The next time I saw Max, I was in eighth grade and on the brink of graduation from middle school. When my eyes fell on him, my heart either forgot it had been so long since I’d last seen him, or it remembered all too well.
For a second I thought I would faint–I’d never seen him so handsome as he did in the tux he wore that day. His hands were in pockets, and he looked kind of sheepish as he said hi to me. I was sure he could both feel and hear my pounding heart from across the room. I tried to tell myself I had no right being nervous since I was the one who turned him down, but I couldn’t help it.
We sat together and talked only to each other. For the entire night, we didn’t spend a moment with anyone else. I kept thinking that I could live like that forever–that I never wanted the party to end. It didn’t feel awkward between us, despite what had happened the last time I met him.
The more we talked, the more I felt sucked in. I noticed his knee brush against mine, and I saw him glance down when I stretched out my legs. I think that’s what gave me the courage to do what I did next. I kissed him. It was a short kiss, basically just our lips brushing together, but even the light touch felt like a static shock. I had to fight to keep my fingertips from pressing against my mouth when we split apart.
He looked surprised, so I felt like I had to explain: “I’m sorry. I know it’s selfish, but I just wanted to make sure you were my first kiss.”
I didn’t want him to know how strongly I still felt for him. The kiss–it really was my first kiss–was wonderful, but it built an ache inside me. My heart or soul or whatever it was ached and reached out for him even more than before.ns 184.108.40.206da2