“Better!”
I kick with him a few times as we alternate. He smells like boy deodorant and sour-cream chips. And somehow, I’m really into it. Boys are straight-up sorcery.
“So you’ve got straight kicks,” I say. “Let’s try changing directions. It’s just a matter of rotating your hips.”
Mitch fumbles a bit as he tries to change kick directions without steadying himself or taking an extra step.
After a while, he collapses onto the couch, a little out ofbreath, and I plop down beside him.
“That wasn’t so bad!” I say.
“Well, if you count not bad as completely forgetting what the purpose of feet are, I guess I did okay.”
“Let’s take a break from all things dance.” I use the remote to flip through the channels until settling on a marathon ofShark Tankreruns.
“This show is awful.” Mitch shakes his head. “These people come on this show with these awful ideas that they’ve like invested every penny they’ve ever made in, and then that awful bald dude just shuts them down.”
“I love this show. And to be fair,” I say, “that’s not always what happens. Some of these people become millionaires!”
“But most of them leave rejected and knowing they’ve wasted tons of money and energy on a dumb idea like swimsuits for cats.”
“You know,” I tell him, “the idea that cats hate water is a very harmful stereotype about cats, and I reject that.”
He laughs. “I just hate watching people be embarrassed or lose out on something they’d really thrown themselves all in on.”
“I kind of like it. There’s just something about watching other people fail.”
He turns to me but says nothing.
“You’re looking at me like I’m a monster. I’m not a monster, I swear! But we’re all scared of failure, right? Isn’t it comforting to know it happens to everyone?”
“And for some people, on national television.”
I smile. “Well, that’s their gamble. Not mine.”
“Gamble, huh?” he asks, his voice lower now with his gaze fixed on me.
I swallow, but it comes out like a loud gulp.
He leans toward me, not breaking eye contact. “What kind of odds would a guy have if he asked to kiss you?”
I take a deep breath. “I can’t make any promises. But I think the odds would be good.”
His body inches closer to mine as he stretches his arm along the back of the couch. “Still good?” he asks.
I should probably let the moment play out a bit more. But I’ve wanted to kiss him since that day under the bleachers, and I’ve been patient long enough. I don’t wait for him to lean in any farther. I kiss him.
The kiss goes from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds. I pop up onto my knees on the couch and pull his face to meet mine. At first, he lets me take the lead and waits for me to initiate each new touch or deepening of our kiss, but soon he drops the gentleman act and pulls me closer to him.
My whole body is full of heat, and I am lost in this moment. Which is why I gasp and jump back almost a whole foot when my mom and sister come in through the back door.
“We’re home!” my mom calls.
Mitch and I look at each other and share a moment of exhilarated panic. Flushed cheeks. Swollen lips.
Kyla plops down between us. “Why are y’all out of breath?” she asks. “Were you running?”
“Yup,” I tell her. My eyes are locked with Mitch’s overher head. “Just went for a quick run.”
