The assistant got agitated again. “I sent him away!” she lied to save face.
“I’m guessing you gained some respect for once, Miss Kavanagh.” She looked at us desperately.
“All right, let’s try it. Go on. Quickly. I don’t care about the lines. Recite it now.” The teacher was getting impatient.
“Wait, what do we have to do?” William looked more confused than I was.
“Act one, scene five! Let’s go!”
I leafed through the pages as William came within an inch of my chest and started reading.
“‘If I profane with my unworthiest hand
“‘This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this:
“‘My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
“‘To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.’”
Kiss? What were we reading?
“Um.” I cleared my throat. “‘Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
“‘Which mannerly devotion shows in this,
“‘For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,
“‘And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.’”
“‘Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?’” asked William.
“‘Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer,’” I mumbled, embarrassed.
“‘O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do.
“‘They pray; grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.’”
I didn’t understand every single line—Shakespeare was a bit convoluted for my taste—but William was really good. He was convincing, and the way he looked at me made my stomach do flips.
“‘Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake,’” I added.
“‘Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take.’”
William lowered his chin and leaned in to give me a soft kiss on the lips.
“‘Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged,’” he whispered.
Our eyes locked, and our breath became intertwined. “‘Then have my lips the sin that they have took.’”
With his lips barely touching mine, he said his last line. “‘Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged!
“‘Give me my sin again.’”
This time we kissed for real. It was a kiss with tongue and swollen lips.
The teacher coughed to interrupt us, inviting us to go on.
I had the last line.
