg? I should. This guy’s a stranger, and I’m only physical with my best friends — hugs, slaps, wrestling, and all that.
I should move my leg.
I don’t. He’s not. It’s not a big deal. And the body warmth emanating from him is pleasant.
“You have a nice voice,” I blurt out.
He’s silent a moment. “It’s half gone,” he replies. “After shouting all night.”
