The boy and his ribbon

“We’ll go back after a kiss, okay?” I hated that I was the younger one, but I was the teacher in this. I didn’t like it. Here, I was seeking answers, and instead, I was giving them to him instead of the other way around.

“One kiss?” He looked at me sceptical. “Then I can go?”

“Yup.”

“And you won’t tell anyone my worm is small? ‘Cause if you do, I’ll say you have no tits.”

“Deal.” I stuck out my hand, glad he made us promise because I didn’t want that secret getting out. Tits were something older girls had, and I wanted so much to be an older girl.

I was sick of being in the dark and categorized as too young to know.

Liam placed his hand in mine, and we shook hard. Still touching, we brought our heads together while our naked bodies stayed put.

He puckered his lips.

I copied.

He sucked in a breath.

I copied.

Our lips met in a flurry of pressure.

It was over.

It’d been the same sort of kiss Ren had given me time and time again. There were no secrets, no answers, no wisdom to be found.

“Again?” I asked, tugging him forward, bitterly disappointed but determined not to stop until I understood why others seemed to enjoy it so much.

“Ugh, you said only one.” Liam exhaled, yanking his hand back. “This sucks.”

“One more and then you can go.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” I drew an X on my flat chest.

“Fine.” He leaned toward me, looking bored.

I leaned toward him, trembling eagerly.

And just as our mouths met a second time, our little experiment was shattered.

“Liam! Della! What on earth do you think you two are doing!?”

Liam squealed and took off.

And all I could do was turn around and stare at Patricia Wilson’s sandal-covered feet, naked as the day I was born and still just as lost.