12
Peter
12th Grade
I’m switching the books at my locker when Amber slips her arms around me from behind. “Hi.”
“Hey,” I say, grabbing my physics textbook before shutting the locker and turning around to kiss her. It’s the best part of my day, when we get to spend a few minutes with each other. This year is busier than last year, and between rehearsals and homework, neither of us has the time that we want.
She pushes me back into my locker and kisses me hard, not caring that we’re in a hallway full of people. Though those people are used to it. Amber Dwyer doesn’t care about PDA, and because she doesn’t, I don’t either. I pull her hips closer to mine so that she can feel what’s beneath my jeans. “It’s been awhile,” she says.
“Yes,” I say, my voice a bit rough. “It has.”
“Hmm,” she hums, reaching up so she can whisper in my ear. “What should we do to take care of that?”
“At this point,” I laugh, “really anything.”
She smirks. “I have an idea, but I have to check on something and I’ll let you know.”
There’s no more blood in my brain, and she can feel it. She laughs. “In the meantime, I’ve figured out what I want to do.”
“Do for what?”
Amber hits my arm lightly, and I pretend like she punched me, making her laugh while she talks. “For my senior project. I want to get into as many schools as possible so I have choices, but to do that, I need to showcase as many skills as possible. So I’m going to do a show, but it’s going to be all me.”
I raise an eyebrow and stroke my hand down her back. “All you?”
She rolls her eyes but she’s smiling. “All me. I’m going to write it, direct it—with the help of Mr. Davidson—film it while I’m preforming. I’ll do the lights, any sound, everything. That way I can show that I can do almost anything.”
It’s the most Amber thing that she’s ever come up with, and of course it’s brilliant. “That sounds perfect, and like a lot of work.”
“It will definitely be a lot of work,” she nods. “But it will be worth it.”
“What can I do to help?”
“I’ll let you know,” she grins, “but right now, you can meet me in the prop room as soon as your class is done.”
“The prop room?”
“I just have to make sure it’s clear, but I’m pretty sure we’ll be undisturbed there, if you know what I mean.”
Fuck. Over the last year, ever since we started sleeping together, we’ve gotten good. Not that I have anything to compare it to, but holy shit we’re good together. The first time I made her come just from being inside her was a moment I’ll never forget as long as I live—a hard fought victory.
“I know what you mean,” I say, wrapping my hand around the back of her neck and kissing her so she’s crystal clear that I understand.
The bell rings, and I groan in frustration. Terrible timing. Amber laughs and pulls away. “I’ll see you soon,” she says, eyes full of heat.
“Not soon enough,” I call after her.
The prop room is old and dusty and full of very fond memories. There have been times when we’ve snuck down here to fool around, but we’ve never had sex here. But Amber is a genius, because in the time between when school ends and rehearsal begins, there’s no reason for anyone to be down here, unless you’re a guy who hasn’t gotten to sleep with his girlfriend in more than three weeks.
I feel like I’m about to explode, even if we’ve managed to fit in a couple of very special phone conversations. “Amber?” I call.
She’s not here. I don’t have to go through all the twists and turns of towering piles of props to see that, I can feel it. She probably got caught up with her teacher. Amber is the star of our class. Everyone loves her, and everybody wants to talk to her. In the meantime, I can look for a blanket or something.
There’s a wider open space in the back of the prop room where theater kids occasionally come to drink and talk and make out, and now, have sex.
I grab a blanket and spread it on the floor, along with some pillows from the ancient couch in the corner. The pillows are fine. The couch is so old that none of us should really be sitting on it or breathing near it, let alone having sex on it.
I hear a shuffle behind me. “Amber?”
“Hiya,” she says, stepping around the corner of piled stuff.
Just looking at her makes me feel like I can’t breathe. “Looks comfortable.”
I laugh. “Could be worse.”
“It could be.” She’s close to me now, and my blood is thumping in my ears. “Now kiss me.”