Here the Whole Time - Vitor Martins Page 0,66

against my arm, slides his fingers down to my hand, and squeezes it. I hold back an anxious breath, not quite sure what’s going on. We’re holding hands, and from that moment on, I officially cannot pay any attention to the robot zombies destroying the human race. Because Caio and I are holding hands. Because my hand is gross with sweat. And yet, he won’t let go.

I want to glance to the side and see what face Caio is making as he holds my hand. But I can’t bring myself to do it. I stare instead at the movie screen and watch the images flash by one after the other, but I don’t care about any of them.

Time flies, and I get the sense that the movie is about to end. The hero saved the planet from the zombies and finally rescued his girlfriend. The two of them meet in a postwar scene. He’s all dirty and manly; she’s all proper, wearing makeup and short-shorts despite the apocalypse. They kiss, and that’s when Caio squeezes my hand a little harder. It’s not quite a crunch. More like a light pressure. But I believe it’s a sign. A sign that I’m the sweaty hero he’d like to kiss. Or a sign that the movie is about to end, and he’d like to let go of my hand.

I open my fingers slightly, giving him the freedom to let go. But he doesn’t. That’s a good thing.

The movie ends, the credits start rolling. But the lights don’t come back on because apparently it’s illegal to create movies without scenes after the credits now. So no one budges. The whole audience just sits there, listening through a bad Linkin Park song that’s probably featured on the soundtrack of Zombie Robots: The Attack 2. My heart is beating with the rhythm of the fast and heavy music, but when Caio slides his finger down the back of my hand, my heart skips a beat.

It’s hard to focus on anything other than the touch of his hand. I feel like time is passing and I need to make a move, quickly. I look up at the credits, and what I see is:

Make it clear that you like him.

—Becky

Be Brave.

—Grandma

Caio is a little slow, but he’s a sweetheart.

—Becky, again

There’s no need to be afraid anymore.

—the Cowardly Lion (and also my therapist)

Your capabilities are as big as your courage.

—any self-help book

So I take a deep breath. Squeeze Caio’s hand really tight, not caring if I’m hurting him or not. (I probably am.) And look at him.

When I turn my face, I find he’s already looking at me. I don’t know for how long, but there he is. Waiting for me. The refrain of the song from the movie credits is already in its third cycle. I don’t have a lot of time.

I bite my lip.

Close my eyes.

And kiss Caio.

He kisses me back, and I try to manage the right amount of tongue and saliva. It’s not the perfect kiss, like the ones I always see in movies, because A) it tastes like butter, and B) Linkin Park is playing. But I never thought kissing would be like this. It’s a nice, slippery feeling. Caio’s lips are soft but not flabby. They’re like gummy bears. And from the way he’s kissing me, it seems I’m not too bad, either.

I don’t know how long our kiss lasts, but when we separate, we both look at the movie screen. The post-credits scene is almost done. We still have a little while.

So we kiss each other again.

We’re a kissing machine.

Kissing zombie robots.

I don’t ever want to stop, but when the lights come on, we do.

The theater is empty except for the cleaning guy who’s sweeping the first row and pretending we’re not there.

We get up at the same time. I drop my empty popcorn bucket. I try to crouch to pick it up, but the space is too tight. I decide to let it go and leave, and then I trip over my own bucket and drop my empty soda cup, too. I’m such a disaster.

When we leave the movies, I feel my face burning. I want to scream, but I don’t know if that would be appropriate. I also don’t know if it’s humanly possible to sweat the way I’m sweating right now.

Caio lets out a loud sigh, and I look at him. His hair is a mess (which might be a little bit my fault), but he’s more gorgeous than