Which one are you, though?
The hero?
The girl shakes her head, doodling on the front of her notebook. “That was awfully rude of him.”
“Yeah, well, it’s true,” you say.
“Is it?”
“I’ve already gotten you in trouble once,” you remind her. “I can pretty much guarantee it won’t be the last time it happens.”
“Huh, and what about the other part?” she asks. “Is that true, too?”
“Which part?”
“The part where you might be trying to get the new girl naked.”
You just look at her. She’s still doodling.
“Because if you are,” she says, “you’re doing a pretty crappy job of it. I mean, you haven’t even tried yet, so…”
She’s avoiding looking at you, her cheeks pink. Her doodling is more like absent-minded scribbling, anything to distract herself. She's biting her cheek.
Reaching over, you cover her hand with yours, stopping her before the pen tears a hole through the notebook. She anxiously cuts her eyes at you.
You say nothing right away, holding her gaze, before you lean over, closing the distance, and you kiss her. It’s soft, and sweet, and it’s right there, in front of the entire Drama Club, but you don’t care who watches.
“You want to hang out?” you ask, your voice quiet. “Spend some time together outside of this hellhole?”
She nods.
“How about this weekend?”
Tearing a piece of paper from the back of her notebook, she scribbles her phone number down for you to call her after school.
You don’t, though—not right away. Your life descends into chaos that afternoon. You don’t even have a chance. Your father confronts you about the incident at school, and when you finally get away from him, you have something important to do.
But later that night, long after the sun goes down, you send her a text, asking if there’s any way possible you can see her right now. You tell her it’s important. It’s so late there’s a chance she’s already in bed, but you get a message back a few minutes later with the location of a park near her house. I can meet in thirty minutes.
It takes you about that long to drive there. She’s sitting on top of a picnic table when you arrive, staring out at the water, the park edging the bank of the Hudson River. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen her out of her school uniform, so used to the knee-length skirts with the thick tights.
She’s wearing pajama pants tonight.
It’s dark where she’s sitting, the glow of the moonlight surrounding her. You approach, your hands hidden behind your back. “I have a surprise.”
“Is it the answers to Monday’s Math test? Because if so, you’re going to at least get to third base for that.”
You laugh, standing in front of her. “Which base is third base?”
“Pretty sure it’s dry humping.”
“Shame,” you say. “Could use a good dry hump, but no, that’s not it. Although, you could always copy my answers. Just mark a few wrong on purpose, since they might get suspicious if you get a perfect score.”
“Right, since you never miss any.” She playfully rolls her eyes. “So if it’s not the answers, what is it?”
You pull your hands out from behind your back. It’s a comic book, tucked in a plastic sleeve. Her expression changes as she takes it.
Breezeo: Ghosted
Issue #5 of 5
“Is this…? Oh my god, is this what it says it is?”
“The last issue of Breezeo.”
“But how?” Her eyes meet yours. “This isn’t even out yet!”
“Ah, well, I knew a person who knew a person who knew a person,” you say. “You know how it is. Pay enough money and you can get anything.”
“You must’ve really hated waiting,” she says. “Oh my god, Jonathan. I seriously can’t believe this. Is it good? Have you read it?”
“No, I didn’t read it. I got it for you. Figured you might let me borrow it later, if I'm good to you.”
“This is for me?” she asks, holding it against her chest. “Like, for real, it’s mine?”
“Yes,” you say. “It’s yours.”
As soon as you confirm that, she flings herself at you, a full-blown flying leap right off of the picnic table, into your arms. You don’t expect it, and she nearly tackles you to the ground. You manage to stay on your feet as she wraps herself around you, legs around your waist, arms around your neck.
She kisses you.
You kiss her back as you take a few steps over to set her down on the edge of the picnic table, but she doesn’t let go of you. If anything, she’s more encouraged. She drops the comic onto the table and runs her fingers through your hair as she grinds against you.
You groan, pressing into her. You’re so hard she can feel it. “Guess I hit third, after all.”
“That? You knocked that one right out of the park.”
You laugh against her lips, still kissing her. “Yeah? You already giving me a home run?”
“It’s worth it,” she whispers. “You can slide home anytime you want. It’s all yours.”
The baseball metaphors, yeah, they’re stupid, but the meaning behind them gets you worked up. She’s giving you the green light to go all the way, and well, what hormone-driven teenage boy is going to say no to that invitation?
Your hand slips down the front of her pants, and she gasps, throwing her head back. Your mouth goes to her neck as you drive her wild with your fingertips, asking, “How do you like it?”
She stammers. “I, uh… I don’t know…”
“You want it just like this?” you ask, whispering in her ear as she grinds against you, making her own friction, nearly getting herself off. You help her, rubbing harder where she needs it. “I could bend you over the table, hit it from behind. Or we could go to my car, if you want, maybe have you ride me in the passenger seat. Tell me how to make you feel good.”
You’re a dirty talker. It makes her blush.
“I don’t know,” she says again. “I, uh… I haven’t ever…”
“You mean you’ve never…?”
She shakes her head.
“Seriously? This is your first time?”
That catches you off guard. You pause what you’re doing. You didn’t realize she was a virgin.
She groans, shifting her hips. “Oh god, don’t stop… please…”
You start rubbing again. She’s close, so close it would be cruel to stop. Just a few more seconds before she gasps, an orgasm sweeping through her. You don’t stop until she relaxes again, but once you try to pull away, she won’t let you.
“I want to,” she says. “I know you’ve done this before, and I haven’t, but I want to… with you.”
“Your first time can’t be out here,” you say. “It can’t be bent over a damn picnic table.”
“The car, then.”
“It’s not going to be that, either,” you say. “Not with me. It needs to be in a bed. Nobody’s first time should be a ten minute quickie in a park.”
“What was your first time?”
“It was a fucking quickie in a park,” you say, and she laughs. “So I know what I’m talking about. It lasted like two minutes in my case, but still.”
“Sounds rough,” she says, still laughing, but her amusement fades when she presses her palms to your cheeks. She looks at your face in the moonlight. The faint beginning of a bruise paints your jawline with discolored hues. She runs her fingers lightly along it. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” you say, pulling her hands away. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Does that happen a lot?”
“What?”
“You know what,” she says. “Your father hits you.”
You laugh, but it’s not a happy sound. “I can take care of myself. I’m not a little kid.”
“But you’re still his kid,” she says. “And you’re only seventeen. Besides, I’m guessing this isn’t something that just started.”