“I’ve got one.” Chelsea has a wicked grin on her bright lips, which have already stained the rim of her cup. “Never have I ever kissed my neighbor.”
She’s looking at me and Tim as she says it. Tim looks at me, and his eyebrows raise about a millimeter. I shake my head, also by about a millimeter. Neither of us drink.
Chelsea’s face falls. “Liars,” she says under her breath.
She’s absolutely right. We’re lying. Tim and I kissed once, but it was a long time ago. He was, in fact, my first kiss. But it wasn’t a real kiss.
It happened the summer before high school started. Tim and I were hanging out in my bedroom, and I was bemoaning the fact that I was starting high school without ever having kissed a boy. Tim admitted he was in the same boat, and then he came up with the brilliant idea:
We should practice on each other!
I thought of him like a brother, but there was nothing objectionable about him. He was cute. So without much persuading, I agreed.
It was a good thing we decided to practice together because the first kiss was decidedly awkward. I didn’t know what to do with my hands, I wasn’t sure if I should keep my eyes open or closed, and I didn’t know quite where my nose should go. And once our lips made contact, I was confused about what to do with my tongue. Should I put it in his mouth? That would be weird, wouldn’t it? But would it be even weirder not to kiss with tongue? It was Tim who finally gently slipped me just the tiniest bit of tongue. And it was very nice, once I got used to it.
After twenty minutes, it felt like we were really getting the hang of this kissing thing. And of course, that was the exact moment my mother chose to burst in on the two of us without knocking. It was also the last time we were allowed to be in my room alone together with the door closed, even though I kept explaining we were just practicing.
Tim and I never talk about it though. It’s like it never happened. After all, it was just practicing.
Now that our little secret is still safe, it’s Tim’s turn. At one point, I saw Kayla’s hand creep onto his leg, but I don’t know what happened because it’s not there anymore. Tim considers his confession, looking down into the orange liquid in his paper cup. Finally, he says, “Never have I ever beaten up a kid so bad he had to go to the hospital.”
Brandon bursts out laughing. He raises his cup and takes a long swig of that awful screwdriver. Then he nudges Shane. “Take a drink, Nelson.”
Shane squirms next to me. As I stare at him, he slowly lifts the paper cup and drinks from it.
“Shane?” I say.
Brandon takes another drink, even though he doesn’t have to. “It wasn’t a big deal. It was just that dweeby perv, Mark. And he deserved it.”
Tim arches an eyebrow. “He deserved it?”
“We overheard him talking about Shane’s mom,” Brandon says. “Telling some of his weirdo friends that he thinks she’s hot. He’s been buying a few too many canned goods at that store where she works, if you know what I mean.”
I glance at Shane and there’s a flash of anger in his eyes, but he doesn’t say a word.
“The guy is such a weirdo,” Brandon goes on. “You know he’s always trying to peek in the girls’ dressing room, right?”
Chelsea smacks him in the arm. “You guys are such assholes. Do you know that?”
I can’t stop staring at Shane. The flash of anger has faded and now he’s hanging his head. I knew he was kind of a wild kid in middle school, but I had hoped now that after joining the football team, he kept his nose clean. But maybe Tim is right. Maybe he is a bully.
“It was just a broken rib anyway,” Brandon says. “He didn’t even spend the night.”