Rebel at Spruce High

“Thanks so much, Mrs. Pane,” he responds, blushing. “It really means a lot to me. Your son is the best costar I could ask for.”

My mother peers at me thoughtfully as she speaks to him. “I would say you’ve had a really … positive effect on my son.” A smile spills over her face, which might even be a fully genuine one. “I’m splendidly surprised at the close and powerful relationship that’s grown between the two of you. A strong bond, indeed.”

Despite my usual glumness with regard to my parents, I think there might be a hint of a smile on my own face as I hear her say those words. For some reason, I’m thinking of chemistry now, of electrons and covalent bonds, and how two elements can depend so deeply on one another to make a miracle—like how sodium and chlorine join hands to make the salt that gives every Michelin star cuisine in the world its flavor.

Are we that miracle?

Then again, hydrogen and fluorine make one of the most dangerous acids known to man. That could just as well be us, too.

“Relationship?” blurts Omar, cutting in cheerily.

He was in a conversation with Kelsey. Now he’s not.

And neither is anyone else. Tyrone has lifted his eyebrows to us, curious. Toby’s mother has opened her mouth with surprise. Kelsey is biting her lip. My mother smirks knowingly. Toby’s face turns its usual cherry color.

To put everyone out of their miseries, I make the gesture of putting an arm around Toby and hugging him to my side. “Well, if it wasn’t obvious before, I guess it’s obvious now. Toby and I are boyfriends. We’re in a relationship. It’s official … or whatever.”

Toby turns his smirking, blushing face to mine. “Or whatever,” he mumbles, mimicking my lame choice of words.

Kelsey leads a very unnecessary applause, which no one joins in with. Instead, Tyrone nudges Omar and mutters, “Knew it,” as my mother smirks at me, as if proud to have unveiled our secret. She’s certainly taken a complete turn toward me over the past few weeks since she gave me back my bike. For a moment, it almost feels like it used to between us, back in the day when she had more faith in my choices and saw a bright future for me.

It’s an hour later before we’re finally freed from the crowded lobby—and people in general. I take Toby back to my house, which he insisted on, not wanting to face his stepbrother and stepdad. We sit by my pool under all the stars and riff back and forth about everything that could have gone wrong in tonight’s show. Toby is practically delirious now that opening night is past us and all the social obligations are over with. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so loose and relaxed before, laid back on that lounger next to mine. I take his hand. He turns his face and smiles my way as our clasped hands swing lazily between the loungers.

“I was really proud tonight,” he murmurs after a while, “to have shared that big ol’ stage with you.”

“I’m already looking forward to tomorrow’s performance.”

“Does that mean we have no excuse to kiss anymore after Sunday?” he asks teasingly. “After the show closes?”

I shoot him a look. “I don’t need any excuse—or show—to tell me whether or not I get to kiss that pretty face of yours.”

He leans over the short divide between our lounger chairs, and I meet him halfway, our lips coming together for a kiss. Even the distant crickets and the lazy night wind appear to still, as our breath becomes one and our hearts beat in seeming unison.

When our lips part, Toby’s next words spill out in a nervous rush. “I don’t want to wait anymore. I want to take the next step.”

My eyes flap open. He’s got my full attention now.

“The next step,” he repeats. “Have sex. With you. T-Tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“I want it to be with you, Vann. My first experience. My first time going … all the way.”

What we did last weekend certainly skirted around the big act of actually making love. It’s a significant choice, and it’s not one I take lightly. So when I hear him say those words, it isn’t my deep hunger for him that responds. Nor is it the tightness in my pants, the racing of my heart, or the anticipation of our coming together.

It’s the fact that I know we’ll share this experience together, for the rest of our lives. It could define us. It could be the most meaningful thing I’ve ever shared with someone before. I know it. He knows it. And I don’t want to mess things up with Toby.

Still holding his hand, I ask, “You sure?”

“Yes,” he answers too quickly.

“Toby, I need you to be absolutely sure. I don’t want you to … feel like you’re doing it just to make me happy. Or because you feel obligated somehow. Or you think I’ll get bored if you don’t. It’s a very important decision to—”