By then, Joel and I had been best friends at school for nearly three years. We’d both made some other friends, but we mainly hung out with each other, stained early by the outsider label.
That day, it was raining when school let out. All the other kids had rides or got on the bus, but Joel and I were stuck walking. It was pouring, like twenty garden hoses were going overhead all at once. No umbrella would stand up to that.
So we tucked ourselves into an alcove in the library to wait it out. Carrels lined the space and a trio of hard chairs rested against the wall. We claimed them, facing the windows, and pulled out our books. He was a good student, really good in math, but mainly he loved to draw. Like Phoebe, which made me like him more. He drew wolves and whales, dolphins and starfish, all kinds of animals, all in pencil with intricate, layered detail. I had one of a cat on my wall, which he drew just for me, since I wanted a cat so bad and wasn’t allowed to have one.
The night before, my dad had whipped me again with a belt because I forgot to bring in the laundry off the line and it got wet. It wasn’t a long whipping, but it was hard core, and I had bruises on my lower back and thighs that meant I couldn’t change for gym. The chairs were too hard and I folded up my sweater to sit on, but I still couldn’t get comfortable. Tears stung my eyes, and I felt so angry that I thought I could literally blow up.
“You okay?” Joel asked.
I bowed my head. “You know how you hear those stories about people combusting, like burning down to absolutely nothing for no reason?”
“Yeah.”
“I get so mad sometimes that I feel like I could combust like that.”
No alarm crossed his face. “Don’t.” He moved closer and reached for the end of one of my braids. “I would miss you.”
He smelled like the forest floor, fragrant and earthy, and I bent my head until my forehead touched his shoulder. “I hate him so much.”
“Me too. He hurts you.” He rubbed my upper back gently.
Something in me stirred, and I raised my head. Our eyes met. His were big and dark, with thick lashes—intense eyes, eyes that saw everything. What I saw in them right then was something I hadn’t suspected before, like maybe he was seeing me in a new way.
Just like I was seeing him in a new way, or maybe I was recognizing it, a thing I’d buried because Phoebe had such a bad crush on him. And now I felt bad, but what was rising in my body was much bigger than that old crush from two years ago.
Two years ago.
Still. A friend didn’t make out with the object of her best friend’s crush. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe she would get mad at me.
Except that the smell of him filled my head, swept downward through my body. His gaze fell to my mouth, up to my eyes again, and a feeling like static electricity buzzed through me.
“Suze?” he said quietly.
Acting on some impulse I’d never felt in my entire life, I leaned in and touched my lips to his, very lightly. Then, appalled, I started to pull back, but Joel caught the back of my neck. “More,” he said in a gruff voice. His mouth was soft and pillowy and still kind of firm, and the sensation sent rockets through my body, down to the tips of my fingers, between my legs, and most embarrassing of all, the tips of my breasts.
But I didn’t want to stop. He didn’t either. He scooted closer until our thighs were touching, and my left breast was pressed into his chest. Like it was a movie or he’d practiced, he cupped my jaw and tilted my head so that we could fit together even more tightly, and then—oh, Lord—he nudged open my mouth with his tongue and we kissed deep. I thought my entire body would melt into a puddle. I yanked away, afraid suddenly. We stared at each other. His hand was on my ribs, and I ached for him to move it higher.
“Was that okay?” I asked.
He smiled, very slowly, and brushed hair over my shoulder. “Very okay.”
After that, we were both all in. Joel and I would go to his house, which was empty because his mom was at work, and watch TV, the after-school specials or Dark Shadows, and have a snack, like apples or cookies, and then we’d make out. Sometimes we stayed on the couch and sometimes we went to his room and lay down on his bed, spreading our bodies against each other, ribs to ribs, lips to lips. He loved to take my hair down and stroke his fingers through it, and I loved for him to take off his shirt so I could feel his skin.
I tried not to think of Christmas and Phoebe arriving and having to tell her what had happened.
September 23, 19—
Dear Phoebe,
I love high school! Even the first week feels like a completely different place. Mr. Otis, the drama teacher, asked me to stay after class today and said he’d been talking to Miss Peach at the middle school about me, and she thinks I’m one of the best acting students she’s ever had. Imagine that!