Her permission makes me hungry, and I slide the zipper down as far as it’ll go, right below the edge of her underwear. I spread the fabric of her dress apart, revealing the expanse of her back, and when I slip my finger underneath the clasp of her bra, she shivers and nods again.
It comes apart, and for the first time, I can see Zoe’s entire tattoo, a network of delicate branches and tiny pink flowers that reaches all the way down to her hips. It’s absolutely gorgeous. I remember what she told me about the tattoo’s symbolism—that life is beautiful but short, and you have to take advantage of every opportunity—and it makes me bold enough to reach out and run a fingertip all the way down her spine. Her back arches, and my breath catches in my chest. I’ve never felt so powerful in my entire life.
I start again at the very top and trace each flower and branch as slowly as I can, and I watch Zoe’s body move as she breathes with me, all her attention focused on that tiny point where my skin and hers come together. Her skin is soft and slightly damp, and I’m not sure if it’s from dancing all night or from what I’m doing to her now. When I reach her hips and there’s no more ink left, I kiss her back once, right where I imagine the other side of her heart would be. I lick my lips and taste salt.
“Brooklyn,” she whispers, and when she rolls over to face me, her pupils are so huge, they’ve swallowed all the blue in her eyes. She weaves her fingers through my hair at the base of my neck, and when she moves a little closer, I don’t pull away.
“Can I?” she whispers against my mouth.
I answer by moving forward that last inch and closing the gap between us.
It’s weird how you can spend countless hours remembering the feel of someone’s lips and still be totally unprepared for the exquisite reality of them. Zoe’s mouth is warm and lazy and sweet against mine, not urgent or aggressive at all, like it was during Never Have I Ever. This time it feels totally genuine, like she wants to take her time and drink me in. I expect kissing her to be different from kissing a boy, but it’s really not, except that her face is smaller and smoother and fits in my cupped hand. Her cheeks are flushed, and my whole body heats up as I think, I did this to you.
She catches my bottom lip between hers and playfully bites me, and I gasp, which makes us both start laughing. Our mouths don’t fit together when we’re smiling, so we pull back a fraction of an inch and stare at each other, the kind of look I’ve been giving her for weeks when I thought she wasn’t paying attention. This time, she looks back.
“Finally,” she whispers, and my heart supernovas.
All we do is kiss. In the world of theater people, that barely even counts. But the next morning, I slip out of bed and walk to Kayla’s Cakes, where I buy a single doughnut. I leave it on Zoe’s desk while she sleeps in a tangle of sheets and silky hair and unfastened clothing. She’s so beautiful, I can barely stand to look at her.
She chose me, I think as I watch the rise and fall of her chest, and it’s more validating than any affirmation I could scream in front of the mirror.
I’m on my way over to the scene shop when my phone rings, and I smile when I see my mom’s picture on the screen—for once, I actually have good news to share. But I barely manage to get both syllables of “Hello?” out before she starts talking.
“Brookie! I’m so glad I caught you! Marisol had the babies!”
“Oh my God, when?”
“Last night around four. I wanted to call you then, but I figured I should let you sleep.”
Even though nobody can see me, I blush a little thinking about what I was doing at four in the morning. “She wasn’t due for another two weeks, right?” I say. “Is everyone okay?”
“Everyone’s perfect. The babies are just beautiful.”
“What are their names? She didn’t really name the boy Pierre, did she?”
“The girl is Jasmine, and the boy is Owen,” my mom says. “Christa talked her out of ‘Pierre’ at the last minute. Honestly, I thought it was kind of cute.”
“Are you at the hospital now?” I ask. “Can I talk to them?”
“Marisol’s sleeping, and Christa went to get coffee, but they said to tell you they love you and they can’t wait for you to meet the twins.”
“I can’t wait to meet them, either. I wish I could come home and see them right now.”
“I wish you could, too,” Mom says. “How’s everything going up there? You sound a little tired.”
I feel a goofy smile creep over my face. “Everything’s good,” I say. “Really, really good, actually. Pandemonium was last night.”
“Oh! I forgot that was coming up! Did you have a fantastic time? Do they still have the cage? Did you dance in it?”
“Yes, yes, and yes,” I say, and my stomach does a flip as I think about pressing against Zoe behind those bars. “I only have a couple of minutes right now, so I’ll tell you everything later, but…um…I think you were right about Zoe and me.”
“I knew it!” my mom shrieks. “Brookie, that’s wonderful.”