Rebel at Spruce High

“R-Right … yes … chess puns, okay.”

“Make your move, Danny. Don’t hold back. Let Kingsley know how badly you’ve fallen for him. Let Kingsley know—”

I don’t finish the sentence before Toby at once takes charge, his face lunging for my lips. I’m so surprised, my hands slide from his face, down to his sides, and then his hips. His fingers dig into the small of my back as he pulls my body against his with such force, our fronts crash together as if to unite us somehow as one.

It is indescribable, the way Toby succeeds in making me feel in this moment. The feel of lips against mine is nothing new, but the way Toby has introduced me to kissing makes me feel like I’ve never truly kissed anyone before. The feel of another guy or girl’s hands on me sure isn’t new either, yet Toby’s yearning fingers make me feel wanted on a level that far exceeds any other sense of belonging I have ever known.

It’s as if every moment of my life has intentionally paved a path directly to this little shed in the middle of nowhere, to share a moment with Toby Michaels and no one else. This secret place that no one can touch, it’s ours. This kiss, our precious thing. The touch, the grip, the embrace—something no one else will know.

How can someone so gentle and sweet take me apart so easily?

Toby relaxes the kiss, then pulls away. “Wow,” he breathes.

Inside, I’m smiling ear-to-ear. Outside, I’m staring at him, as stunned as Medusa’s latest foolhardy admirer. “That was breaking some damned ice.”

His lips spread into a smile, as if he’s about to laugh, but then he stops. “Was that okay?” he asks, worried. “I felt really good that time. It’ll definitely read on a big stage. It’s important that we—”

“Toby.”

“Yes?”

“Let’s …” My hands rest on his hips. I could kiss him all night. I could stay holding him for as long as he’ll dare to hold me back. I hardly notice how warm it’s already gotten in this shed, just from our body heat. “Let’s … drop the whole act.”

“Act? Which act? Act one?”

“You know what act I’m talking about. Let’s … acknowledge … what’s really happening here.”

“I don’t follow.”

“We’re kissing, Toby. You and me.”

“Yeah. I know. We’re practicing.”

“You and me,” I emphasize. “Not Kingsley and Danny.”

Those are the words that do it. Something clicks in his eyes, like a tiny, unexpected epiphany. And at last, when he looks at me, I feel like he truly sees me. Past all of the gossip that’s been shoved in his ears. Past his own fears and second-guessing. Past his denial. And he sees a guy standing in front of him who isn’t here just to work on some pretentious, poorly-written script.

He sees me. He feels my thumping heart. He sees my yearning stare, my uncharacteristic elation, my prickling anticipation for his touch. He sees me.

“Kiss me,” I tell him.

And without a note of hesitation this time, Toby looks right into my eyes, a knowing glint of desire burning in them, and he goes right for my lips. I embrace him completely, wrapping him in my arms. His force pushes me to the bed where I drop, causing the bed springs to creak, and then he’s atop me, ravenous, kissing, his arms locked around my back. I kiss him until every last wounded part of me is unraveled on this bed, and I’m so loose, I could feel my soul fly straight out of my chest. I kiss him until it hurts.

Somewhere deep inside me, I know that after this moment, after finally giving in, after crossing the line with my only friend here in this crummy town, everything is going to change.

And I have never welcomed it more.

Half an hour later, our shirts are off, and we’re lying back on his bed, side by side, sharing the pillow and staring up at the small metal and wooden ridges of his ceiling, from which hangs a fan, its blades spinning lazily round and round on the slow setting. A fine sheen of sweat covers both our chests.

“I didn’t know kissing could feel so good,” Toby sighs.

“I think that was more making out than it was kissing.”

“Yeah. True.” A moment passes. “By the way, I … don’t think you bring out the worst in people.”

“Huh?”

“Earlier, back in rehearsal. You said you bring out the worst in people, but I don’t think you do.”

I nearly forgot about that exercise. “You don’t know me well enough yet. And you said you think you’re an accident.”

“Well, that’s likely more true.” He chuckles breathily. “I mean, I remember the way my parents fought, even if I don’t remember much about my dad at all.”

“When did he leave?”

“I was six or so. Elementary school. I barely remember him. When my mom and Carl married, there was a court hearing from what I was told, my dad didn’t show, and I became a Michaels.”