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conversation. Okay, we almost
kissed once. But I was such
a total tool, when he leaned
his face down close to mine,
looked into my dilated (by
the dark, not by stash, which
I still turned up my nose at)
eyes, and it came to me what
he had in mind, I actually
turned my face away, pretending
some nighttime noise
had drawn my attention.
Plain and simple, I didn’t know
how to kiss and didn’t want
him to know it. He was a couple
of years older, and a dark-haired
hottie who surely knew a thing
or two about kissing. Unlike me.
I didn’t learn those ropes
for another year or so.
Looking back, I wish I had
had a different teacher,
one who really cared about me.
Looking back, I wish
I had parted
my lips—opened my mouth
wide and invited his tongue
inside—for Quade. Maybe
every single thing that happened
in my life after that night
