His fingers spread across my back between my shoulder blades. I dip down, then arch back up into him. I don’t have to think about what steps come next.
We’ve been dancing this dance for a while now.
We’re moving fast, and all I can think is don’t let me go, don’t let me go, don’t let me go.
Finally, the song winds down. We stay with it, giving ourselves to each other, until the music ends.
For a second, there’s no sound. Our eyes meet and a kind of certainty settles inside me. This thing between us could last. The way I feel about him—the way I think he feels about me—has only gotten bigger and wider and deeper every day, the way a stream becomes a river becomes a sea.
“I love you,” I say.
He smiles, and I’ve never seen a smile this enormous on anyone for any reason.
“I love you too,” he says.
We lean into each other and kiss. I don’t hold anything back.
And I see.
CHAPTER 48
X and Me
OVERHEAD LIGHTS FLICKER on, lighting up a mirrored room. In the room’s center, there’s a boy. He’s frowning and riding slow circles on a bike much too small for him. His frown vanishes when he notices the girl in the doorway staring at him.
The girl at the doorway has a wide-open face she often wishes weren’t quite so wide-open. It never hides much of what she’s feeling: confusion, then curiosity, then interest, then an attempt to hide her interest.
“Umm,” says the girl. She says it to disguise the sudden speed of her surprised heart.
“I’m guessing this is yours,” says the boy, startled by the way it feels like he knew her once and now will again.
* * *
—
X and me on a double-decker bus touring the city.
When he looks out, he sees his future dancing out just before him, almost close enough to touch.
When she looks out, she sees the city she already knows, and the places she’s already been and everything she’s already lost.
* * *
—
X and me at Surf City Waffle, unexpected candlelight flickering all around us. We’re trading a pen back and forth, writing and rewriting words to his song. It feels like learning to dance, the way we stop and start again until the words match the feeling we’re trying to capture. It feels like discovery, the way I’m learning not just about him, but about myself too.
* * *
—
X and me kissing for the first time on the beach with the ocean so loud and all around us, it feels like it’s inside us too.
* * *
—
X and me right now, so in love and kissing in a brightly tinseled ballroom.
* * *
—
X and me in a car driving east down a long empty highway lit only by our headlights and the moon. Tomorrow we’ll be in Bryce Canyon, but for now we’re just on our way. The radio is on and the windows are open and the night air is warm and close. Sometimes the world is full of such abounding joy, it’s hard to know what to do with it all.
* * *
—
X and me in a mostly dark hotel room. Moonlight sneaks in through the curtains that don’t quite close.
There’s only one bed. He kisses me and my hand slips under his shirt. His lips are on my neck.
“Are you sure?” he asks me before we go on.
“Yes, I’m sure,” I say. “Yes.”
Then we are nothing but hands and lips and wanting and having.
The world changes after that, the way colors surprise you after a rain.
Has the grass ever before been this green? Or that tree branch so black?
* * *
—
X and me in my small, dim dorm room. I’m holding my own guitar—the one he bought for me—in my hands.
“Show me what you’ve been practicing,” he says.
I play the song I’ve been working on, “Miss the Future.”
He kisses me after I’m done. “That was beautiful, and I’m not just saying that because I’m in love with you.”
“I dunno,” I say. “You do love me an awful lot.”
“Come sing it onstage at our next show,” he says.
At first I hesitate, but then I say yes. I wonder if being with him will always feel like discovery.
* * *
—
Me, alone, in a bedroom. It’s nighttime and the lights are off.
My face and my chest and my ribs hurt. They hurt the way muscles do when you use them far too much for far too long.
I’ve been crying. I’m crying still.
I try to take a deep breath to calm myself, but it’s painful. I try for a shallow one, but any amount of air is too much. A small breeze sighs across my face. I turn my head toward it. Streetlight through the open window paints a shadow on the floor. The edges are clear and they are sharp.