the first time i see her, all i can think is oh shit, i’m screwed.
she’s got this leather jacket and these long, slender legs in tight jeans, black boots thudding on the ground with every step she takes. her hair is shiny and dark, piled up in a bun at the crown of her head, but these little wisps come free and fall around her face. she’s all cherry lips and high cheekbones and oh shit oh shit oh shit.
“hi,” she says. goddess, my mind shouts. “i’m your new seatmate.”
“hi,” i say, trying to catch my breath. “nice to meet you.”
my heart pounds against my ribs as she puts her backpack down, crosses her legs, and grins at me.
“did you hear we’re doing shakespeare?” she asks.
there’s blood rushing in my ears and fire in my veins. something in my chest is burning, burning.
i smile at her, a little shakily. “i love shakespeare.”
we read the tempest in terrible accents and every time she laughs i fall a little harder. i make puns under my breath in class and the corner of her mouth quirks up, like a secret, my secret.
but i don’t want secrets.
i want to race her up the stairs until we burst onto the roof, so high that we can see the whole city. i want to make her feel the way she makes me feel, like my heart is so full it could burst. i want her. i want her so much that it’s torture to sit there, right by her side, and not touch her but i know i can’t. she’s the best thing i’ve ever called mine and i can’t lose her.
we get our copies of beowulf and the first thing she does is turn to me and ask, “want to hear it in my prospero voice?”
“i love your prospero voice,” i tell her, and i mean i love you.
over spring break we take a road trip. we drive to the beach in her dad’s old convertible, bright and shiny and fire-engine red.
we’re singing along with the radio, badly, with the wind in our faces and the whole highway stretching ahead of us. when she throws her head back and laughs at the sky, i feel myself fly.
she falls asleep somewhere between jersey and delaware. her hand rests softly by her side, palm up.
i look at it and think, what if.
under the stars and the moon, on that long stretch of road, something explodes in me. fireworks, sparks, ignition. turn the key. new chapter.
i take my right hand off the wheel and entwine my fingers with hers.
she mumbles in her sleep and rolls towards me, cheek pressed up against the leather of the seat.
i clutch her hand tighter and drive on.
we spend our days by the ocean, goofing off in the water and tossing a frisbee around. later, we go out on the beach again, this time to lie on our backs and stare at the glittering expanse of the night. she points out ursa major and i show her the moon rabbit. when she takes my hand to guide me to orion, my heart leaps into my throat and stays there, fluttering desperately.
when we’re done with that, we ask each other questions. they start off easy: what’s your favorite color (hers is purple), what’s your favorite book (harry potter) why do you like plum cobbler so much (mom’s specialty).
but then they get harder. first kiss. first crush. first love.
i tell her the story of my one and only boyfriend, who fits all three of those categories, and how we decided to split two months before summer of senior year.
“and then what?” she asks when i finish. “what did you do?”
“well,” i reply, “i came here. i met you.”
she’s quiet on the way home.
i ask her what’s wrong but she avoids the question. her lips are pressed tightly together and i want her to smile so badly. i put the radio on, but she doesn’t sing.
i book us a hotel room in maryland for the night. she says she can drive if i’m too tired, but i sit her down on the bed and tell her i know she’s not fine, but we can talk about it. we can always talk about it.
she takes a deep breath, looks at the ground, and says, “i never wanted a boyfriend.”
she looks up at me, uncomprehending. “no, like, i like girls. in a gay way.”
the rush of euphoria leaves me lightheaded. “i like you in a gay way,” i say, and then i kiss her.
when we get back, everything is different but the same. we still make awful jokes and read the iliad in stupid voices, but i know her coffee order now. we walk into class hand in hand, and i kiss her whenever i can.
“i love you,” i tell her one day at random. she’s just proofreading my essay, but the words spring to my lips like water from a fountain, and the truth of them has seeped into my bones.
“love you more,” she says almost absently. “this looks fine. want to go for a run?”
we make it up onto the roof at seven, panting from the exertion.
“stairs are hell,” i wheeze.
she laughs, and immediately the burn in my thighs is worth it. “no shit.”
we watch the sun’s dying rays glimmer off the water, her head on my shoulder, our elbows linked.
then the lights of the city blink to life, and as the moon rises, i kiss her. under the light of a hundred constellations, a thousand stars, a million miles of sky, i kiss her.