“Then you haven’t been paying very close attention.”
I settle into the feeling of him holding me, of everyone who loves me holding on to me, keeping me here, giving me the space on this planet I never thought I was allowed.
And with that last thought, I have an idea.
Chicky
I LEARN, IN the next fifteen minutes, how much two people can say without words.
Junior and I don’t talk much, but that’s because the rest of our bodies are busy. Arms learning the weight of arms, feet learning the rhythm of stepping together, faces learning how little space can be between them before both people combust.
I know what I want, but knowing isn’t the same as doing, and I’m a little afraid I won’t be able to. That maybe the scared feeling I used to have will come back when I least expect it and ruin everything.
But what I find in my heart, as he casually brushes a tiny desert beetle off the back of my shirt, isn’t something new and uncertain. It isn’t something that makes me afraid. It’s like all the while our friendship has been this plant in full leaf, green and vibrant and special on its own, but in the last few days it’s burst into dazzling bloom.
The roots are still there, and the sturdy stalk, the leaves that unfurled as we grew up together. But these blossoms are here now, too, bright and full and absolutely gorgeous. Maybe I needed them all together before I could be ready.
It’s with this feeling, this certainty, that I step closer, pressing myself against Junior, fitting my chin right into the space between his neck and shoulder as we sway inexpertly back and forth.
He lets out this little contented sound, and then coughs like he didn’t mean to do it out loud. I hide my smile in his shoulder, not teasing for once, because I feel just the same way.
Over his shoulder I can see the rest of the dance floor, and something catches in my heart when I see Lita, looking at Cole like he’s a field of fireflies lighting up just as dusk falls. How did it take her so long to see what was right in front of her?
As Junior clears his throat, I realize maybe I don’t really have a leg to stand on in that department.
I pull back a little, wanting to tell him about Lita and Cole, but there’s a look in his eyes that keeps me quiet.
“Chicky,” he says, his voice the kind of formal that tells me he’s nervous again.
“Junior,” I reply, equally formal. But he doesn’t smile.
“Remember when you asked me who I’d be if I could be anyone?”
“Yeah, you mean right before Cole punched Royce and I came out to the whole school?”
“Ha-ha, right,” he says haltingly, and it occurs to me that he’s practiced what he’s about to say, to the point where improvisation isn’t really an option.
My heart squeezes in my chest, and I just listen, maintaining eye contact even as his eyes dart everywhere, from the trees to the lights to the people around us, but always coming back to rest on mine.
“Well, I think I know now, if you still want to hear it.”
“Of course I do,” I say, though this once all-important question isn’t really that important to me anymore. Maybe it was always more about our hearts getting to know each other’s than a list of answers to a list of questions.
But what do I know? I’m sixteen years old, and until two weeks ago I didn’t even have a real friend.
Or at least, I thought I didn’t.
“Okay,” he says, laughing at his own nerves. “Well, I don’t think I want to be anyone else. I like being me. But I think . . . maybe . . . if I could be anyone? I’d like to be me-with-you.”
There it is again, the Coca-Cola fizz, but this time it’s all over.
“I’m better with you, Chicky. You’re my best friend. You make me laugh, and you make me brave, and you make me think I might be headed for more . . .” He smiles again, that same, nervous smile I saw for the first time when he asked if I wanted to be partners for ring toss in sixth-grade gym class and I said yes just because I was so surprised.
“And I know you’re not sure about me, or about us, but I’ve always . . .”
He pauses. And it’s not the perfect moment. It’s not even one of the six movie moments we’ve had in the past week. But it’s the moment. It’s our moment. Something in me just knows.
So I don’t wait for him to find a way to finish telling me how I wasn’t sure, because it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m sure now. I’ve never been so sure of anything.
And in the eye of this halting, stuttering, over-rehearsed, cute-as-hell storm, I cross the last few inches of distance between Junior Cortes and me, and I do my best to kiss him right.
It’s probably not the most cinematic kiss in the world. We bump noses, and our lips seem confused about what goes where, and we’re smiling too much to really get traction—but we’re certainly not lacking for enthusiasm, and that’s what makes it perfect.
“Wow,” he says again, when we pull apart. “I am great at that.”
And I swat his arm, and I’m laughing so much, and he’s laughing, and he doesn’t even wait until we stop before pulling me in again, so we’re half kissing and half just giggling against each other’s lips. I think another meteor (meteorite?) could hit right now and I’d go out happy, because no one has ever been happier than this.
Something surprising about Junior Cortes: his lips are the softest thing in the world. And look, I don’t know much about kissing, and I would never admit this to him, but I think maybe he is good at this—even though I know he’s never done it before.
The way he knows just when to switch angles. The way he slides a hand to the small of my back and pulls me in closer until my breath catches in my throat.
He smiles when he feels it. That breath catching, right against his teeth. And that’s the moment I realize there aren’t any secrets between us anymore. That he even knows how I breathe when someone’s kissing me. That he’s the only one who knows.
Around us, I’m aware that people are still dancing. Swaying. Laughing. Celebrating and mourning and living. And maybe we are too. Maybe a kiss, after waiting this long, is all of those things wrapped into one.
I slide my hands up his chest, up his neck, until they’re pressed against the sides of his face. One continuous kiss becomes a hundred smaller ones. My top lip between his, his bottom lip between mine. We’re learning. We’re not laughing anymore. And like the clouds are parting in front of me, some unknown future spooling out between our small hiccups of breath, I know this is going to be the first of many, many kisses between Junior and me. And I’m glad. I’m so, so glad.
“Okay,” comes a high, breathless voice from behind us, and we pull apart reluctantly, staying attached everywhere but the lips.
Lita and Cole are standing in front of us, and they’re not touching, but the space between them seems lit up somehow, and I’m already looking forward to later when Lita and I lie across my bed and dissect every last moment of this night.
Like friends.
Like best friends.
“First of all, I’m so glad you guys are finally doing that, trust me,” Lita says, gesturing to the way Junior and I are intertwined. “And you know I wouldn’t interrupt it lightly. But I just had the most amazing idea, and I’m going to need your help.”