I was real into what? What was I doing? Why doesn’t that sound anything like me? Was I really so drunk I was throwing myself at Kel?
People do crazy stuff when they’re drunk; they piss on public streets and flash strangers. They drive drunk and get arrested. But I’ve never really been a confident, outgoing type of person—I still get shy when it comes to kissing guys.
Would the drunk me really be throwing myself at one?
Youhavehad a crush on him forever…
…don’t act like you haven’t fantasized about him a gazillion times.
If there was ONE guy you could lose it to, you KNOW you would’ve picked Kel anyway.
The sharp little voice hisses at me from the back of my mind, reminding me that Ihavethought about me and Kel together plenty of times.
I usually pictured it differently—after he’d asked me to be his girlfriend and in a more romantic setting than blackout drunk after a long night of partying—but does it really matter?
Kel’s taking me out on a date. He’sobviouslyinto me.
“You good?” Kel asks, drawing me out of my thoughts. He squeezes my thigh again and leans closer as if he’s about to kiss me. “Look, if it makes you feel better, I had a few too many too. But don’t worry—I made sure to use protection.”
I’m not sure what comes over me. What makes me do it.
Except that suddenly it’s like I’m watching myself from afar. I’m giving into the little voice whispering in my ear and giving a nod in agreement.
Yes, I’m good, it says.Everything’s fine.
I had sex with Kel Greene—I lost my virginity to him—and now we’re on a date.
It’s worked out like I hoped it would.
We get out of the car and head into the movie theater. The place is more packed than usual for a Thursday night.
The lobby smells like butter and the generic air freshener the vents blow out every few seconds. Kel steers me through the crowd with his hand on my lower back, making it difficult to change direction.
It’s a gesture of possessiveness, like he’s acknowledging we’re together now.
My heart should flutter in joy, but the weird feeling in my stomach wins out. It hasn’t gone anywhere.
“Let’s sit in the back,” he says once we’ve got our tickets. “Corner seats are the best.”
They’re not though. I hate sitting all the way back in the corner where the screen looks distorted and you have to crane your neck. I like the middle, about halfway up, where everything’s perfectly proportioned.
But his hand’s still on my back, guiding as if it’s already decided, and my mouth won’t form the words to object.
It’s as if I’m afraid to ruin what we’ve established. I don’t want to rock the boat too hard. Not as Kel’s finally taking me out.
We settle into our seats as the lights dim. He’s got a massive tub of popcorn balanced on the armrest between us, already shoving handfuls into his mouth, crunching so loud I can hear it over the previews.
I pull my sweater sleeves down over my hands and try to concentrate on the screen.
The theater goes dark as the final previews play along with a message about silencing cell phones.
The Marvel logo appears, finally putting me a little more at ease.
Spiderman’s always been my favorite. Something about Peter Parker being this awkward kid who suddenly gets powerhe doesn’t know how to handle and then learning how to become a hero in his own right is appealing.
Relatable, except for the superhero part.
On screen, he’s web-slinging between buildings, cracking jokes, saving people. Nobody’s laughing at Spiderman when he falls.
