by Ginger Scott
Come on, Emma. Look out your goddamned window.
I look for another rock, but hear the sound of her window sliding open.
“Andrew?” she says in a loud whisper. “What the hell are you doing?”
I smile and let the small stones I’ve just found fall from my fingers. I stretch my arms to either side of me and almost laugh.
“I have no idea,” I grin. “Come down.”
She pauses and looks at me for a few seconds, her hair blowing along either side of her face as she leans out the window. I am kissing this girl tonight. I am kissing her, and I don’t care if she hits me because of it. I’m tasting those lips, and I will savor every second I get of it before she smacks me across the face.
“Hang on,” she says, pulling her window shut again. Her light stays on, so I’m not sure whether to look at her window or wait for her at the front door. Finally, I hear the sound of her door opening, so I jog over to her the porch. She locks the door behind her and ushers me to follow her closer to my car along the street.
“Oh my god, what are you doing here?” she asks, her eyes lit up, glowing silver. She’s smiling. She’s smiling because she’s happy to see me.
I…make her happy.
“I missed you,” I admit. Those words hit my chest the second they leave my lips, and I feel both free and terrified at the same time. My hands go deep into my pockets on instinct, and my legs feel numb.
And then her lip ticks up on one side.
“I missed you, too,” she says, her voice soft, not wanting to wake anyone. “Let’s get out of here.”
I don’t hesitate, running to the passenger door and working it open so she can get inside. The sight of her actually in my passenger seat is so much better than the version I had going on in my head. I close the door and run to my side, getting in quickly and shutting the door carefully. I know the engine is going to make a loud sound, so I wince when I crank it, but pull away slowly, hoping I didn’t disturb her parents.
“I hope I don’t get you in any trouble,” I say, looking in the rearview mirror, as if I could tell by looking in the one-inch reflection if her parents were awake and catching her escape.
“Me too,” she giggles.
She’s wearing this plaid shirt with long sleeves, and it’s big on her, like it’s her father’s. Her legs are in a pair of tight black jeans, her feet wearing the pink Converse that I use to track her in PE. She’s holding her hands over the vent in front of her, warming them, and I wish I didn’t have to drive this car so I could reach over and warm them within my own.
I drive until we get to a forest preserve, pulling off into the parking lot, not really knowing what I’m doing. I have no plan. I just had to see her. And when she told me to go, I went.
“So…” I say, then let my breath fall into a nervous laugh. I’m gripping the steering wheel for strength, knowing I can’t just kiss her now, but god do I want to.
“So,” she says, pulling her seatbelt off and turning sideways in her seat. She pulls her knees up into her body, her feet flat along the center console. She looks cramped and uncomfortable.
I stare at her shoes for a few seconds, thinking of my life a few hours ago, when an older girl wanted to hook up with me and draped her legs over my lap without invitation. This scene—it’s a million times sexier, maybe because I have to work for it.
With timid hands, I reach to the heel of one shoe, my eyes moving to hers briefly before coming back to her foot. She’s watching me, but she isn’t stopping me. I cup the back of one shoe in my hand and lift her foot from the console and pull it toward me. I let my hand move from her shoe to the back of her leg, my fingers shaking nervously, as if I could break her leg if I were to drop it.
Emma gives in easily, giving me complete control, her muscles relaxing, and I move first one leg then the other to my lap. She eases into the side of her door slowly, her hands clinging to one another in her own lap. I let out a short breath when the weight of her sinks into me, and I rest my hands along the soft denim over her legs, sliding them up and stopping at her knee. That knee. I squeeze it once, and she twitches with a giggle.
“Ticklish,” she smirks.
“Good to know,” I say, my head tilted to the side, my eyes unable to look away from her.
There are so many things I want to know, so many little facts I need to memorize about this girl. But I can’t take my eyes from her lips; I know I can’t kiss them yet, so I look back down at my hands, letting them run down the length of her leg to her ankles. Her ankles to her knees—that’s my line.
“What brought you to Woodstock?” I ask, rapping my fingers a few times along her legs to work out more of my nerves. “I hear it’s the hot bed for dog-catching and telemarketing careers, but…”
She lets out a breathy laugh, then stretches her hands out flat along her thighs. I watch her move, wishing I could touch her there.
“Sort of a family thing. We…we needed to be closer to Chicago,” she says with a lopsided smile and a shrug.
“Woodstock is so not Chicago,” I chuckle, thinking about the ways my hometown is so small compared to the city. There are things I love about being here. The smallness is comforting at times. But the older I get, the more I sense how suffocating it is too.
“No,” she laughs. “But it’s also not Delaware.”
“Good point,” I say.
“What’s your favorite food?” I ask. She tilts her head and offers a suspicious smile.
“Pancakes.”
I nod, then look out to the blackness in front of me to think of another question.
“Have you ever had a pet?” I ask after a few seconds of silence.
“Lots of them. But never very long. I told you…my dad is always rescuing things,” she laughs.
“I’ve never had a pet. I always wanted a dog,” I say, leaning my head back again and looking at her.
“They’re a lot of work,” she shrugs.
“Yeah, but I think I’d be okay with that. I’m good at working hard. And I don’t want a small one; I want one of those big breeds, like a mastiff,” I say, lifting my hands and measuring a wide distance with my arms in front of me.
“You know that means their poop is bigger.”
“The bigger the better, baby,” I joke.
It grows silent again, and I flit my gaze from her to my hands a few times, my stomach twitching nervously.
“Do you like the Excel Program?” she asks.
I suck in my bottom lip and shrug. I never know how to answer that question. It’s like asking someone if they like being really smart. “It’s all right,” I say.
“I bet it’s amazing,” she says, looking to the side, her hair falling over her shoulder slowly, like an avalanche. “You get to go to a college, hang out with professors and learn things like philosophy and culture.”
“It’s not that amazing,” I say. “And I still have to do calculus, and language arts and shit.”
“Whatever. It’s amazing, and you know it,” she says, lifting her foot and nudging my chest with it. I grab hold of her leg and hug it. It seemed like a good idea when I spontaneously did it, but then it got weird instantly.
I made it weird.
We’re both quiet and staring at her leg that I’m now hugging, and I start to laugh at the absurdity. I rock it side to side, like it’s an infant, and she gives into laughter too. She kicks at me with her other leg, so I tug on her and pull her closer to me, holding on tight and moving her into me as if I’m pulling in the length of a rope—until she’s in my lap. Her legs curled up against my door, her body in front of me, and her hands pressed on the ceiling, her laughter fills ever inch of space inside my car.
Her sound fades as her eyes open and her gaze meets mine.
Inches. There are inches in life. Inches that make the difference between a race, that determine your height or pants size, that might mean you make it to the train on time.
I’m living in inches right now, inches and breat
hs.
Beautiful inches.
“I like you, Emma,” I say. My heartbeat fills my throat; I swallow and feel the heat take over my chest and arms and hands.
She doesn’t answer with words, instead letting her lashes sweep shut while I take in the dusting of freckles along her cheeks. Her lips part with a shallow breath, her bottom one trembling.
“Andrew,” she breathes out my name. It’s a whisper. Like I’m a secret.
Maybe I am.
I move my hand to her cheek, and she lets her weight fall into my palm, her eyes closing again briefly.
“I want to know everything about you, Emma Burke,” I say, sweeping hair away from the one side of her face, leaving my other hand flush against her cheek, my thumbs over those very mesmerizing freckles.
“I’m not very interesting,” she says, her voice tiny and unsure. I can see so much of her nerves in the slight tremors on her lips, the way her hands are now quaking with her grip on my sleeves along my biceps. Her eyes, they tell me so much of her story too.
“You liar,” I smirk. She flinches at first, looking hurt. “You are incredibly interesting.”
I let my head fall forward to meet hers, and her eyes close as she hums.
“You’re a lot of other things, too. Like beautiful, and spirited, and funny, and smart,” I say.
“You don’t know that I’m smart,” she lets out with a laugh, her lips almost brushing mine when she speaks.
“Yeah, I kinda do. I saw your transcripts,” I admit.
She slaps her hands flat against my chest and leans back, trying to decide if I’m kidding. I grin with half my mouth and shrug.
“I’m tight with the front office, and I was worried about you missing class last week. I was going to get your work for you,” I say, now my own nerves kicking in. I sound like a lunatic stalker.
Thankfully, Emma thinks differently, her head falling to the side again, her hands retracing their path along my arms.
“That’s sweet,” she sighs. “I got my work. It was a planned trip. With my family.”
“I figured,” I say, not able to pull my eyes away from hers. “You have really pretty eyes.”
She lets her head fall forward against mine as she lets out an embarrassed laugh.
“I’m serious,” I say. “Don’t let that make you uncomfortable. I mean…it’s almost selfish not to take that compliment. Think of all the people walking around with really hideous eyes.”
She laughs harder, and her grip on my arms gets tighter.
“You’re really funny, Andrew,” she says. I move my hands back to their rightful spot on either side of her face.
“And maybe a little cute? Maybe…just a little?” I squint. I’m teasing her, and I’m begging her. I want this girl to be the girl—my girl. The one I take to things and experience everything with.
“I’d have to say….” She pauses, her eyes taking in various features along my face, like she’s evaluating me, but her grin betrays her, breaking into her cheeks until we’re staring into each other’s eyes again. “Yeah…you’re pretty cute, Andrew.”
I blush. I can feel it, my cheeks warming, my mouth unable to keep a straight face. Every part of me is smiling.
“I’m gonna go ahead and kiss you now,” I say, my lips practically tingling to the point they almost feel numb.
Emma pinches her lips closed tight in a tiny smile, as her eyes close again. Her head held in my hands, I move her the few fractions of an inch left between us until I feel the tickle of her breath and her bottom lip between mine. She lets out another breath, and I suck her lip, tasting it with my tongue, holding her here, in this perfect place, this perfect moment, until I’m sure I’ll never forget it.
Then I move to her top lip, doing just the same. Tugging it into my mouth and holding it lightly with my teeth until she whimpers. My hands find their way into her hair, and she turns so more of her body is facing me, her hands sliding around my neck and back, pulling our bodies closer together.
When her tongue finally brushes against my lower lip, I know that I’m gone. I will never be the same after tonight. I’ve kissed girls, been fixed up on dates of younger siblings of people my brother knew, and I’ve had crushes.
Emma Burke is different from anything else.
She’s what I’m supposed to have. She’s what my first kiss should have been. And she’s the only kiss I ever want to remember. I kiss her harder, letting my tongue explore the inside of her mouth, letting my hands move down her back until I grab her hips and ass, pulling her into my lap to straddle me. I kiss her and touch her and memorize every frame of us, erasing everything that I ever knew of what a girl was supposed to feel like before.
We kiss like this for nearly an hour, the windows of my car frosting up with our breath. I touch her skin, letting my hands roam under her shirt, feeling her back and shoulders until I know it’s okay to feel more.
I touch her breasts, letting my fingers find every curve, my thumbs grazing her nipples and my mouth watering with the want for more. But I know that this is as far as Emma Burke wants me to go. And I’m okay with that, because this girl has me, every part of me. She owns it all, and I am willing to wait for every new touch, knowing that it will feel just the same, just as perfect as this one does.
She is what I will look forward to.
When I look at the dashboard finally, I realize it’s nearly two in the morning, and at some point, both Emma and I need to return home. I don’t want her parents to worry, so I sigh as I stare into her eyes one last time.
I reach into my pocket finally, looking for my keys, but don’t feel them. I check the other pocket and then let my hands start to search the sides of the seat when I don’t feel them there either. I’m about to slide my hand between the seat and the console when Emma starts to giggle.
“You,” I point at her. She dangles my keys from her thumb, fumbling with the door handle and finally racing from my car as I lunge at her. I get out of my side and race after her, catching her only a few steps away, pulling her into my arms and lifting her in front of me. She kicks her feet up into the air as I raise her, her entire body rumbling with the vibration of her laugh.
“Girl, you are going to make your parents hate me if I don’t get you home before they notice you’re gone,” I say, reaching for the keys as she pulls them into her chest.
“I know. We can go, but…” she looks at the keys in her hand then up to me. “Can I drive? I know, I know…it’s your car and she’s some Camaro or something, but…”
“I don’t know,” I say, feeling a little bit like an asshole over the fact that I don’t want her to drive my car.
“It’s…it’s okay. It was a dumb idea, never mind,” she says, handing my keys back to me. I take them and follow her back to the car, but I grab her fingertips just as we get to the front of the car, pulling her into me.
“Here,” I say, closing her hand around the keys while I kiss her one last time.
“Really?” Her voice is almost a squeal, and I can tell how excited she is. I nod yes, then move to the passenger door, climbing inside. Emma slides in excitedly next to me, pushing the key in quickly and turning the engine before we’ve even buckled up.
“Whoa,” I say, grabbing my belt and buckling fast.
“Oh, right. Sorry…” she says, biting her lip. “I was anxious, and I didn’t want you to change your mind.”
“It’s okay, just…take it easy. This car has some kick, all right?”
She nods and buckles her belt, checking all of the mirrors and turning on the lights before moving the shift into reverse. The car rumbles as she backs out slowly, her lip firmly planted in her teeth now. I don’t think she’s letting go, and her concentration is my second-favorite expression she makes. My first, the one she makes right before I kiss her. She idles her way to the exit, turning slowly onto the main roadway, and she glances at me before she looks back to the road, scooting forward in her seat, clutching the wheel, and pressing on the
gas.
We travel for about a mile, going maybe thirty miles per hour, and eventually I start to laugh.
“Don’t make fun of me,” she chides, reaching at me with one hand, but only for a second, returning her grip to the wheel.
“I’m sorry, you’re just so damn cute,” I say. “You’re so nervous. It’s a car, you just drive it.”
“I drive my mom’s Honda Civic. It’s…like…way different. Trust me,” she laughs nervously. She’s constantly looking over her shoulder, then in both mirrors. We’ve made it maybe two of the ten miles we need to travel.
“I know, trust me. I drove my mom’s boyfriend’s Buick, remember?”
She glances at me and smiles, then looks back to the road, relaxing a little more into her seat, the gas flowing a little heavier as our speed finally climbs up to forty-five.
“I loved that car, too,” she says, blushing for a different reason now.
“You know I tried to be your partner for square dancing first, right?” I say, taking in her profile. I love the slope of her nose and the high roundness of her cheeks.
“You faker. I’m the one who picked you!” she huffs. It’s cute that she wants credit for such a simple thing.
“Yeah…you did,” I say, knowing the truth. I picked her the second I saw her legs stretched out in the hallway. I think maybe I chose her once in one of my dreams.
Our calm shifts into chaos in a blink.
Emma screams as she jerks the wheel to the right, sliding the car into the rough brush along the side of the road. We skid, fishtailing a few times before coming to a hard stop that sends both of us forward, our bodies held fast by the pull of our safety belts. Her forehead slams into the steering column, cutting her just above her eyebrow.
“Emma, Emma,” I say her name over and over, my veins coursing with adrenaline, my body numb with panic and fear. She looks at me, and blinks; her tears are instant.
