“No,” he answered. “Melinda wanted to, but I… no.”
I pushed down the queasy feeling in my stomach that came when I was forced to think about Scott touching someone else and focused on being a good friend. Scott was forever there for me when I needed to unload about my dad, and he was endlessly supportive of my ever-increasing interest in dance; it was my turn to lend a shoulder.
“So, uh, you guys were making out and she wanted to take it further than you were willing to go?” I asked.
“No!” he yelled loud enough to wake up his mom and stepdad. “No,” he said again, more quietly this time. “She wanted to make out. I wanted to come home.” There was a short pause and then he said, “To be with you. I wanted to come home to be with you.”
“You wanted to be with me instead of making out?”
Though he didn’t answer, I knew Scott hadn’t fallen asleep because I heard his sheets rustling, then him walking around his room, and finally a clanging sound. It took me a few seconds to register what it was—the sound of footsteps on the iron fire escape. I jerked my head up and sure enough, Scott Boone was standing outside of my bedroom window.
“Scott?” I said as I scrambled up to a sitting position in my bed. “What’s going on?”
“It’s not that I wanted to be with you instead of making out.” He gulped and chewed on his bottom lip as he dropped his gaze to the floor. “The thing is, I, uh—” He took in a deep breath. “I wanted to make out, but not with Melinda.” He raised his head and locked his gaze with mine. “I want to do that with you, Charlie.”
For the first time since I’d met Scott, I suddenly had the feeling that maybe my crush wasn’t so hopelessly one-sided. That realization was only a little less surprising than if Scott had announced he was a demon from the planet Herpes coming to kidnap me at gunpoint. Wait. Do demons come from planets or do they come from hell? And would I get extra credit in health class for naming my imaginary demon after an STD?
“Charlie?” Scott whispered hoarsely, redirecting my attention back to him. He was standing at my window wearing cutoff sweats and looking about three shades paler than normal with the moonlight glowing behind him.
“Do you want to come in?” I asked him.
“Come in?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s, uh, windy out there or noisy or freezing hot or freezing cold.” I stopped rambling and smiled at my friend, hoping that even in the low light he could see the happiness in my eyes. “I’m no expert, but I’m pretty sure that whole making-out thing you mentioned will be much easier if we’re in same room.”
He looked equal parts relieved and nervous as he crawled over the window ledge and onto my bed. I was already sitting. He knelt in front of me with his backside resting on his heels. And we looked at each other. Just looked, for the longest time.
I remember that his blond hair was slightly disheveled and sticking up on the right side. I remember that he had a bed crease from the corner of his eye down across his cheek. I remember that he had more silky blond hair on his chest than the last time I’d seen him without his shirt on. And I remember that he was looking at me like I mattered, like I was important, like he wanted me.
“Scott,” I finally choked out, and then he lunged. He tangled his fingers in the back of my hair, clasped my shoulder, and pressed his lips to mine. It wasn’t artful—our noses bumped, his tooth snagged on my lip, and I sort of licked his chin. But, oh Lord, was it ever hot. And I’m not going to qualify that by saying it was hot to my sixteen-year-old self, because that level of raw, unadulterated need is sexy at any age. And to know that the boy I’d wanted for so long felt the same about me, well, let’s just say that with our first kiss, Scott Boone captured a part of my heart, and no matter what happened after that day, that part of me would always belong to him.
“HEY,” Scott said, and then he rubbed his nose back and forth against mine.
We were sitting in his room, on his bed. He had his back to the wall, legs spread and stretched in front of him. I was sitting between his thighs, my legs draped over his, my arms flung over his shoulders. We were supposed to be doing homework, and we had been, for a while, until we got distracted and started kissing.
We had both had summer jobs that summer—me working reception at dance studio that let me take free classes, and him handing out towels at a local gym. But whenever we weren’t working, the two of us had been together. In some ways, it was exactly like it had been before. We’d laugh and joke around. We’d talk about our families, our hopes for the future. But in other ways it was different. After that first kiss, it was like the walls came down and we were always touching each other, smiling at each other, kissing each other.