Rebel at Spruce High

“But can you? Or is it lame? Am I boring compared to other guys you’ve done stuff with? You probably think I’m a prude.”

I give him yet another look. “You gotta stop judging yourself.”

“What have you done with guys? Have you had a boyfriend before? Oh, that’s stupid to ask.” A flicker of worry bats at his eyes. “Of course you have. You’ve lived in big cities.” He breaks his gaze from mine, and I watch an encyclopedia of fear pass over his eyes. “I’ve never kissed a guy ‘til tonight.”

Wait a second. “You’ve … never kissed a guy?”

“I’ve never kissed anyone before, really. Well.” He rethinks it. “There was a girl I took to a sixth grade dance, and we kinda did a weird peck thing on the lips, but it was apparently just so she could brag to her—never mind, that doesn’t count. Do I have to remind you where I live?” he blurts suddenly, eyeing me.

I give another look at the ceiling fan. The way it wobbles, it seriously looks like it’s a minute from dropping. “I’ve done things with guys, sure. But … they were all fleeting and temporary and … things I knew wouldn’t last. Guys in big cities have short attention spans. Lots of distraction.” It seems to dawn on me in this moment despite knowing the fact already. “I’ve … never actually had a real boyfriend of my own.” Toby doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are on me. He listens. He’s trying to be respectful, I think. Or else he’s just super fascinated by me, since I’m not from Spruce and must have dozens of stories to tell. “So I guess that gives us a few tasks.”

“Tasks?” Toby sits up. “What do you mean ‘tasks’?”

I draw my hands behind my head and lean back on the pillow. “First off, how are you ever going to understand what’s going through Danny’s lil’ twenty-something-year-old experienced head when you haven’t done anything yourself? You’ve gotta live a little so you know what you’re portraying. This is Acting 101.”

“Well, I’m—I’m not an actor,” he stammers defensively.

“Well, I am. I’ve been in a few plays at my old high school in New York, and one back in Chicago.”

“And I’ve painted sets.” Toby frowns. “Tasks …?”

“First, I think we need to get you absolutely comfortable with the idea of being absolutely uncomfortable.”

“What?”

I grab hold of Toby’s arm, then pull him over me. By instinct, Toby maneuvers his body, and then he’s on top of me, his stunned face over mine. “What was that for?” he blurts out.

“Kiss me again. But this time, you take charge.”

Toby gnaws on the inside of his cheek as he considers my lips. It’s the romantic equivalent to a runner preparing for the gunshot at the start of a race. After a while, he sighs. “I can’t. I just … I look at you, and I freak out, and I feel like I—”

“Just do this.” I reach around the back of his neck, pull his face to mine, and press my mouth to his. Every single time our lips touch, everything else fades away like it was never there. Neither of us want to miss a moment of feeling as good as we feel when our lips are together. It nearly hurts each time a kiss ends, like I’m already desperate for the next, but I pull away and stare into his eyes. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“Uh, like at this rate, you and I are going to be very convincing by opening night.”

“Forget Kingsley and Danny. They aren’t real.” I gently take hold of his chin. His eyes lock onto mine. “You are Toby right now. Not Danny. I’m Vann. We’re … actually kissing.”

Toby searches my eyes in a panic. “I’m … I’m so …” He lets out a frustrated huff. “I’m so confused. What are we doing?”

“Are you into me?”

“Into you?”

“Yeah. Do you like me?” I feel him hesitating, panicking even worse. “Look, just say it. If you do, you do. If you don’t, you don’t. That’s how we do it where I’m from. You say what you mean. You don’t dance around the truth. You dive into the deep end and kick ‘til you swim. Just grow some balls and say it.”

Toby stiffens up, turning indignant. “I’ve got balls,” he states, “and … yes. Yes, alright? I figured you knew by now that I … well, whatever, yes, I like you. Obviously.”

“So we’ve got that in common as well. I like you, too, Toby.”

That indignant glare he’s giving me softens at once.

I guess that bit of information came as a surprise to him.

“And with that out of the way,” I go on, “you can relax now.”

“I am relaxed,” he insists, totally not relaxed.

“And we can keep kissing each other until you’re ready to get on with the script. You know, since scene five does exist. If we’re … even still bothering with the rest of the script tonight.”