Alex

I can’t get yesterday out of my head.

The atmosphere, the scenery, the sunlight. Her hand…

Dammit, I can’t wait to see her today.

But I’m also scared shitless.

I have no idea how to go about this.

I’ve never had to think twice about this before, it’s always been guys, it’s always been easy. It’s always been simple. We like each other, we flirt for a time, then one of us asks the other out. I’ve always been upfront with this. The guys I’ve dated have never been subtle with this.

But she’s… quiet. Shy. Friendly or flirty, I can’t tell.

I hate this ambiguity.

I never thought second-guessing every single interaction I have with someone would ever be a part of my daily life.

I just want to kiss her. And touch her. And hold her. I want to know the taste of her. How can this be simultaneously so simple and so complicated?

I fantasized about her last night. I hadn’t masturbated in a while, and it was relieving, but now that the night’s passed I’m back to feeling just as tense. And conflicted.

I just wish some moments didn’t feel so loaded.

Or so light.

I don’t know what I want, or rather I know too well. It’s what to do I’m unsure about.

______________

“Same difference.”

I glare at Gabi over her book. She looks impressively unimpressed, as she always does.

“Feelings are rarely univocal,” she continues, “and desires have nuances. Do you want to go out with her or do you want to have sex with her as friends?”

“I don’t knooooow,” I whine. She shoots me a look. Deadpan stare, one eyebrow raised, mocking mouth: it’s the No Bullshit look . I can’t compete with that. “...I want to go out with her.”

“Then ask her out.”

“What if -”

She immediately cuts me off. “ Avec des si, on mettrait Paris en bouteille .”

“Stop sassing me in French,” I say, pouting.

“Then stop finding excuses for yourself. You’re just scared she’ll say yes.”

“I’m not -” Gabi shoots me another one of her looks, and I know better than to keep going with this. “I’ve never been with a girl before.”

She sighs, closes her book and puts it next to her lunch. “It’s really not that different.”

“It is , though. What if I really just want to be friends? What if I’m confused? What if I gross her out? What if people stare? What if -”

“Putting the cart before the oxes will bring you nowhere, so slow down . The only important question you should be asking yourself is whether it’s worth taking the risks or not.”

“It’s oxen ,” I point out.

“English is ridiculous and that’s not my point,” she counters.

“French is ridiculous.”

Gabi tsks, then unwraps her sandwich and bites. “Also not my point,” she says around her lunch. Unable to come up with a better counterpoint to her counterpoint, I settle for dropping my face onto the table and letting out a pitiful groan.

I am so mature.

“Did she die?” Jess asks Gabi as she sits down, closely followed by Carla who, in usual Carla fashion, settles with her butt on the table. Then Amina turns up and sits next to me, the only one to pat my shoulder in empathetic sympathy.

“I wish,” Gabi says, and chatting chaos is quickly unleashed. I have no choice but to participate, if only to steer my mind away from a certain breathtaking girl sitting in a certain immense tree, fingers dancing with me.

______________

English class is hell, as usual. I spend most of it thinking about our choreography for the upcoming game while pretending not to care whether Nancy would find it impressive. Will she be there? Would she come if I asked? This could be my chance to - or not. There will be hundreds of people there, I can’t just - it’d be way too public, Nancy would be embarrassed for sure, and what if she says no? Then I would be embarrassed. And the football crowd’s… well. They tend not to be the most civilized.

Should I ask her if she’d come? Would it be too obvious? Maybe she’s planned on coming already, maybe I don’t even need to ask her. But she doesn’t really like sports.

Elliot elbows me in the ribs, making me lose my train of thoughts. “What was that for?” I hiss, massaging my ribs and pretending they hurt.

“Your notes are gibberish,” he whispers back, nodding towards my desk. I follow his line of sight and sure enough, I can only read a few words scattered about in a mess of wavy lines and mysterious scribbles. And even these hardly make sense.

“What the hell is hypotyposis supposed to mean?”

Elliot pats my shoulder and shakes his head, barely managing not to laugh. “It means you’re gonna borrow my notes.”

I glance at the sheet he has in front of him, sighing. Elliot’s notes are always flawless. Even the doodles in the margin always complement the lesson perfectly... except today, most of them seem to look suspiciously like hearts; not cute ones, mind you, but stylized versions of real, science-accurate hearts, surrounded by various patterns and symbols only Elliot knows the key to. I turn to raise an eyebrow at him. When he notices me looking, his skin turns 50% redder.

“Called it.”

“Shut up,” he groans, but he’s got a sappy smile all over his face. I grin at him, then attempt to shift my focus to whatever Mr. Oliver is saying. There’s no point, though, and the class ends before I can manage to understand anything worthy of being noted down. I barely wait until we’re out the door to grab Elliot by the arm.

“So?” I urge him.

“So what?” He says, the little shit. As if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. I nudge him in the stomach - retaliation for earlier.

“ So you got the boy?” I say, wiggling my eyebrows at him. He pushes my face away with his hand, somehow managing to sound exasperated around his big, goofy smile.

“You’re creepy.”

“At least I’m not the one being all sappy and floating in my little bubble of love like you.”

He shoots me a look. “Oh yeah?” he says, smile taking on a mocking edge. “You sure about that?”

“Wh - I don’t! What!” I can only look at him in horror as the words refuse to form, feeling way too much like I’ve just been caught stealing something from the store. Or sneaking some chocolate from the kitchen’s closet. Or borrowing one of my dad’s ties. Except Elliot is not my dad, and he’s looking way too smug right now. “Don’t change the subject, you sneaky bastard.”

“Remind me again who’s the one changing the subject?” He sing-songs, so I poke him in the stomach. “Hey!”

“Stop stalling and tell me how it went!”

“Okay, okay!” He throws his hands up. “But then we have to talk about Nancy. And no fleeing allowed.”

“There’s nothing to say, but sure,” I say, stubborn. Maybe if I deny it enough he’ll just drop the matter. It’s a thin chance, but I’m willing to try it.

We make our way to the GSA room, which is always empty at this time of day, and Elliot tells me everything.

______________

“Sasha was acting weird - Elliot said he was, I quote, ‘restless’ - so he asked if he wanted to work outside instead - since he didn’t want to confess at school - and Sasha agreed. So they went to the small park on Wilston Street, looked for a good spot, some quiet, and they were sitting down when Sasha said he had to tell Elliot something. Then he confessed. And Elliot said he laughed, because what was the chance, right? He was sure there was no way Sasha would do it. But he did. And then Elliot asked him out, which Sasha had forgotten to do after he’d confessed, and - as you already know - he said yes. And then they kissed! The End.”

“Or the Beginning,” Nancy says, fond and smiling. I grin back.

“Maybe more of a continuation, but it sure will be nice not to have to suffer through their pining every hour of the day.”

“Very true,” she says, laughing.

I don’t tell her about the other conversation I had with Elliot, the one he refused to give up on until I’d spilt my guts to him and he was looking at me with a fairly equal amount of both understanding and exasperation. It appears, according to him, that I am the most oblivious human being he’s ever seen (as if he could talk). He told me that if he’d been able to ask his own idiot out, then so should I.

I wish it were that easy.

‘Do as I say, not as I do,’ mom always says. It’s so much easier to preach something than to actually apply what you preach to your own life. My hands are sweating, for fuck’s sake. It is ridiculous - but also completely out of my control.

“So, by the way… Are you going to the game?” I try and ask as naturally as I can.

“Of course,” she says, matter-of-fact, after taking a sip of her juice. “I always do.”

Well, that was easy.

“Really? I thought you didn’t like sports?”

“Uh, I… enjoy watching?” She is smiling, neither gentle nor amused but shy, and the way she avoids my eyes makes her look almost guilty. I have no idea what to make of that.

“You say that like it’s a dirty secret, but I’m pretty sure it’s the same for everyone, you know.”

She snorts, and leans back into her chair. Somehow my poor attempt at a joke kind of worked. “Are you implying that I’m an everyone , Alex Wallen?”

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you implying you aren’t, Nancy Campbell-Park?”

“Well, it depends of the scale,” she says with a shining smile, and takes another sip of her juice. “If you’re talking large scale, then sure. But I’d hope I’m not an everyone to you - not anymore.”

“You weren’t.” The words are out before I can think. “I mean, hm, before I hit you in PE. I knew who you were, even if you didn’t -”

“I knew who you were too, Alex, everyone at school knows your name.” It’s said with ease and a humorous eye roll, but something in it sounds strained. “But what’s in a name, right? I’m glad I got - or I should say, I’m glad I’m getting to know the woman behind yours.”

Uh.

Is it the use of woman ? It feels like I just got punched in the stomach.

“Th - thanks. It, uhm, it means a lot coming from you.” I’m smiling way too hard, but I don’t really care. I kinda want to run a marathon right now. “I’m glad I’m getting to know you too.”

She smiles. “You know, the circumstances were far from ideal, but I’d been wanting to talk to you for quite a while, when you threw that ball at me.”

“I’m so sorry about that... I swear it wasn’t intentional, even if I’m enjoying the results in the end.”

“It… was not great, as far as approaches go - but I’m really glad it happened, too.”

We share a cheeky smile. She’s the first to break eye contact, and I swear her cheeks are pinker than usual - or is it just wishful thinking? I’m dying to do something, anything, to try and make her blush darker. Something like - but no, no, this is neither the time nor the place. Elliot and Sasha will be here soon.

“So, Sasha,” I say instead, “what did he tell you?”

She smiles, eyes taking a malicious but loving shine. “He texted us - Ibrahim and me - on our convo as soon as he got home. He couldn't believe it,” she laughs. “Ibrahim was ecstatic. He’s been rooting for them even more than me, I think.”

“I don't know him well, but can't say I’m surprised.”

She rolls her eyes, grinning. “He’s ridiculous . But he’s also the best.”

“Talking about me?” a voice calls out, and sure enough Elliot and Sasha are standing right next to us - holding hands until they sit. Sasha looks starstruck, but Elliot is positively beaming.

“Hi,” Sasha says. “Sorry we’re late.”

“Oh, I’m sure they don't mind,” Elliot chides, looking very smugly at me, mischievous grin saying way more than it should. I elbow him in the ribs. “Hey!”

“ Anyway ,” I say, turning to Sasha, “it’s nice of you to join us. I’m sure Elliot wanted to keep you all to himself, can't have been easy to drag him here.”

He laughs, a little awkwardly, but Nancy doesn't let him squirm too much before chiming in.

“Especially considering all the time it took you both to figure it out.”

“Luckily for me, I had the help of the best friend ever,” Sasha says then, smiling at her.

“True,” she nods. “And I didn't even tell you that I’d told you so, even though I definitely told you so.”

“Not you too!” Sasha groans. I glance at Elliot, and he’s got the goofiest smile ever. “Ibrahim did it enough for the both of you.”

“Even if he hadn't, Alex’s said it enough for three anyway.”

“Hey!” I push Elliot’s shoulder, scandalized. “I did not !”

“You totally did! Five times! I counted .”

I scoff, and Nancy laughs. I would be mad at her, but honestly I don't have it in me. She looks too good laughing for me to do anything else but stare.

“You’re drooling,” Elliot whispers, smiling his crooked smile, and I kick his ankle.

“Shut up, you corny, oblivious, love-blinded dork . You’ve been looking at Sasha like he’s the sun for years .”

This makes Sasha choke on his drink, and Elliot shoots me a murderous glare. Nancy, on the other hand, immediately asks for details that I, obviously, am more than happy to provide.

“Well -” I start, but Elliot immediately interrupts.

“Oh no you don't ! Continue that sentence and I’m spilling all the dirt I’ve got on you, and believe me when I say I’ve got more than you.”

I immediately raise my hands in surrender and admit my defeat. “Sorry, can't risk it,” I say to Nancy, grinning in spite of myself, “I’ve got too much too lose.”

“That’s okay, I understand,” she says, eyes shining with barely contained laughter and god, she’s beautiful.

“Oh?” Elliot pries, leaning in, “Sasha got some dirt on you too, then? That’s unexpected!”

Sasha leans in then, looking at his boyfriend with the devil’s smile. “You guys have no idea - Nancy’s freaking wild .”

She snorts and shakes her head at him, ponytail swinging with the movement, but she’s grinning almost as deviously as he is. “Don't give them the wrong idea, you’ve just known me for too long.” She turns to me then, grin taking a sheepish glint. “I’ve done a lot of stupid stuff in middle school.”

“To be fair, everyone’s fucking dumb in middle school,” I say, and Elliot laughs.

“Oh god, don’t even mention it. I can't believe I thought I was straight for so long,” he says, rolling his eyes at himself.

“You did?” Sasha pries, and Elliot sighs like it’s the most tragic thing in the entire universe.

“You don't want to know.”

Nancy nods at him then, sympathetic and… knowing? I don’t have the time to wonder about her look, though, because then she speaks.

“Don't worry, I’ve been there,” she says, and it takes everything I have to unclench my hands around my glass before it breaks, because this is where I know whether I actually have a chance. “Trying to date guys was the most embarrassing decision I’ve ever taken,” she continues, visibly cringing at the memory. “Being in the closet is not something I will ever miss.”

Sasha snickers, and I’m vaguely aware that Elliot is telling some kind of embarrassing story about his closeted years, but my attention is entirely focused on Nancy and the implications of what she just said. Her skin is darker than usual around her neck and cheekbones, and she’s fidgeting with her straw as she listens to Elliot’s story - how he ran away from his first kiss with a boy because it felt so weird compared to when he’d kissed girls, I know the story -, and then she laughs again, vibrant and true. And fuck me , she has dimples. I didn't think I could notice more cute things about her, but she has dimples . When she laughs.

“You -” the word is out of my mouth before I can figure out what I meant to add to it. “You're not straight,” I blurt out, because the only other option I can think to say is You’re beautiful and there’s no way I’m saying this with anyone else around.

“Well, no, I... I’m gay. You didn't know?” she says, looking surprised and hesitant. I’m still staring. It feels like something’s stuck in my throat, and I try to cough it out. It doesn't work.

“I, uh, I didn't, actually.”

“Oh.”

“What about you, Alex?” Sasha asks then, and it takes me a second to process what he means. It doesn't help me much, though.

“Ah, uh - erm. I’m - I… don't know?”

Elliot doesn't turn to look at me, but there’s no mistaking it from the way he sounds. The asshole’s grinning. “Oh really? Three months ago you seemed pretty sure you were strictly heterosexual. I wonder what could have possibly changed your mind?”

I make the mistake to glance at Nancy before I answer his taunt. She’s looking at me with a curiosity she’s very obviously trying to downplay - poorly, but it’s still cute. Pretty sure my whole face is on fire.

“Nothing. I just realized I might be interested in girls too is all,” I lie into my milkshake. Elliot scoffs. I kick his ankle.

Nancy

Sasha and Elliot are positively glowing. They look so happy and calm now, as if something had finally lifted from their shoulders. Where once there were tensions, secrets, a space neither of them felt they could bridge, now stands a cover of peace that fills even the physical space their bodies cannot take up. It is appeasing to be around them, the way it is to sit in the sun and feel the warmth slowly seep into your flesh from up and far away. Like a dream made reality... which in many ways it is.

They don’t stay forever, though, and soon Alex and I are on our own again. It’s fine. It’s more than fine, really. We stay there talking our bodies out as if we could never run out of things to share. We talk about our favorite stories and make up twists on famous fairytales, we try to figure out what makes parents so like children sometimes, and we wonder about what it means that soon we’ll wear the name ‘adult’ on the amount of years we’ve lived like a goal, like a morning star we’ll probably attempt to reach before we can fully comprehend its meaning. We picture ourselves as characters we know too well and professions we barely spell. We explore the subject of siblings: the oddly singular jealousy, the comparisons, the fights, and how strangely she misses all of them; the emptiness that sometimes fills up home when she is reminded that someone left, that someone took a piece away, that Adrianna is building a life somewhere she doesn’t know, somewhere she barely caught a glimpse of when they all helped her move in a studio - which she doesn’t even live in anymore.

We talk about fathers, we talk about mothers - the differences, the similarities, the love. We talk about nights with crying hands pressed into ears, tears big like comets as we beg to turn deaf from the anger next door. We talk about ruptures. We talk about comfort. We hold each other’s hands. At some point we went back to Redhill park, to the tree we consecrated as a place of confessions, laughter, and tears. There, we bask in our intimacy.

Everything seems dire when you’re a teenager. Every frustration is felt like the end of the world. Some blame the hormones, I prefer the future. Alex thinks it’s a strange mixture of both. We joke about our dramatics. When the atmosphere is still light but the evening is near, we go home. She rides on the back of my bicycle, and when I drop her off I say “good- bi” , so she says “good gay ”. We snicker like little kids.

It feels like the end of a date.

______________

[To: Alex] Today was fun! I’m glad we got to hang out with the two lovebirds.

[From: Alex] totally!

[From: Alex] i mean we had to celebrate at this pt

[To: Alex] Agreed. See you tomorrow?

[From: Alex] wanna have lunch 2gther?

[From: Alex] the girls r busy and ellie will be w/ sasha

[From: Alex] i dont wanna eat alone ;(

[To: Alex] Sure! I’d love that.

[From: Alex] you’re the best!

[From: Alex] good night Nancy

[To: Alex] Good night, Alex.

Alex

Cheer practice is always crazy the week before a game. Coach wants us there every day, as soon as we get out of class. She’s way too scary for anyone to be late, but somehow I manage to forget, and for ten excruciating minutes I think she’s going to kick me off the team. She makes me run twenty laps.

I blame Nancy.

She had no business running into me after class with her blue-black hair flying as wild as her smile, and with none of my friend around to get me moving. Of course I froze. Of course I stared. I’m just glad I was still able to form words at this point, to be honest. Worst thing is, there wasn’t even anything different with her. She looked and sounded just the same. Yet… It must be the lighting. I don’t know what it was about the sun at that moment, but she was standing right next to a big window and the way the light poured from outside just straight up made her glow . It was like looking at a full moon, when the light it reflects outshines every single star for miles and miles of the dark blue sky. Every thought of practice just flew right out of my head. There was just Nancy, arguing about Star Wars, and there was me, trying to keep up with the points of her argument when her presence overwhelmed every one of my senses. Electricity was spreading through my veins like wildfire. It was crazy - until all of a sudden Nancy asked where my friends were, and reality came crashing down on me like a bucket of cold water.

If anything though, I’m thankful for the crazy amount of practice sessions we’re forced to get. Cheers is the best outlet of all, and boy do I have a lot of bottled energy to express. When I’m practicing, everything fades but my body - our bodies. There is no mind, only reflexes, muscles and skin. The choreography is in my bones and flesh. There is only to do . Stay focused and let your body does what it knows best. Keep an eye out for mistakes. Be reactive.

If I could be as sure of myself with bodies as I am with people, everything would be so much simpler.

I would walk up to Nancy and ask her out. No unnecessary questions, no aching desires, no thinking .

She would either say yes or no, and whichever answer she’d give would be honest and kind, because that’s just the way she is.

I wouldn’t be afraid.

I wouldn’t chicken out.

I wouldn’t play countless scenarios in my head.

Boring , Gabi’s voice says in my head. I can’t help but remember that Nancy said something similar on the day we started to talk.

“I never feel more alive than when I’m out of my comfort zone.”

How long has it been now? A month? Is it normal that I don’t remember the date? It doesn’t feel like just a month. It feels like years, one at the very least. It feels like barely three seconds.

What was it that Gabi said? “Feelings are not rational” - something like this, but wordier probably.

I wish humans were as simple as biology makes them out to be. I guess ‘simple’ isn’t the right word - logical, then. I wish there was a way to predict and explain all those weird things no one really seems to be fazed by. Like, why do even people who hate rain enjoy singing I’m singing in the rain , or why do we all so desperately want to believe that there’s someone else out there, be it aliens or gods, and why is it that smiling makes a person shine brighter? What chemical reactions can explain our fascination with the sky? What rational processes have led to my parents pretending to be in love for twenty years? What sort of neural connections decide whether this person’s a bully or a victim?

Is there even an answer? Objective or subjective, whichever. I’m not picky, I just want one - or three extra hours of practice.

I’m still tangled in what ifs when the day of the game finally comes.

Nancy

It’s odd, how intense this particular game feels. However acutely aware I am of the fact that it’s all really inside of my head, I cannot help but feel this energy coming off of the crowd. As if we were all breathing together. I don’t know any of them, and chances are they don’t know me, either. Not the way you know someone anyway - we are just faces to each other, clichés and voices with nothing true to fill them up. Yet we are gathered, and in my chest I cannot help but feel we share the same sense of anticipation.

The stakes are up.

I wonder if Alex feels it too. I wonder if she knows.

I have gone to most games since freshman year. The first time, it had been because Sasha hadn’t wanted to go alone, and we barely made it in time. I’d been expecting noise, rowdiness, and boredom. What I had gotten was noise, rowdiness, and an unexpected amount of fun. The crowd had been overwhelming and the game confusing, but over it all somehow I could hear the sound of my heartbeat drumming in union with my running thoughts, for once in harmony. It hadn’t been comfortable, really, but it had been fun. It had been wild. So when another game had come up and Sasha had been busy, I’d convinced Ibrahim to come with. I have to admit, though, that no matter how fun the games’ atmosphere was, well - not unlike Sasha, the cheerleaders had a lot to do with my being drawn back to the stadium every time.

The first time I saw them perform, I felt attraction in a way I had never allowed myself to feel before.

It’s weird, how I’d never thought about it before. I had all those vague thoughts of softness and cute dates, but here were girls with thunder in their thighs and eyes full of flames and a storm in their voices, and suddenly everything made sense.

I was breath-taken.

______________

Today the game feels like a tide receding, each outburst of the crowd or figure of the cheer team a wave after a wave after a wave, and they keep drawing back, further and further still, until the game is over and the final wave draws back in the same second the crowd erupts, and I yell with them all, and I am overwhelmed. I’m almost sure we won.

Our cheer team strides into the field one last time, and my heartbeat misses. I am desynchronized. Suddenly there is a crowd and in the middle of it is me, and across the bleachers she stands. Strong, tall and beautiful. Moving. Focused.

My choice is already made, but this is my last chance to give up.

I don’t.

When the game is over and the bleachers start to spill their humongous sea of people, I let myself be carried away with it. The air tastes like greasy hot dogs and sweat. The late morning sun sheds a strange light on the harsh white walls and the asphalt glistens, throwing flashes through my pupils every time I turn my head. Somebody’s shoulder bumps into me and I hurry to the side, out of the crowd. From what I remember Alex telling me, the cheer team’s changing room is somewhere on the right from the exit.

The door is easy to find. It’s pink, because how else can you insist on the fact that this is a girl’s changing room. Surely the sign that spells GIRL’S CHANGING ROOM and the pictogram of a person wearing a dress aren’t enough. Where does Elliot go to change, anyway? With the football team? He is well-liked by everyone, after all, so maybe he does. Maybe my opinion on footballers is prejudiced.

There is laughter coming from the other side of the door. Shrieking. Shouts and words. Classic cheerleading changing room, as pictured as in every American high school movie ever. Except probably not. There are probably way more muscle and period pads and tampons and bruises than these movies are comfortable showing. Less white people, too - but that’s not just a high school movies problem.

The coach’s voice booms suddenly and all laughing stops, and my heart jumps out of my ribcage. I stumble a few steps away from the pink door. My hands are shaking, so I bury them in the pockets of my dress. Dad helped me choose it. It’s comfortable and just an inch more formal than what I usually wear, and it “brings out the blue shine” in my hair. I must have worn that dress three times at most, but dad remembered it. I had forgotten it even existed.

The door bursts open.

Jess is first, arm draped around the shoulders of an unknown face. She shoots me a look I don’t have the time to decipher. Three other girls follow, then Carla comes out with her eyes glued to her phone. Amina is next. She waves at me, and I wave back.

When Alex comes out, Gabi tells her to look left with a smirk. She turns. She stops. Gabi says something I don’t hear but then she’s gone, and all the others are too. I don’t know which one of us smiles first. They are nervous, awkward smiles, but it feels nice. To see her so nervous. To share, for a second, this mutual “ don’t worry I’m scared too” grin.

“You were great,” I say. “On the field, I mean. That jump was really impressive.” For once her hair is loose, and it falls on her shoulder with a slight wave. She is wearing a black t-shirt and shorts, and I’m very careful not to look at her legs.

“Thanks. I almost fucked it up, but Jess corrected it.” She brings a hand to the back of her neck and leaves it here, laughing a little. “You look cute, by the way. Hm, that dress, I, uh, haven’t seen you wear it before.”

My hands are getting sweatier by the second. “Thank you,” I say, grinning through the nerves. We both know what is going to happen. When, on the other hand, remains a mystery. Hopefully sometime before tomorrow. “You look hot.”

She blushes. We both do, really.

I take a couple steps forward.

“...Thanks,” she croaks out.

A moment passes where we both stare, speechless, waiting for the other to speak first. To move first. We know what we are waiting for. We know this is the time, the place, the us. The space in-between is fleeting. Then suddenly a breath, shaking, drawled out, like a rubber snapping. We both speak at the same time.

“Do you want to -”

“Would you -”

There is a silence and we laugh, just a little. The tension crumbles down and the space shrinks. We stand there, smiling. She lets me speak first.

“Yes,” I say.

She breathes out a laugh. “Same here.”

“Good.”

I’m smiling like a goof. She nods.

“Good.”

Another silence. The space shrinks, pulls us in like magnets. She has freckles sprinkled on her nose, along the curve of her cheekbones. Summer blossoms.

“Can I kiss you?”

We do. It is soft and wet and I never want to stop.

______________

“That was my first kiss,” I say, later, when we are sitting at the foot of our tree, holding hands and sharing kisses with the tastes of our milkshakes.

“It was my first gay kiss,” she says.

“Is it different?”

“Than guys?” She lets her eyes wander up to the branches of the tree. “Not really. You don’t wear lipstick.”

“I don’t.”

She looks back down at me, smiling. “It’s always better when I like the person, though.”

I grin. “I’m glad my first kiss was with you then.”

She laughs a little, and leans down. Her lips taste like caramel ice cream.

No routine was ever worth giving this up.