It was the clumsiest production of physical interaction; the whole thing lasted no more than several seconds. I’m sure no one else even noticed it happen. But I saw him touch his neck where my mouth had been. I felt my heart stutter when I remembered his arms around me.
And neither of us spoke for the rest of the period.
I grabbed my bag when the bell rang, ready to run for my life, when he said my name and only the very basic rules of etiquette held me in place. My heart was racing, had been racing for an hour. I felt electric, like an overcharged battery. Things were sparking inside of me and I needed to go away, get away from him. Sitting next to him all through class had been profound and excruciating.
I’d had many unimportant, insignificant crushes on boys before. I’d had pathetic daydreams and silly fantasies and had devoted many pages in my journal to entirely forgettable people I’d known and quickly discarded over the years.
But I had never, ever touched someone and felt like this: like I was holding electricity inside of me.
“Hey,” he said.
It took a lot of effort to turn around, but I did, and when I did, he looked different. Like maybe he was just as terrified as I was.
“Hi,” I said, but the word didn’t make much sound.
“Can we talk?”
I shook my head. “I have to go.”
I watched him swallow, the Adam’s apple moving up and down in his throat. He said, “Okay,” but then he walked up to me, walked right up to me, and I felt something pop inside my head. Brain cells dying, probably. He wasn’t looking at me, he was looking at the two inches of floor between us and I thought maybe he was going to say something but he didn’t. He just stood there, and I watched the gentle motions of his chest as he breathed, in and out, up and down, and I felt a faint spinning in my head, and like my body had overheated, and my heart would not stop, could not stop racing and finally he whispered the words—without touching me, without even looking at me—he said, “I just need to know,” he said, “are you feeling this, too?”
He looked up, then. Looked me in the eye.
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t remember how. But he must’ve found something in my eyes because he suddenly exhaled, softly; he glanced, just once, at my lips, and he stepped back. Grabbed his bag.
And left.
I wasn’t sure I would ever recover.
17
Seventeen
I was a complete idiot at practice.
I couldn’t remember how to do simple things. I kept thinking about the fact that Ocean and I had only touched by accident and what if we’d touched on purpose and wow, I wondered if my head would just explode. I also kept thinking that I didn’t want to get my heart broken. I didn’t know what could ever come of this, of us, or how we’d ever navigate these murky waters and I didn’t know what to do.
I felt like I’d lost control.
Suddenly all I could think about was kissing him. I’d never kissed anyone before. A boy had been dared to kiss me once and he’d kissed me on the cheek and it was not repugnant, exactly, but the whole thing had been so awkward that even the memory bothered me.
I was, in this regard, woefully underprepared.
I knew my brother had kissed lots of girls. I didn’t know what else he’d done, and I didn’t ask. In fact, I’d had to tell him to shut up about it several times already because for some reason he always felt comfortable sharing these details with me. I think my parents had known about his many relationships, but I also think they were happy to pretend they didn’t. I was also pretty sure my parents would’ve had simultaneous heart attacks if they knew I was even thinking about kissing a boy, which, surprisingly, did not at all factor into my considerations.
There was nothing about the idea of kissing Ocean that felt wrong to me. I just didn’t see how kissing him would help anything.
Just then, my brother threw his water bottle at me.
I looked up.
“You okay?” he said. “You look sick.”
I felt sick. Like maybe I had a fever. I was sure I didn’t, but it was weird how hot my skin felt. I wanted to climb into bed and hide. “Yeah,” I said, “I feel kind of weird. Do you mind if I cut out early? Head home?”
My brother came forward, collected his bottle. Pressed a hand against my forehead. His eyes widened. “Yeah. I’ll take you home,” he said.
“Really?”
He looked suddenly annoyed. “You think I’d let my sister walk home with a fever?”
“I don’t have a fever.”
“Yeah,” he said. “You do.”
He wasn’t wrong. I’d gotten home earlier than usual, so my mom and dad weren’t back from work yet. Navid brought me water, gave me medicine, and tucked me into bed. I didn’t feel sick, though, I just felt strange, and I didn’t know how to explain it. There was nothing apparently wrong with me except that my temperature had spiked.
Still, I slept.
When I awoke, the house was dark. I felt woozy. I blinked and looked around, parched, and grabbed the bottle of water Navid had left me. I drained the bottle, rested my hot head against the cool wall and wondered what the hell had happened to me. Only then did I notice my phone on my bedside table. I had five unread messages.
The first two were from six hours ago.
hey
how was practice?
There were three more messages, sent ten minutes ago. I checked the time; it was two in the morning.
you’re probably asleep
but if you’re not, will you call me?
(i’m sorry for using up all of your text messages)
I wasn’t sure I was in the right headspace to call anyone at the moment, but I didn’t think it through. I pulled up his number, called him right away—and then I burrowed under my covers, pulling the sheet up over my head to help muffle my voice. I didn’t want to have to explain to my parents why I was wasting precious phone minutes talking to a boy at two in the morning. I had no idea what I’d say.
Ocean picked up on the first ring, which made me wonder if maybe he was hiding from his mom, too. But then he said “Hi,” out loud, like a normal person, and I realized that no, it was just me whose parents were up her ass all the time.
“Hi,” I whispered. “I’m hiding under my covers.”
He laughed. “Why?”
“Everyone is asleep,” I said quietly. “My mom and dad would kill me if they found me on my phone this late. Also, minutes are expensive.”
He said, “Sorry,” but he didn’t sound sorry.
“I have a fever, by the way. I’ve been in bed this whole time,” I explained. “I just woke up and saw your messages.”
“What?” he said, alarmed. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you feel okay now?”
“I feel a little weird, but I’m okay, I think.”
He was quiet just a beat too long.
“You still there?” I said.
“Yeah. I just—I didn’t think about it until you said it, but I haven’t been feeling great, either.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I just . . .”
I felt my head sparking again.
“Can we please talk about this?” His voice was soft, but scared. “I know you’ve been avoiding me but I don’t know why and if we don’t talk about this I just— I don’t—”
“Talk about what?”
“Us,” he said, the word a little breathless. “Us, God, I want to talk about us. I can’t even think straight around you.” And then, “I don’t know what’s happening anymore.”
I felt my mind slow down even as my heart sped up. An awful, wonderful nervousness seized me around the throat.
I felt paralyzed.
I wanted so desperately to say something, but I didn’t know what to say, how to say it, or whether I should even bother. I couldn’t seem to decide. I was suddenly overthinking everything. And we’d been lost in the silence for several seconds when he finally said—
“Is it just me? Am I imagining this?”
The sound of his voice broke my heart. I had no idea how Ocean could be this brave. I had no idea how he could make himself this vulnerable. There were no games with him. There were no confusing, meandering statements with him. He just put himself out there, his heart exposed directly to the elements, and wow, I respected him for it.