Page 19 of Never Been Shipped

He shouldn’t have thought about that first kiss. It had been such a small moment, in the scheme of things—probably Micah didn’t even remember it. He didn’t like to remember it, because then it was like playing the recursive notes to a song that would get in his head and stay there, looping over and over.

They’d been hanging out in her room, like usual. The door cracked six inches, like always. Even her dad yelling at her about that six inches had been enough to make John break out into a full-body blush back then, although Micah had always yelled something back about “C’mon, Dad, it’sJohn.”

He couldn’t remember how they’d gotten on the topic ofkissing. Maybe someone in their class had been bragging about a recent encounter. Maybe Micah had been reading one of those magazines she’d liked, featuring a pop star on the cover and lots of tips about how to rock a smoky eye and nude lip, or neutral eyes and a red lip, whatever the trend was. But eventually Micah had asked him if he’d ever kissed anyone.

He’d hesitated. He didn’t know why his instinct had been to lie to Micah, to tell her that he had, because he never lied to her. Or at least, only by omission. “No,” he said finally.

“Me neither.” She’d rolled over onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. “I wonder how you know how to do it, when the time comes. Like your lips touch and suddenly, boom, you’re just…kissing?”

“I guess,” John said. “That’s how it looks in the movies.”

She’d turned to him, propping her head up with her hand as she considered him. He could still see her so clearly in that moment—the bend in her wrist, the way her fingers were lost in her strawberry-blond hair, how clear her green eyes had looked as she’d glanced down at his mouth, not even making any bones about it. That had always been one of the things that had gotten him about Micah—the way she justwent for itsometimes, the way she seemed willing to jump without knowing where she would land. She was looking right at his mouth, and he knew what she was going to say before she said it.

“We should try it,” she said. “Just to see.”

He wanted to kiss Micah. God, how he’dwantedit. But it seemed like she was just coming up with the idea right now this very second, whereas he’d had a year to want it. He’d felt like they weren’t caught up.

“I don’t know,” he’d said. “You’re my best friend.”

“And you’re mine,” she said. “That’s why it’s perfect. We’ll get our first kiss out of the way together, so we can say we did it. Then when it comes time to kiss someone for real, we’ll be ready.”

“Your dad—” John didn’t fear Micah’s dad, not really. When he got mad, he reacted in a very predictable way. There’d be some yelling, maybe grounding, more likely thethreateningof a grounding that would never actually happen. The worst, Micah would say, rolling her eyes, was when he made you sit down and listen to him lecture at you for an hour straight, and god forbid you broke eye contact or cracked a smile because he’d start all over.

John hadn’t told Micah what it looked like whenhisdad got mad. It was different every time. That was the worst part about it.

“He’s watching the game,” Micah had said, sitting up then. “Come on, Johnny, get up here. This will only take a minute.”

John had been sitting on the floor at the foot of Micah’s bed, her copy ofTwilightin his lap even though he’d barely been reading it. He knew that he could say no and she’d drop it. But he didn’t want to say no. He set the book carefully back on the bottom shelf of her bookcase, then climbed up to sit cross-legged on Micah’s bed, facing her.

She chewed her lower lip, the corner of her mouth tilting in a smile. “I don’t really know how you get started.”

“That’s not in your magazines?”

“I guess you just…” She leaned forward, planting a kiss somewhere closer to his chin. Even that small touch sent a thrill down his spine, and he’d rubbed his palms against his jeans, feeling where they’d gone sweaty with anticipation. Suddenlyhewanted to kissher, wanted to be the one to make the jump for once.

“I think it’s more like…” He touched her face, just the barest graze so he could hold her in place while he pressed his lips more firmly against hers, feeling her intake of breath against his mouth.

And then she did something he hadn’t expected. Her lips parted, opening for him, and he felt her tongue slide briefly against his before he pulled back.

He stared at her, still breathing hard. Her mouth looked a little pinker to him, a little swollen, but surely that couldn’t be—they’d barely kissed.

“That’s how they do it in the movies,” she said, and he realized there was the suggestion of an apology in her voice, like she thought he hadn’t liked it. He was still trying to gather the words to explain that wasn’t it—god, had helikedit. He just hadn’t seen it coming. He needed a minute.

She’d given a little laugh, rubbing the back of her hand against her mouth. “Well, now we can say we’ve done it. And I’m sure it gets better, with the second and third and fourth and whatever. Once you get used to it.”

Had she not thought the kiss wasgood? John felt suddenly embarrassed. If there was one thing about first kisses, it was that they were supposed to be memorable, right? And now that would be hers, that she’d remember for the rest of her life, and it hadn’t even been good.

Wait, wait, he’d wanted to say.Give me your second and your third and your fourth and whatever else, I can make it better.But she was already rolling off the bed to cross over to her computer, scrolling through her music library until she found an old blues record she liked.

Maybe that was why now hehopedMicah didn’t rememberit, if that had been her experience. And it had never been weird between them after that—they’d gone right back to being friends like they’d always been. John had been there to hear Micah talk about those second and third and fourth kisses with a guy she dated freshman year, more kisses than he could possibly count as she’d dated various other people after that. And he’d done his share of kissing, too, although he’d never shared any of the details with her.

“Hey.” He heard Frankie’s voice behind him, and he turned. They were hard to miss, with their big hair and distinctive style, but from the groups of people they’d left in their wake talking excitedly and scrolling through their phones, he assumed they’d taken a different approach than he had. Less of a “try to fly under the radar” and more of a “walk around openly, sign autographs, then keep going.” He’d always admired the way Frankie moved through the world.

“Hey,” he said. “You recognized me.”

They gave him an incredulous once-over. “You’re not exactly incognito. I mean, yes, every guy here has a black hoodie. But you have a very distinctive introspection about you. The minute I saw someone standing with his hands in his pockets, looking out over the water, I knew it was you. This isn’t a situation where I have to start removing my boots and telling you I’ll go in after you, is it?”

John smiled. “Why iseveryonereferencingTitanic? Can’t we all agree not to talk about it for the next five days at least?”

---