My eyes widen and my breath catches in my throat. “Really?” I don’t know how to feel, whether to be relieved or excited or horrified. “Okay,” I say, sitting back down in the booth.
“Okay,” he says back, a goofy grin spreading across his face. “Um, when do you want to?”
“Oh,” I say. “Right.” I think for a moment. “Well, your house is probably better. We’ve slept in your bed more, so it might not be as weird.”
“I think my parents are going out with yours on Friday,” he says. “The symphony or something boring.”
“That could work,” I answer. “The symphony is like three hours, isn’t it? Will that be enough time?”
He laughs softly. “That’ll be enough time.” A devilish grin crosses his face. “Should we do it in my parents’ bed and leave the condom wrapper behind?”
I smack his arm, relieved he can joke at a time like this. Maybe I haven’t ruined things after all.
EIGHTEEN
THE RIDE WITH Andrew from Jan’s to school is jumpy and strange. We’re both trying to act normal, but there’s a weird current under all of our interactions, a buzzing secret buried beneath everything we say. If I was acting weird before about touching him, it’s even worse now. We both reach for the radio at the same time, our hands brush, and I immediately burst out into uncomfortable laughter, pulling my hand back as if I’ve been burned.
“Are you going to be like this forever?” he asks. “Because then I take it back.”
“No, not forever,” I say. “Just let me freak out for the rest of this car ride and then I’ll be back to normal. I promise. I’m just . . . I’m still processing.”
He smiles at me. “You’ve had lots of time to process. I should be the one freaking out here.”
“Yeah, but I have lots of emotions,” I say, my voice stuck in a higher pitch than usual. He reaches over and grabs my hand. I try to pull away, but he holds on, linking his fingers with mine.
“See?” he says, lifting up our joined hands. “We’re touching and the world hasn’t ended.”
“Right,” I say, calming down a bit. It’s true—his touch feels comfortable and familiar and normal. I’ve been holding his hand for years. He has a scar on his palm from when he fell off his skateboard in fifth grade, and his right thumb is calloused from playing the guitar.
He rests our hands on my knee and bounces them along to the beat of the song on the radio. It’s an old song from the Arctic Monkeys, one of my favorites. I smile, feeling myself relax.
When we get to school, we part ways, going to our separate classes. I text him from Greek mythology, feeling light and goofy.
Plan set in motion. T-minus 3 days till completion. Over & out
He texts back, and I discreetly check the message, trying to hide my phone from Ms. Galloway, who has a reputation of throwing kids’ phones out the window onto the lawn, even though her classroom is on the third floor.
I’ve heard the Virgin Islands are nice this time of year
I smile, typing back under the desk. Soon we’re going back and forth fast enough I forget I’m in class.
ME
They are very nice indeed. Lots of fun activities
ANDREW
I’ve heard the spelunking is excellent
ME
spelunking?
ANDREW
cave exploration
I snort, and then look up at Ms. Galloway guiltily, trying to keep