Page 27 of When We Were Younger

She finds the album and we settle in as she presses play. The first song starts, and I close my eyes as I listen to the lyrics. Harry, Louis, Liam, Niall and Zayn croon on about young love and what it's like when everyone wants the girl you have, but you know in your heart that she's all yours. The lyrics make my stomach twist, and my knees start to shake, knocking into each other as I sit. I wrap my arms around them, trying to keep myself still and try to dispel some of the nervous energy coursing through me. The bridge hits, Zayn hits a high note, and I rip the headphone out of my ear. It all feels like too much all the sudden.

"Don't tell me you don't like it," she whines, holding my discarded earbud back up and trying to hand it back to me. "They just got started. Wait until we get to this song calledGirl Almighty. It's so good," she says, nudging my shoulder with hers.

"It's not the song," I say.

"Okaaaaay, then what is it? You look like you're gonna be sick or something," she pulls out her own headphone and tucks her phone back into her bag.When she wraps an arm around my shoulder, I decide that this is it.

"I guess it was the song, a little bit. It's just… that's how I feel sometimes, Dorothea. You’re my best friend, my girl, and sometimes when I think about how much you mean to me, it's overwhelming. Like, I care about you more than anyone else and I think about you all the time. Do you ever feel like that?" I look over at her, and with her arm around my shoulders, our faces are already impossibly close. In the moonlight, I can see her tongue peek out and swipe across her lips. She doesn't say anything for a long moment. Just when I start to think that I've screwed everything up, she nods, just a little bit.

"Earlier, outside of school, I thought…" she trails off.

"You thought what?" I ask. She looks down at the blanket and then back up at me.

"I thought you might kiss me," she whispers, and I swear I almost choke on my tongue. Now is my chance. No time for nerves, no time for hesitation.

"Truth or dare?" I ask quietly. Her blue eyes sparkle, and she leans in as she mouths her answer.

"Dare."

I don't need to ask anymore. We need no further clarification. We both know what my dare was, and what her response would be.

I don't think, I just move, crashing my lips into hers. It's awkward, but only for a second. She tilts her head and I cup her cheek, and we melt into it. She tastes like sunshine and fruity gum and all of my wildestdaydreams rolled into one. When she lies back, I go with her. When her lips part, mine do as well. When she wraps her other arm around my neck, pulling me close, my hands find her waist. It's not my first kiss, nor is it hers, but it's the first one that matters. The first one that feels like something. The first one that belongs to me and my Dorothea.

Butterflies flutter in my stomach as the kiss goes on and on, forever and not long enough all at the same time. When we finally break for air, I press my forehead to hers, and I already miss the feel of her mouth on mine.

"Hey, Dorothea?" I ask, swallowing back a nervous breath. Her eyes are still closed, and she hums in response.

"Does this mean… will you be my girlfriend?"

"Is that a dare? Because technically, it was my turn to ask." She lifts one brow as she says it, and I know that my face must drop into some pathetic, needy looking mope because she cups my cheek and smiles, a big, toothy grin. She leans in and presses her lips to mine.

"I'm already your girl, Stephen. I think maybe it would be good to be your girlfriend, too."

The next day, we wake up after the sun, out there in our field. Mom grounds me for two weeks for not coming home the night before, but I think it was one hundred percent worth it.

15

STEPHEN

I have a plan. A good plan.

A plan I will continue to execute as soon as I get the goddamn Butterfinger pieces out from between my teeth.

There's no good way to do this subtly. I either have to poke around with my tongue inside my mouth and risk looking like I'm practicing my blow job skills or grab a toothpick from the caramel apple stand and go to town like a hillbilly. Neither of those seem like a good option when I'm actively trying to show Dorothea that I’m someone who she could find attractive again.

I’ve had a lot of time to think this week. Work is slow this time of year–Dad doesn't like to get into the trenches of big projects so close to the holidays–and there are only so many spreadsheets a man can balance before his mind starts to wander. After the awkward start at Noble Brews earlier this week, Dorothea and I fell into a comfortable pattern of being not quiteineachother's lives, but adjacent. I could've proposed my plan to her right then and there. Be mine. At least for now. Fuck the consequences. Fuck the fact that I'm handing you my heart on a silver platter and a dagger to stab it with when you’re finished using it. Just be mine. I could've swept the drinks off the table, picked her up, laid her down and-

Okay. No. I couldn't have done that. That fantasy doesn't even come to fruition in my head, let alone in real life, because I'm not an exhibitionist.

Even if I was, there's no way in hell I'd want anyone to see the things I want to do to her. So no, there would be no sweeping her off her feet. No grand romantic gestures where I run up to her in the rain, tell her I've never stopped thinking about her. That seeing her again has made my heart beat wildly for the first time since I was eighteen. That I want her, all of her, all over me. No grabbing and kissing and happily ever afters while the screen fades to black and the credits roll. No sudden movements.

Just the plan. Spend time with her. Get her comfortable. Remind her how we used to be. Show her we can be that again, that I truly don't care what the weirdo busybodies of this town think about her or us.

Now if I can only get this fucking candy out of my molar so I can continue the plan. I've got my arm around Dorothea's shoulders, and she's leaned into me a bit since we've been sitting here. If she were an inch or two closer, her head would be resting on my shoulder.

Mayor Parker is still giving her speech, going onabout this history of Fox Hole and the importance of community this time of year. She mentions the toy drive and I make a mental note to swing by Walmart and pick up some stuff to donate, all while trying to push the most stubborn piece of candy known to man out from between my teeth.

"You look like you could use this," Dorothea says, holding up one of those bamboo floss sticks.

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