Page 39 of Every Thought Taken

I may be young, but I’m no idiot. Though I haven’t kissed anyone—or done anything else—I am not oblivious to the lead-up. Ales probably had the boys-and-sex conversation with Mom or Dad years ago. Me? Since school sex education is a joke and my parents are blasé when it comes to me, I learn from the internet. My research isn’t extensive, but I know enough.

Her nails lightly scrape my skin beneath my hoodie. “Yes.”

Bringing my free hand to her hair, I brush it off her forehead, tuck it behind her ear, and trail the length of it down her back as I hug her to my chest. In that single move, my lips press hers and her body sighs.

Her hand on my chest drifts around to my back, clinging and clawing softly at my skin. The kiss is soft. Sweet. A rush of heat and energy. A jolt of life to my soul. There is no tongue, no groping. Just lips and tastes and stuttered breaths in the air.

This moment… I will never forget it. The moment we became more.

CHAPTER21

HELENA

January to May has been a blur.

Although Mags will never be the girl she was prior to losing her mom, she and Mr. Bishop have slowly begun stepping out of the house more. Family gatherings will never be the same, but we meet as often as time allows and treasure every minute we get with each other.

As for me and Anderson…

Six months ago, we kissed for the first time. We’ve kept the shift in our relationship between us. Neither of us is embarrassed by the other, but we agreed that keeping it quiet is probably for the best. With the gray cloud still looming over our families with Mrs. Bishop’s passing, plus not knowing how Lessa or our parents would feel about us being more than friends, there is no good time to talk about it.

Our kisses have intensified since that cold winter night, but we haven’t explored much beyond that. No hands beneath my bra or down the pants. Physically, I know we both want more. The bulge in his pants and the way he grips my neck and holds me in place as we kiss is all the evidence I need.

I want those steps with him. I want his hands in places without barriers. Want to feel his lips and tongue and teeth in other places on my body.

When the time is right.

Every time I consider the next step, a warning bell goes off in my head. This a silent reminder that, although I am sixteen and our birthdays are around the corner, Anderson is only thirteen. His body might be ready for more, but are his mind and heart? I can’t be sure. Intellectual maturity is much different than emotional maturity.

I twist the thin ring on my right ring finger. Drop my eyes to the twin thin bands with a small, rectangular sapphire at the heart. Shortly after our first kiss, Anderson gifted me the ring. When I asked how he paid for it and why he bought it, he said he used his Christmas money and some saved birthday money because he thought it was the perfect gift.

Since slipping it on my finger, I haven’t taken it off.

The final bell of the school year rings and cheers erupt throughout the classroom. I stop doodling the compass in my notebook and stow it in my backpack. Shouldering my bag, I wave to the teacher and head for the front of the school to meet Lessa and Mags.

“Don’t know about you two, but loaded fries and a root beer float from the diner are calling my name,” Lessa says as I approach.

“I need to call Dad first, but okay,” Mags says as she pulls out her phone.

“Sounds good. We should swing by and get Ander, too.”

For a split second, Lessa narrows her eyes. “I’d never forget Baby A.”

What was that look? Does she know something is going on with us? Or is the suspicion in her expression all in my head?

I don’t have time to dwell. Mags joins us and we trek toward the middle school. I contemplate messaging Anderson and letting him know we are going to the diner, but then I think better of it. If I message, he won’t be surprised when Lessa brings it up. Then she will have another reason to give me or him the stink eye.

Anderson meets us soon after and we weave our way toward Main Street. With today being the last day of school, the diner is packed when we arrive. Luckily, we don’t wait long for a table.

Soon as the loaded fries and onion rings hit the table, our conversation halts. Lessa moans uncontrollably as she devours fries. Mags is a bit quieter as she slowly eats. Anderson and I are somewhere in the middle as we dunk and eat while slyly holding hands under the table.

“We should do something different this summer,” Lessa declares after a sip of her float.

Beside her, Mags wilts.

Without a doubt, summer will be the hardest for her. Which is why we should spend more time together. Do things we can look back on and smile at in the future. Losing Mrs. Bishop taught us all how precious every moment is. How much each second counts. Sure, we are young and should be out doing wild and adventurous things. Living in the here and now. Breaking rules and experimenting with life. But we should also do things that make us happy and stir up the good memories.

I shrug. “We can, but I like our summers. Diner days, movies, hiking.” I swallow as a memory from last summer pops up. When I told Anderson last summer that it felt like it was the last year we’d all be together. Initially, I’d said it because of studying and some of us possibly getting jobs. But I was so far from the truth. “It won’t be the same, but we should camp too.”

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