SPENCE’S CAR RUMBLED A LITTLE in protest as he pulled to a stop in front of my house. He’d asked me to come be his good luck charm at the varsity football game, and then we’d hung out with our friends in the parking lot of the local Burger King afterward. By the time we got back to my house, it was late, but still a few minutes before my curfew, and I glanced nervously toward the front window, hoping neither of my parents were peeking out to spy on us.
This was the third time Spence and I had been out together, and we still hadn’t done more than share a light kiss good night. I’d been hoping for more. I longed to feel his lips linger on mine, to feel his arms embrace me, to melt under his touch, but none of that had happened yet, and it was causing a mounting frustration, not to mention making me feel a little insecure. I was beginning to wonder if Spence actually liked me, or if he was already losing interest.
My anxieties weren’t helped by the fact that Britt and Sara grilled me for details the morning after each date and read into everything that Spence either said or didn’t say, did or didn’t do. For Sara and Britt, boys were like some sort of military secret they were constantly trying to decode. Still, of the three of us, only Britt had ever been French kissed, and from the way she’d described it, it sounded awful. I wanted Spence to kiss me with more passion than the light pecks he’d been giving me, but I didn’t want him to shove his tongue down my throat. What if he was a terrible kisser and I had to pretend that I liked it?
“That touchdown pass you threw in the final seconds was amazing. The whole team played so well,” I said, trying to hide how nervous I was about the next few minutes alone with him in the car. Would we make out? Was he interested in that? And if he was, and he did kiss me, would I know what to do? I was still a little unclear about how to move my own tongue, and I was terrified I’d get it wrong and that he’d know that I was inexperienced.
“Yeah, we did,” Spence agreed. “Except for Walker’s fumble in the fourth,” he added. “He almost cost us the game.”
I’d heard about Brent Walker’s fumble all night. An endless discussion about what a terrible player he was. How Coach Danvers played favorites because Brent was his cousin’s son or something. Why Walker should’ve been kept on the bench, etc., etc.
Of course, the rest of us girls knew that the discussion was driven by spite—Brent Walker was the only sophomore besides Spence playing varsity, and while I could understand their point, because Brent really wasn’t that good, it seemed to be the only thing the boys could talk about.
While I mentally fished around for another topic, because I didn’t want to hear any more about Brent Walker, Spence tapped his index fingers in time with the music coming from the radio. Yes’s “Owner of a Lonely Heart” was playing again, and I thought of the week before when there’d been that terrible fight at his house. We hadn’t talked about it. I thought Spence might’ve wanted to, but he acted like nothing at all had happened, and I just figured he was embarrassed about it and wanted to pretend like everything was fine.
“So…” I said, too nervous to come up with anything interesting to talk about.
Spence chuckled.
“What?” I asked, smiling, too.
He laid his head back against the headrest and looked up at the roof of his car. It took him a long time to answer me, and I got the feeling he was trying to work out what to say.
“Amber, tonight I wanted to kiss you, like really kiss you, but…”
“What?” I said suddenly afraid. Was he turned off? Had I done something? What was the rest of that sentence?
He inhaled deeply and let out a sigh. Turning to look at me he said, “I wanted to kiss you, but I…I haven’t kissed a lot of girls, and no one I like as much as you.” Spence paused for a minute, obviously embarrassed by the admission. “Anyway, I guess what I’m saying is that I don’t know if I’m any good at the whole making-out thing, and I’m worried that if I kiss you the way I want to, you won’t want to go out anymore.”
I sat there stunned for a minute, but then it was my turn to laugh. And once I started I couldn’t stop. He eyed me curiously and that made me laugh even more. Finally, still giggling, I leaned toward him and gripped him by his leather jacket. Pulling him close, I shook my head a little before I said, “Oh…the irony.”
And then I boldly kissed him.