My First Kiss: Part 2, the chase

I head back to the high school and hide my emotions in cheap dance décor and poster paint. It is therapeutic, even if I can’t stop painting MJ+WB on all the decorations. My friend Fiff and I catch a serious case of the giggles as she reviews the number of times she caught Wonderboy staring at me this week. I’m not very good at gambling with love, but Fiff has a way of reassuring me that I’ve played my cards well. Before I know it, it’s dark and my mind is revolving around one thought, “Is he going to call?” My cell phone rings. It’s him.

My heart gallops in my chest as I fumble for the “accept” button. His voice sounds like pure, audible happiness. “I’m coming to get you,” he insists. There’s a party at the Frampton’s and he can’t believe I’m not there already. I put up a measly fight about ditching the decorations, but I’m already headed to the bathroom to reapply makeup and tease my hair. We hang up. I squeal. Fiff rolls her eyes. “Are you going to kiss him?” She asks. “I don’t know.” I answer honestly.

Wonderboy pulls up to the high school in his parent’s suburban and even though my eyes have been glued to the window since we got off the phone, I act like I don’t notice so that he’ll come in and retrieve me. He does. He’s so handsome. He grabs my hand and I feel the same surge of excitement I did when he first held my hand a year ago. I had never held anyone’s hand before then. He was also my first date. I probably would have kissed him before now if he hadn’t been such an idiot. I don’t care if we’re just teenagers. If you really care about someone, you don’t go around kissing someone else. Maybe I’m a prude, but I’m not a fool.

Once we’re in the car he pulls me over to sit in the middle. I relax. I know he’s not going to try when we’re in the car—he knows my rule. We talk about the party, about the five (out of six) classes we share, about anything but the big gorilla who’s puckering up in the seat next to me.

When we get to the party I can’t believe how many people are there. Wonderboy disappears somewhere in the crowd and I’m left feeling like I’m interrupting everyone’s conversation. I wander. It’s a beautiful home: grand pianos, china cabinets, a few staircases and a two-tiered deck out back. “Where did you go? I’ve been looking for you.” I hear Wonderboy’s familiar voice as he slips his arms around my waist. I blush, dip my chin down and smile. “Guess you found me.” I respond. “Let’s go for a walk,” he says as a crooked grin grows on his face. I choke on my breath, but manage to blurt out a suspicious, “ok.”

It’s freezing outside, but I don’t care. Wonderboy walks in front of me, securing my arms in a link around his body. My chin rests on his back and all I can think about is how warm is and how nice it feels to be close to him. This is it. He’s going to try again. I can do it. I can kiss him, here, at this stupid party—I’m gonna do it.

He leads me around the house and under the deck. No one is out here. I begin to wonder if he was scoping out a spot during his mysterious disappearance. We stop walking. He spins me around and we’re suddenly face to face. Our eyes lock in a stare. His intense blue eyes have me captured. It’s as if I’ve never looked at him before. Then a door slides open on the deck above. I can hear familiar friends’ voices, but just as I’m placing them with names, I realize that they’re carrying something. Then that something starts to tip. Water begins pouring through the cracks in the wood directly on top of my head. I squirm, but Wonderboy is holding me in place. “You dork—what are you doing?” I screech. “Kiss me, MJ, It’s raining!” He says.

I break out of Wonderboy’s grasp and begin to run. “Wait, MJ!” I hear him call. He can’t be serious. How stupid can high school boys be? Did he honestly think I would kiss him now? I’m freezing. I’m angry. My lucky sweater is soaked. This must be a joke. What an idiot. I was just about to give in, to forget that I’m scared out of my mind to kiss him—to trust him. And then he dumps a bucket of water on me. I stop running and allow myself to laugh at the situation for a moment. Then I start to cry.

When I’m a few houses down the block I hear him jogging up behind me. Good thing I’m soaking wet. The running mascara will blend in. “MJ, what are you doing?” he asks. “Going home, it’s really not far.” I respond irrationally. It’s really far. “I’m not letting you walk home,” he says as he grabs my hand. Butterflies flutter in my stomach, but I act like I don’t care. “Besides,” he continues, “you left your car at the high school.” “I don’t care,” I lie. Then he picks me up, throws me over his shoulder and carries me back to his car. I scream, and laugh, and realize that he’s also soaking wet.