At my house, I feed the cats while Forrest uses the bathroom. I think of the last time he was here, holding his hand as I pulled the cactus needle out of his finger. The look in his eyes. I think he likes me back, and I think that’s what he wants to talk about. The thought floods me with jittering energy.
“Are you hungry?” I ask when he comes back into the kitchen. “We have snacks.”
“I’m good,” he says, leaning on the counter across from me. He looks so effortlessly cool and confident, the way the hoodie falls open across his chest, the way his jeans hug his hips, the sliver of his boxer’s waistband visible above the belt. My cheeks get hot and I look away quickly. I’m thinking about his underwear and he’s standing.Right. There.
“So, um,” I say. “You wanted to talk to me about something?”
“Yeah.”
The kitchen is silent, and after a moment I chance a look at him. He’s staring at the floor, chipping away at the polish on his thumbnail. His scalp is bright red through his curls.
“I...” he says, and goes quiet again. Brekky wanders into the kitchen, his lunch finished, and winds around my legs. I pick him up, just to dosomethingbut he squirms and I let him go.
“So.” Forrest is still chipping at his polish. “I know we started meeting because of the alliance. But it’s been really fun, getting to know you. I think you’re really cool, and smart, and funny.”
I hug myself, to keep from jumping up and down.
“Hanging out with you last week was really great. And at the competition. I really like being around you, and I just wanted to tell you...”
From the other room, the cats’ feet patter as they chase each other, but my eyes are fixed on Forrest. He looks up finally, his face the most serious I’ve ever seen it, hands clasped in front of his chest.
“I like you, Sidney.”
My whole body goes still. The house fades away, and all I see is him.
“You like me, like ...as a person? Or ...?” My voice is squeaky, like I sucked up a bunch of helium.
“Well, yeah, but also, I have a crush on you,” he says, and the Jenga tower in my mind scatters everywhere.
“I like you too,” I say, and his eyes widen.
“For real? Like—like I like you?”
“Yes. Um. Like a crush.” My brain-to-mouth connection is fried by his words. “I have a crush. On you. And I like you as a person. But also as a crush. Oh my god.” I cover my face with my hands.
“Sidney.” I hear footsteps, and gentle fingers wrap around my wrists, pulling them down. Forrest is inches away, staring into my eyes. “You don’t have to hide.”
I stare at him, heart pounding. His hands are still holding mine, and I curl my fingers so we’re squeezing each other’s. He peers down at our grasp and rubs his thumb over the back of my hand. Sparks jolt through my skin.
“Thanks,” I say, because it’s the only word that comes to mind. He’s gazing at me, his eyes a vast meadow, a place where I can finally rest. I look at his mouth, his lips a soft pink, slightly parted.
He speaks. “Can I kiss y—”
“Yes,” I say, nodding vigorously.
He smiles and leans forward, and I watch as his eyes close, dark lashes brushing his cheek, and then his lips are on mine and my eyes close and all I do is feel.
His lip balm tastes like vanilla, our mouths fitting together like they’ve been waiting to do so, all soft pressure and warmth. He presses me back against the counter and my whole body wakes up, those sparks zooming all through me now. I don’t even care that the edge of the counter is digging into my spine, or that Brekky is meowing at us from the floor.
I’ve kissed people before. In seventh grade, at a friend’s birthday party, giggling our way through spin the bottle. At the homecoming dance last year with a girl I had a crush on. For a few months, we’d go to her house and make out—sometimes more than make out—until the day she came to school hand in hand with a girl the grade ahead of us.
I’ve kissed people before, and it was awkward, or fun, or even hot. But this is something different. Forrest likes me back. He’s kissing me because he really wants to.
I hope my breath smells OK. Oh my god, what if it doesn’t?
He pulls back, cheeks red, and I can feel mine are too. I stare at him, blinking. I need to say something, but my thoughts are fuzzy, from the kiss or the sudden anxiety that my breath is actually terrible.
“Sidney?” He tilts his head. “What is it, did my breath stink?”
