My phone buzzed. A text.
“Yeah, in your driveway.”
Shrugging, I switched off the computer, grabbed some cash, and told my mom I was getting food with a friend. Then I slipped out of the front door and into his car, letting the not-yet-familiar smell envelope me. I couldn’t believe I was actually doing this.
“Hey.” Me, trying not to smile stupidly.
“Hey.” Him, probably not even noticing.
I don’t remember where the conversation went from there. He wanted a destination – I didn’t have one for him. We drove aimlessly, arguing and laughing and talking awkwardly and making fun of each other, him threatening to take me home several times if I didn’t decide where we were going. I knew he wouldn’t. I knew he wanted to kiss me.
Eventually, it just happened at a red light. Suddenly he was very close and my head was turning and our lips were touching and the host of butterflies in my stomach was threatening to overwhelm me. It was over very quickly – I probably put a hand to my lips afterwards to see if his ghost was still there. I know I was smiling, but I didn’t dare look at him to see what he thought.
Apparently, though, it didn’t go too badly. Every light after that was another opportunity – don’t worry, we weren’t (too) reckless.
It didn’t go very far that day, but when I stepped out of his car and skipped up the front steps into my house, I was trying to keep an even stupider grin away. I was acutely aware of the long-suppressed sense of feelings for someone stirring in my chest, and I knew I had made either one of the best or most dangerous decisions of my life.