14. Stephen
14
STEPHEN
Age Fifteen
I lean up against the chain-link fence that surrounds the football field at our school, kicking an empty can back and forth between my feet as I hum to myself. The game ended over half an hour ago, and since our school won, the bleachers and the parking lot have already mostly cleared out.
The students and half the town will be out on Main Street, celebrating the win and the winning touchdown, thrown by my buddy Dean. He was on fire tonight, which was awesome since there were college scouts in the crowd. I gotta hand it to him, he could so easily coast on his dad’s name if he wanted to. Being the only son of an NFL hall of famer certainly should have its perks. But Dean has the raw talent and the grit to back up his big-league prospects.
But even with all the fanfare, I wasn't here to watch him or the team tonight. I had my eyes on my best friend in her red and black cheer uniform, dancing and cartwheeling on sidelines under the bright Friday-night lights. Dorothea and Kira both made the Varsity cheer squad despite being freshman, and I've come to every single one of their games to cheer them on while they cheer on the team. After the games, they always have to attend a quick team meeting, so here I am, waiting by the nearly empty bleachers for them to be done so we can hang out.
I don't have to wait long, thankfully, because when I lean down to pick up the can and throw it into the nearest trash cans, I spot my two blonde friends bopping across the field, arm-in-arm. Dorothea lifts a pom pom and waves it at me, and my chest grows tight as I wave back. It's a very inconvenient, fairly new feeling I've been getting every time my best friend is around.
Which is almost all the time, considering she's my best friend and all. Mom says that the two of us are attached at the hip, and that's pretty much accurate. We do everything together. We have a bunch of the same classes, which is awesome. I suck at math, so she helps me with Geometry, and she's not so great in American History, so I help her memorize dates and the names of the battles. We go on walks together in the afternoons like we did when we were younger, and sometimes she sneaks out of her house at night and knocks on my window. I'm not supposed to let her in. I think Mom would be pissed if she knew, but Dorothea has bad dreams, and she says she sleeps better in my room.
I always let her take my bed, and I lay on the ground on those nights. But sometimes, I think it might be nice to lie next to her. Just like sometimes I think it might be nice if I could hold her hand while we walk down the hallways or through town on the weekends. I know her hands are soft, because I let her play with my hair whenever she wants to. I let her think I don't really like it and that I just do it because she likes to braid it. Secretly, I love the way my scalp tingles when she touches me. And while she’s twisting my hair this way and that, I can smell the fruity body wash she uses. It's raspberry, I think. I want to ask her, but she'd probably think that it's a weird question.
Sometimes when I'm alone, on the nights when she isn't sneaking through my window, I close my eyes and wonder if her lips are as soft as her hands.
"Stephen Stephen Bo-Bephen, Bo-na-na fanna Fo-Phephen," Kira begins to chant as they get closer, and I join in.
"Fee-fi-mo-mephen," I sing-song and then point to Dorothea.
"Stephen!" she finishes, sticking her pom-pom into the air and waving it about.
"How'd I get so lucky to have my own personal cheer team to follow me around all day long?" I muse, and Kira scoffs.
"Please. You're the one following us around all day, Steve-O. We can barely shake you. It’s a good thing you pay for stuff. Speaking of, are you coming to town? I need to meet up with my dads and brother, but I'll totally let you buy me a hot chocolate first," Kira says, and I roll my eyes. I know she's just messing with me. She talks a lot of shit, but she's one of the sweetest, most generous people I know. She's always treating Dorothea and me to coffees, fries, and whatever else when we hang out, and she almost never lets us pay her back. Plus she’s the smartest person in school, and she always helps me with my homework. I reach out and muss up her hair a bit, careful not to move the perfectly placed bow holding up her half ponytail.
"Not tonight, Kira. I'm not in a peopling mood." I tell her, and Dorothea sighs.
"Thank god, me either. Do you mind walking me home? I don't want to be around all the happy people in town, I've had enough peppiness while cheering tonight," she says, unhooking her arm from Kira’s and holding it out for me. I link my elbow with hers, and I hope she doesn't notice the way my hands shake with anticipation when she shimmies up next to me.
"Boo, boring. Text me tomorrow, Dot! I need help picking out a new signature scent!" Kira calls out, having already skipped halfway across the parking lot towards the direction of town. I nod the other direction and we start our walk back to our houses. Slowly, like we have all the time in the world.
"Is a signature scent really a thing?" I ask as trudge across the back side of the school building, dimly lit by one streetlamp and the football field lights behind us .
"Oh, for sure. It's the best way a person can distinguish themselves. It also helps that it will remind people of you at the most unassuming of times. For example," she makes a fist and holds her wrist up, brushing the warm skin against the cold tip of my nose. I inhale, and there's that fruity scent that makes my mouth water.
"Now, every time you eat a raspberry, you'll think of me!" she says brightly, confirming what I thought I knew, that she smells like raspberries. Or maybe all the raspberries in the world smell like Dorothea. Impossible to say.
She moves to pull her wrist away, but I capture it, wrapping my thumb and forefinger around it and inhaling again, deeper this time.
"You're right. Every time I eat a raspberry for the rest of my life, I'm going to remember just how sweet you smell," I say, tipping my lips up into a sly smirk. She probably knows that I took that move from a Ryan Gosling movie she made me watch over the summer, but I don't care. It was smooth as hell. She stares up at me, and I watch as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. She steps closer to me, slowly, and barely. It's such a slight movement, I would probably miss it if I wasn't so locked into her and her presence. Her head tilts back, and this is it. This is my moment. I'm going to lean down, and I'm going to kiss her. I'm not going to ask, I'm not going to hesitate, I'm just going to do it.
I am Ryan Freaking Gosling in this moment.
Except, I'm not Ryan Gosling. I'm not quick enough, because before I know it, she takes a big step back. Her wrist falls out of my grip, and she wraps her arms around her chest and shivers. It's only then that I realize that even though she's got a pair of black leggings on under her cheer skirt, on top she's only got her uniform tank, and her poor arms and shoulders are bare against the cold November night.
"Damn, Dorothea. You must be freezing," I say, quickly pulling the flannel I'm wearing over my head without unbuttoning it and slipping it on to her. I help her feed her arms through the holes, and the sleeves come down further than her hands, which I guess is a good thing, because she bunches the fabric up into her fists, covering her fingers.
"Thanks," she says on a breath, and I nod. Now I only have a t-shirt on, but I don't care. If one of us is going to freeze to death, it's going to be me, not her.
We chat about everything and nothing on the way back. Mostly about how neither of us wants to get started on the paper we have due for English next Thursday. When we get to our street, we both clock the fact that there are no lights on in her house. That’s a good sign, since it usually means that her mother is already passed out and therefore not waiting up. I run into my house to grab two blankets, and we head out to lay in the meadow. When we make it through the clearing, I lay the bigger, orange flannel blanket on the ground and when we sit, I drape the thicker, fleece blanket over our legs.
"Oh!" Dorothea exclaims, reaching into her bag and pulling out her headphones. "One Direction's new album is out. We gotta listen. You're totally gonna love it!" She plugs the white earbuds into her phone and hands the left one to me before popping the right one in her ear. I don't even pretend to groan or bitch about her making me listen to a boy band. I'm man enough to admit that One Direction has some catchy songs, and I'll tell anyone who asks just that.
She finds the album and we settle in as she presses play. The first song starts, and I close my eyes as I listen to the lyrics. Harry, Louis, Liam, Niall and Zayn croon on about young love and what it's like when everyone wants the girl you have, but you know in your heart that she's all yours. The lyrics make my stomach twist, and my knees start to shake, knocking into each other as I sit. I wrap my arms around them, trying to keep myself still and try to dispel some of the nervous energy coursing through me. The bridge hits, Zayn hits a high note, and I rip the headphone out of my ear. It all feels like too much all the sudden.
"Don't tell me you don't like it," she whines, holding my discarded earbud back up and trying to hand it back to me. "They just got started. Wait until we get to this song called Girl Almighty . It's so good," she says, nudging my shoulder with hers.
"It's not the song," I say.
"Okaaaaay, then what is it? You look like you're gonna be sick or something," she pulls out her own headphone and tucks her phone back into her bag. When she wraps an arm around my shoulder, I decide that this is it.
"I guess it was the song, a little bit. It's just… that's how I feel sometimes, Dorothea. You’re my best friend, my girl, and sometimes when I think about how much you mean to me, it's overwhelming. Like, I care about you more than anyone else and I think about you all the time. Do you ever feel like that?" I look over at her, and with her arm around my shoulders, our faces are already impossibly close. In the moonlight, I can see her tongue peek out and swipe across her lips. She doesn't say anything for a long moment. Just when I start to think that I've screwed everything up, she nods, just a little bit.
"Earlier, outside of school, I thought…" she trails off.
"You thought what?" I ask. She looks down at the blanket and then back up at me.
"I thought you might kiss me," she whispers, and I swear I almost choke on my tongue. Now is my chance. No time for nerves, no time for hesitation.
"Truth or dare?" I ask quietly. Her blue eyes sparkle, and she leans in as she mouths her answer.
"Dare."
I don't need to ask anymore. We need no further clarification. We both know what my dare was, and what her response would be.
I don't think, I just move, crashing my lips into hers. It's awkward, but only for a second. She tilts her head and I cup her cheek, and we melt into it. She tastes like sunshine and fruity gum and all of my wildest daydreams rolled into one. When she lies back, I go with her. When her lips part, mine do as well. When she wraps her other arm around my neck, pulling me close, my hands find her waist. It's not my first kiss, nor is it hers, but it's the first one that matters. The first one that feels like something. The first one that belongs to me and my Dorothea.
Butterflies flutter in my stomach as the kiss goes on and on, forever and not long enough all at the same time. When we finally break for air, I press my forehead to hers, and I already miss the feel of her mouth on mine.
"Hey, Dorothea?" I ask, swallowing back a nervous breath. Her eyes are still closed, and she hums in response.
"Does this mean… will you be my girlfriend?"
"Is that a dare? Because technically, it was my turn to ask." She lifts one brow as she says it, and I know that my face must drop into some pathetic, needy looking mope because she cups my cheek and smiles, a big, toothy grin. She leans in and presses her lips to mine.
"I'm already your girl, Stephen. I think maybe it would be good to be your girlfriend, too."
The next day, we wake up after the sun, out there in our field. Mom grounds me for two weeks for not coming home the night before, but I think it was one hundred percent worth it.