The Creeping

Sam drops the photo in the wastebasket to the right of the desk. “I want you,” he says, and moves on to my bookcase. A spasm passes through my chest. I want you. It’s as simple as that. The syllables come easy and sure, a quiet bravery at their core. I used to know what it felt like to be that certain. It’s how I felt about Sam at the cove when we were ten.

Sam angles his head to read the titles of my books, his broad fingers running over the spine of each as he goes. His lips move ever so slightly, mouthing each one.

He turns to me, and I’m caught staring at him, my own lips parted, a bit dazed.

“I have a lot of the same books,” he says.

“Oh?” is all I can think of to say back.

A crooked smile from him. “Stella?” His tone swings up in question.

He crosses the room and stops over me, running his hands through his hair, tugging on it. I stand quickly from the bed, light-headed and springy. The heat of him reaches me from a few inches away, prickling and tickling my skin. Truthfully, I’d say anything so he’d touch me; so I could feel certain and fearless again.

“Be my boyfriend,” I say, so out of breath I can hardly get the words out. He moves lightning fast. We’re not touching, and then suddenly I’m reaching for him and his arms are encircling me. I gasp as he pulls me hard against him, and his lips press firmly to mine, the heat of his skin burning me everywhere. I sway into him, toes barely staying on the ground, caving to the buzzing thing inside me.

It’s the most seamless kiss I’ve ever had. Not the fumbling make-out sessions I’m used to. Every move is natural. One of his hands slips into my hair, entangling itself until I think it’ll never be freed. The other keeps pressing on the small of my back like it means to break me in two. I can hear my own heartbeat pounding deep in my eardrums and his hammering into my chest. Their beats mingle. My skin is feverish. My face and chest are probably red and blotchy. I wouldn’t mind if I combusted completely, burning up like a toasting marshmallow or something more romantic, like a dying star. Sam’s mouth separates from mine, and he stares down at me.

“I love you,” he exhales, like the words are something he’s been holding in with the kiss. I try to hide the shock from my face. Here we are, practically ripping our shirts off, and Sam stops to tell me how he feels. He loves me. What does that even mean? My head is full of an earsplitting call for more. But more of what? Okay, I want more of this heavy-breathing, wild-haired, clinging-to-each-other thing, but how do I feel? The only thing I know for sure is that even with all the danger and uncertainty around us, I want Sam to stay.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” I ask.

He smiles wide in answer. He moves away from me, flicks the light switch off, and closes the bedroom door. I hear the lock, its click loosening the muscles in my chest. A minute later the mattress whines under his weight. After a moment’s hesitation, paralyzed by nerves that for the first time ever postpuberty I am going to sleep beside a boy, I crawl beside him, resting my head in the crook of his arm. He pulls me in closer and presses his lips to my forehead.

“Good night, Hella Stella,” he whispers in a hoarse voice.

I half moan, half giggle as his mouth dots a trail of kisses from my forehead into my hair.

“Good night.” I sigh, closing my eyes and saying a silent thank-you to whoever brought me back to Sam.





Chapter Twenty


Early-morning light seeps through the slats in my blinds. I’m burning up wrapped in Sam’s arms. My back is to his chest and we’re spooning. If Zoey were here, she’d make gagging noises. I stifle a laugh. Her reaction will be a hybrid of astonishment and horror. Kind of like when Janey Bear showed up with her belly button pierced the week after Zoey had hers done, and Zoey made Janey remove it at lunch in the bathroom. Like that, but worse.

I wiggle onto my back and stare at the ceiling. Sam’s arm rests on my chest. He’s breathing softly, a faint whistle through his parted lips. Five days ago I was scoping out Taylor’s sun-kissed abs, and now I’m lying in bed with Sam Worth. The ceiling starts to spin, and I close my eyes to stop the roller-coaster stomach from taking hold. It’s not that I’m having second thoughts. I’m not. I want Sam here, in my bed. I want to stay wrapped in his arms until the next ice age, frozen in a glacier with our lips still locked. It’s a huge shift in my world, though. I tug the comforter to my chin and take deep breaths. My bunny lies discarded on the floor. He’s on his stomach, plush head facing me, a knowing twinkle in his black button eyes.

“Hi,” Sam whispers. He starts to withdraw his arm. Instead he brushes the hair from my forehead. He blinks solemnly at me.

“Hi.” I fight the impulse to duck under the covers and hide. Why do I suddenly feel naked in a T-shirt and leggings? “Did you sleep okay?”

He nods. “What about you, are you okay?”

“Yeah. Better than that.”