“So don’t go,” I suggest. “Take time out. Get a job, travel.”
Zoey snorts. “I can just imagine what my parents would say if I tried that.”
“Yeah, well maybe they forfeited their vote.” I can’t keep the edge from my voice. My parents didn’t get a choice to see us grow up, but Zoey’s parents couldn’t seem to care less.
Zoey gives me an impish smile. “Can you just imagine? ‘Hey Mom, Dad, sorry but I’m going to give it all up and go backpacking in Thailand.’ They’d freak!”
I smile. “It’s your life, do whatever you want with it.”
“I don’t know…” Zoey blushes again. “Sometimes I feel like I’m ready to do whatever, I’ve been basically living on my own for years. But then I remember, I’m just a kid. I haven’t done anything.”
“Like what?” I ask.
“Like, you know, stuff.” Zoey flushes even brighter red. “All the girls in our dorm were teasing me because I’m the only one who hasn’t kissed a guy yet.”
Silence.
“See?” Zoey wails. She buries her face in her arms on the table, her voice muffling. “You think I’m a baby too.”
“No, no,” I protest, feeling way out of my depth. Then I realize what she just said. “Wait, you’re not the only one. Tegan’s in your dorm too.”
Zoey lifts her head and gives me a look. Truth dawns.
“I don’t even want to know,” I say quickly. “Jesus, how are you girls old enough for this stuff already? It seems like only yesterday Tegan was flouncing around in cowboy boots and a princess tiara.”
Zoey sighs. “We’re sixteen! That’s old. Ancient. I’m a spinster already.”
I laugh. She glares. I stop.
“Look, it’s not too old,” I argue, wanting to reassure her. “It’s better that you don’t have experience than you’re running around kissing every boy in sight.”
“Firstly, there aren’t any boys at my school,” Zoey informs me. “Not unless you count Mr. Simpson, the philosophy teacher, but he wears tweed and smells.”
I sit back, amused. “And second?”
“Second, that’s pretty sexist.” Zoey folds her arms. “I bet you were kissing a ton of girls when you were sixteen, but nobody told you not to.”
I pause. “We’re not going to talk about what I was doing at your age,” I say hurriedly, remembering a certain Varsity cheerleader and the backseat of my car. “Everyone’s different. Some people just take longer. When the time is right, and you meet the right boy…” I grasp for things to say. I’m the wrong person to be giving this talk—and not just because I was checking her out five minutes ago. Zoey can act smart-mouthed and sarcastic, but I know that she’s an emotional girl under all that talk. I don’t want to say the wrong thing and scar her for life.
“You know what? Just forget I said anything.” Zoey looks mortified. “I shouldn’t be talking about this with you.”
“What’s wrong with me?” I frown.
Zoey just shakes her head and slurps her milkshake.
“Is there a guy you like?” I ask suddenly. I frown, feeling strangely protective about the idea of Zoey with anyone. “Is this why you’re stressing out about this?”
She avoids my gaze. “There’s not a guy. And I told you, this is too weird. Just, talk about anything but this.”
“OK,” I exhale, relieved. I start telling her about my last audition—where they didn’t tell me I would need to roll around on roller skates, and I wound up falling flat on my ass—but even though she relaxes again, my mind won’t shift from her dilemma.
Poor kid.
I remember my first kiss: an awkward, sloppy affair when I was thirteen. I was so panicked I was doing it wrong, I ran straight home and begged Dex to tell me the secret.
Apparently, it was imagining her tongue like a chocolate bar. Except, you don’t bite.
But here Zoey is, sweet sixteen, and never been kissed.
Her phone suddenly interrupts us, buzzing with a text. Zoey checks it. “They’re back,” she reports. “Tegan says to bring her a milkshake.”
“We should get going then,” I say, relieved. “I have to work a shift at the restaurant tonight.”
We get Tegan’s drink and pay, then head for the exit. I hold the door open for her to go, but as Zoey steps past me, I catch a drift of her shampoo, and something comes over me. If you’ll ask me, I’ll swear, I just wanted to do her a favor: struck by a weird mix of compassion and protectiveness, the same as the first day I saw her sitting on those steps at school looking like the whole world was set against her. Or maybe I just lost my damn mind, because before she can pass me by, I put a hand on her shoulder and turn her back to me.
And I kiss her.
Zoey freezes, stiff as a board, but her mouth is soft against mine. I kiss her deeper, tasting the sweetness of her milkshake, and something more. For a moment, the dark clouds of the day part, and there’s a brief ray of sunlight.
Then I get a hold of myself and pull back. Zoey stares at me, looking dazed.
“Now you can say you’ve been kissed too,” I tell her, feeling weirdly unsettled.
She blinks, then recovers. “That was it?”
I laugh in surprise. “What were you expecting?”