13. He kissed a girl, and he liked it
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
he kissed a girl, and he liked it
“Are you ready yet?” Forrest calls from the ground below me.
For the past thirty minutes, I’ve had him locked in my bedroom—with Mom’s permission—with the curtains drawn while Mom helped me set up my annual birthday surprise in the treehouse.
She only just retrieved him and told him to wait at the base of the ladder.
“Come on up!” I holler back, unable to sit still as I wait for him to see the over-the-top thing I’ve done this time.
“Happy Birthday!” I shout at Forrest the second the first bit of his wavy hair is visible in the treehouse doorway.
His mouth hangs open as he pulls himself all the way into the treehouse. There’s hardly any room to move around as I’ve filled our clubhouse with as many sparkly gold balloons as would fit in here with me.
When I shift to sit more comfortably, the latex squeaks all around me, raining a shower of glitter on my head. I expect the flecks will be crushed into the wood until the day this old tree dies.
“Wow, Cam,” Forrest says on a breath. “Happy Birthday to you too.”
Since we found out we share a birthday, I’ve insisted on us meeting up in the treehouse at some point on our shared day, a moment just for us.
While I’m the one most excited by it, filling the treehouse with something for our eleventh birthdays—cake pops—and our twelfth birthdays—confetti—I think Forrest secretly likes it, too.
He squeezes into the one square foot of open floor space left, carefully folding himself so my balloons don’t pop.
He’s still wearing the same goofy grin he’s had on most of today.
Because it’s our special day, Mom picked us up from school and took us for hot cocoa on the way home, so we didn’t have our usual bus ride debrief of the day, so I couldn’t ask him about the reason for his expression.
Even when she pretends she’s not paying attention to us, I know she hears everything.
“What do you think?” I ask as he looks around, a layer of gold already dusting over his hair and the bridge of his nose.
“You’ve certainly stepped it up this year.” He chuckles, brushing some of the glitter off his face. It just sticks to the back of his hand instead.
“We’re teenagers now. I wanted it to be special.” I hope he won’t be upset by the glitter. It’s rather invasive.
But nothing seems to be able to put a dent in his good mood.
“Mission accomplished.” Forrest smiles at me. I should have known by now that he wouldn’t disappoint me. “I think it’s great. And it matches the theme of the day.”
He holds out a small tissue paper-stuffed bag toward me, and I dig through the jungle of balloon strings surrounding me for the wrapped present I brought for him.
Forrest waits to open it while I reach into the bag he handed me, pulling out a small, velvet drawstring pouch.
I carefully loosen it and tip the contents into my palm to discover a fine, glistening gold chain with a small circle charm on it.
I take a closer look at the charm and find a delicate script C carved into one side. It’s beautiful.
“Forrest,” I say softly, in awe of his present. I’ve never had any jewelry of my own that wasn’t made of string and beads before. Mom lets me borrow hers for special occasions, but this is different. This is mine.
“Do you like it?” he asks, looking at me with wide eyes. “My mom helped me figure out what to get you. She said every young lady needs nice jewelry, but I picked out the bracelet and the charm myself.”
“I love it,” I say, fumbling to try to put it on.
“Let me,” Forrest offers, taking the ends of the bracelet and easily clipping them around my wrist. There are other loops on the chain so I can adjust it as I grow. Good thing, since I’m never taking it off.
“Thank you,” I say. For helping me put it on. For picking out something so thoughtful. It feels like not enough to say for the size of the feelings I’m having, but I don’t know a better alternative.
“I’ll wear it forever,” I promise before nodding to his gift. “Your turn.”
Forrest carefully peels apart the wrapping paper at the tape spots. I’ve never understood why he won’t rip the stuff like a normal kid, but this is something that’s just become so Forrest, that I think it’d actually be weirder if he suddenly tore into his gifts.
I got him a small, black cloth-bound notebook and a matching pencil case made of fake leather with a silver ring for a zipper pull. Inside, there’s even a black and silver pen and pencil set.
“I wanted you to have a place to keep your thoughts. Something dignified for a new teenager,” I explain while Forrest turns the notebook over in his hand and runs his fingers over the silver ring on the pencil case.
The back of the notebook has a little silver FED pressed into the corner for his initials.
Dad helped me add that after we bought the notebook.
“Thank you, Cam. It’s all perfect,” Forrest says, shifting onto his knees so he can lean over and hug me.
I’m still feeling too many things, and his touch makes my stomach do a weird swoop. I can still feel his arm around me after he lets go. Maybe there’s something wrong with me.
We both need to get home for family birthday time, but even the few moments of silence feel weird now.
“We should probably head back,” I say.
Forrest agrees and takes one of the balloons with him as he heads down the ladder.
I quickly check around me to make sure I didn’t forget anything. We’ll clean out the glitter and take the rest of the balloons tomorrow once they deflate some. I follow Forrest out of the treehouse.
He hands me the balloon when I step onto the ground after him.
“Thanks,” I say. We already hugged in the treehouse, so it feels weird to do it again. But just saying bye also feels weird. Then I remember his goofy smile from right after school.
“Oh! I forgot to ask,” I say, relieved to have thought of something to say. “What had you in such a good mood after school earlier?”
The smile returns in full force.
“After math today, Cora kissed me,” he says, and my stomach plummets into my shoes. “She said it was for my birthday.”
I should have just said bye.