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Telling myself to get my shit together, I rolled my shoulders and turned my car on. I wasn’t going home right away, I couldn’t. My parents would know that something had happened and then I’d have to come up with some sort of story that they’d buy. I mean, I was still going to have to do that because my parents were my parents, but at least if I had some time, I could hopefully calm myself down and come up with something good.

N
early an hour of driving later and I didn’t feel any more calm. Stella had texted me and begged me not to say anything. That hadn’t even occurred to me. What kind of person did she think I was? The desperation seethed through the texts. I could almost smell it. Belatedly, it hit me that if I wanted to destroy Stella, I had the perfect ammunition.

Lucky for Stella, this wasn’t a stupid, vapid teen television show where one rumor would destroy a reputation forever and a day. I didn’t hate Stella. Well, maybe a little, but only because of the way she made me feel. Sure, her personality sucked sometimes, but she had her moments. They were few and far between, but they were there. We’d sort of flirted and traded barbs back and forth and I saw what she might be if she let her guard down. Also made me curious why she kept a guard up. If she wasn’t a bitch, then why did she want people to think that?

Stella Lewis was a fucking mystery and I just kept sinking deeper and deeper.

I
couldn’t sleep that night. I was still thinking about the sort-of kiss. Trying to remember what it had felt like, but it had been too short to really judge. I’d never kissed a girl before. I mean, I’d never wanted to.

Did I want to kiss Stella?

Well, if I asked my body, then it was a resounding YES. If I asked my brain . . . it was NO followed by a very quiet yes. Followed by a no. And then another yes.

Yeah, okay, I was confused. Even more confused than before the not-kiss.

I kept trying to get comfortable and couldn’t. Every position I tried I’d get uncomfortable after about five minutes. I tried everything. I pillow under my knees, my feet by the headboard, on my back, on both sides, nothing.

My mind was too busy thinking about too many things to let my body slow down long enough to get into sleep mode. I finally gave up and grabbed my phone. At least if I couldn’t sleep, I had something to distract me.

I hit Tumblr and then Snapchat and, for some reason, I clicked on my Messages. The last one I’d sent or received was Stella’s. Before I could tell myself that it was a bad idea, I sent her a text.

I’m not going to tell anyone. I promise. Just wanted you to know. Again.

It was totally stupid and I didn’t know what she was going to think, but I went ahead and sent it anyway. Her phone was probably off, or on silent, so I didn’t expect a response.

And then the little typing bubble popped up that told me she was responding. It went away and then popped up again. And went away. Popped up. Went away.

Just hit send. I can see you trying to figure out what to say.

What the hell was I doing? Ugh. I needed to stop this ASAP.

Don’t tell me what to do.

I snorted, because I totally read the text in her voice.

Then don’t be indecisive. Why are you even awake right now?

Her responses came quicker.

Why are you?

Texting with her is just like talking to her. Only easier because I don’t get distracted by her face and her voice.

No reason.

I could just picture her face. Perfect eyebrow arched.

Uh huh. I believe you.

The sarcasm was thick with this one.

Well, I could call you a pot or a kettle so . . .

I had a stupid grin on my face and I kinda hated it, but couldn’t stop it.

Oh, you’re so funny. I never could have come up with that one.

I heard a sound and realized I was laughing.

You know you laughed.

Did not.

Are we arguing again? Because earlier when we did that, you decided to kiss me.

She typed for a long time after I said that.

It wasn’t a kiss. Not really.

I snorted again.

Then what would you call it? Mouth-to-mouth? Because I definitely wasn’t drowning.

I could hear her sighing from here.

Shut up Kyle.

You’re the one answering me.

She answered with a middle finger emoji.

Cute.

There was another long pause.

I’m turning my phone off now.

I laughed to myself.

Ok. Go ahead.

I am.

Fine.

Fine.

She stopped answering after that. But I kept checking my phone into the wee hours of the morning. Just in case.

I
got to English early the next day and was waiting and waiting for Stella to show up. She rushed in, at the last minute and for the first time, probably in her life, she looked flustered. Her hair was messy; not in its characteristic spirals. Her face was free of makeup and she had jeans and a simple t-shirt on. She sat down without looking at me, but I couldn’t stop looking at her.

Okay, so I’d pulled back when she tried to kiss me last night, but if she did it now? Looking like that?

I definitely wouldn’t have pulled away. Oh no. I would have twisted my fingers in that shirt and pulled her closer so I could feel her body against mine and OH MY GOD I NEED TO STOP LOOKING AT HER RIGHT NOW.

With a herculean effort, I tore my eyes away from Stella, who hadn’t moved her eyes from her notebook or acknowledged my presence.

Class. I was in class. We were learning . . .  things. Our teacher was saying words.

But the blood that was supposed to be running my brain was going to other places and I kept crossing and uncrossing my legs. I had never been this fucking turned on during school hours. Was this how guys felt? Like, things were almost getting painful.

I was actually considering running out to my car to get some relief, but then something poked me in the arm. It came from my right, and there was only one person sitting on my right.

“You look like you’re in pain,” she hissed. It was hard for us to talk to each other without getting caught since we were in the front row, but Mr. Hurley was standing by the window on the other side of the room, waxing on about literary theory or some such bullshit. He was all caught up in it and a quick glance around the room confirmed that just about everyone else had also checked out of this particular lesson.

“I’m. Fine,” I said through clenched teeth. I so wasn’t fine.

“Don’t look fine,” she said with a bit of a sing-song.

“I. Am,” I said. She really was asking for it. I turned to glare at her, but was arrested by the sight of her makeup-free face. Freckles.

She had freckles. Just a few on her cheeks, under her eyes that looked so, so beautiful. How was it that she looked better with a totally clean face? It didn’t make sense.

I realized my mouth was open a little so I closed it. The only indication that she wasn’t totally fine too was her appearance and the tiniest hint of pink in her cheeks.

Guess I wasn’t the only one knocked off their game today.

“I think we need to talk,” I said in a low voice that only she could hear.

“Right now?” she said, a hint of irritation in her tone.

“Well maybe not right now,” I tried to say, but then she raised her hand and said that she had to go to the bathroom. She tossed a meaningful look over her shoulder and I got the hint. But I couldn’t say that I also had to go, because that would be way too obvious. So it was time to embarrass myself in the name of talking with Stella.

“Ow! Oh my god!” I yelled out, clutching my bad leg and effectively putting a stop to the lecture.

Mr. Hurley rushed over and knelt down. Every now and then I had nerve pain, so this had happened before. But never this dramatic. I was laying it on thick.

“Is it your leg? Do you need to be excused?” he said as everyone else stared and whispered and made suggestions and some muttered words that weren’t very nice. Fuck them. I didn’t care.

“Yes, I think so,” I said, biting my lip and hoping he believed me. It was kind of awful to take advantage like this, but I needed to get out of this class and have things out with Stella. We hadn’t gotten anything out last night via our text messages. Now she couldn’t run away from me and we could figure this shit out.

“You’re excused. I’ll email you tonight with everything you’ve missed. Go see the nurse.” And with that, I gathered up my things and limped (harder than normal) out of the room and then resumed my regular walk. I was headed toward the bathroom when a hand reached out and yanked me into a corner shielded by a wall of lockers. We’d be pretty safe here until the bell rang in a few minutes.

“Hey, watch it,” I said, yanking my arm back. She put both palms up in surrender.

“You were the one who wanted to talk. So. Talk.” She crossed her arms and I tried not to stare at her chest. Somehow it was even more on view in the tight t-shirt. I could just see the line of her bra through the fabric.

Definitely not the point. I pulled my gaze up to her face. Those freckles.
Those freckles.

“We need to talk about it. Whatever it was. I promised not to tell anyone, but I’m going to need an explanation. Because . . .  what the fuck, Stella?” That was the only thing I could come up with. “I mean, did I give you some sort of signal that I wanted to kiss you or . . .” I trailed off. Oh. God. She knew. She must know. I’d been too obvious.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“No! No,” Stella said the second no more quietly. Her arms uncrossed and she twisted her fingers together and looked at the floor. I’d never seen her look so . . .  vulnerable.

“I don’t know why it happened. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She sounded small. And scared. I knew the feeling. My stomach was flipping all over the place and I almost had the urge to hug her. Just gather her in my arms and let her rest her head on my shoulder. I wanted to do that. I really wanted to do that.

“Do you? I mean, are you . . .” I couldn’t finish.

“Did I try to kiss you because I like you and I’m a big fat dyke?” I flinched at her words. “Don’t flatter yourself.”