Hollywood's Secret Baby

Until one day it was.

It’s one of those memories that haunts you randomly years later. It was just another normal afternoon. We were watching some Japanese cartoon Cory was really into with these primary colored robots fighting with laser swords. We were both on our bellies, heads on the foot of his bed, watching the TV set up on my dresser. I don’t know exactly what I said, but I’m sure it was teasing him for his weird taste in shows. That caused him to start tickling me, attacking under my arms. In my attempt at a defense, I rolled over on my back like a cat, claws extended, fighting Cory off between bursts of laughs.

The memory comes to a standstill here, because that’s exactly what happened. In a single second, our relationship shifted. Before, we were just the two outcasts finding friendship where we could. Then he was on top of me, my arms on either side of my head, breaths hot on each other’s cheeks. Our silly smiles fell away as we stayed like that for what felt like an hour.

Nothing ever happened. We never kissed. I’m not even sure how the afternoon ended. My brain didn’t deem those events worthy of cataloguing. I’m sure we played it off and continued on our day, falling into the same routines we always had. But the next day, he was busy with a school project so he couldn’t come over to my house. And a week later when he shyly asked if I wanted to come over and watch a movie at his place, I made up some stupid excuse.

Even clearer than growing boobs or getting my period, that was the moment that I left my childhood behind.

We were friends after that, but it was never the same. Gone were the times sitting beside each other so close that our shoulders touched. We no longer wrestled with our feet under the desks in class. And though we still hung out and joked around every day, something always rang hollow.

Which is why it’s weird being alone with him in my bedroom again. And even weirder that he’s sleeping over, albeit it in a different room. Of course my mom wouldn't mind. She’s loved Cory more than me since I started bringing him around. And when she found out that his home life was often more stressful than any child should have to grow up around—with a mother who drank so much wine during the day that Cory often went without dinner and a father who was so rarely around I’d only met him once—my mom was always keen to have him sleep over. Maybe she saw him as the son she never had, but to me Cory wasn’t a brother. He was a friend that also happened to be a boy and that made things complicated as we grew older.

“You know,” Cory says a little too loudly, like he’s trying to get our conversation back on a more comfortable track. “You don’t need to care about all those assholes back there.”

“If this is your way of making me feel better, it sucks ass.”

I’ve turned my back to him so I can look at the mirror on the inside door of my wardrobe. Cory will no doubt think this is so I can check on my hair that I’m still rubbing dry with my towel but what I’m actually doing is making sure it’s not super obvious that I’m not wearing a bra under this shirt. And to my horror, it is. Because on a night like tonight, why should anything swing in my way? No, I’ve just happened to choose one of my most worn-out sleeping shirts that, while comfortable, is also thin enough that my nipples are just begging for attention. Add to the fact that the sleeves are cut off, leaving my underarms exposed, and I feel far too vulnerable to be stuck in a room with a guy. Even if that guy is just Cory.

So I move away from the mirror and sit at my desk where I’m facing away from him. It's weird to hold a conversation this way, but what other choice do I have?

“I’m just saying that you shouldn’t care what they think. Prom is like this weird mating ritual to them. And we’re more evolved than that, aren’t we?”

I sigh, because I wish I could believe the slop we’ve been feeding ourselves all these years. Trying to make ourselves feel better by convincing each other that we’re better than everyone else. That we’re smarter or more self-aware or some bullshit. Basically the textbook 101 method for losers to feel less like losers.

Only it's not having any effect on me tonight.

“You weren’t there,” I say. “You didn’t see. It’s not that no one danced with me. I mean, I didn’t even want to dance.” I say this, but of course I don’t mean it. I wanted a romantic slow dance with someone cute. What high school girl doesn’t? “I just wanted to have a bit of fun. You only get one prom, right? But no one even saw me. So I guess it’s like I wasn’t there either.”

I hear Cory get up off the bed while I’m talking, but I don’t look back. I don’t want him to see the tears pooling up. But he comes up behind me and places his hands on my shoulders. What could easily be a creepy move isn’t at all. He’s just standing there, holding me in the best way he can. Not saying anything. Which is something he’s always been good at. As much as he used to jabber on about his wild plans for the future or how he was going to finally kick Matt’s ass one of these days, he’s always known when he needed to just shut up and listen.

“It just made me realize that I’ve never really been there, you know? We went to school with these people, but will they even remember us in a few years? And what if this is what the rest of life is like? Am I going to be a nobody at college too?” There’s no hiding my tears now, so I sniffle and wipe at my face with my bare arms, only managing to smear the tears.

“Everyone’s always said that it gets better when you get out of high school,” I say. “Haven’t you always said that we were the ones who were going to ascend or whatever? You told me that high school was their world, but that ours would be the actual world. And that while they were still reminiscing about the good ol’ days, we would actually be living ours.”

Cory nods, but doesn't say anything.

“But what if you’re wrong? What if this is it? What if we’re always going to be nobodies?”

“You’re not nobody,” Cory says quietly.

I shake my head violently, the motion sending my wet hair flapping about. “I am.” And at these two words, I’m just on the verge of a full-on cry. I mean wailing, and gnashing of teeth and all that. That is until Cory’s next words bring my pity party to a crashing halt.

“You’re not nobody to me,” Cory says. And with his hands on my shoulders, he spins me around in my little office chair. His face is uncomfortably close to mine when he adds on, “You’re everything to me.”

Then he kisses me.

And to my eternal surprise, I kiss him back.

Our lips are unsure. I’ve never kissed a guy, and I know that despite all the bragging he’s done about ‘past conquests’ and shit, Cory’s never been in this sort of situation either. But we’re not pulling away from each other, so what could have been a friendly peck if we'd stopped right away has turned into something that can't j

ust be brushed off.

Not that I want it to.

Like a pendulum, I swing from one extreme to the other. It's not Cory who initiates tongue contact. It’s me. It's also me who stands up and wraps my arms around him. I’m not sure who inches us towards my bed, but it’s Cory taking the initiative on top of me. His tentative fingers explore up my shirt, edging around my breasts, careful not to cross the line. But it’s me who grabs his hand and guides it up my chest. His fingers find my nipple and I moan into his mouth.

Clothes fall away, our breaths fill the silence, and when Cory tries to penetrate me, it takes a full two minutes to get the angles and everything right. Then it’s painful on my end and painfully slow on his.