It must have been in the high 90’s everyone was laying around in front of fans drinking things slow so they wouldn’t have to get up for more.It was the first time I had hung out with a boy alone. He was a year older, but held back a year for bad behavior, so still in my grade. We both got dropped off early to school and have to spend an hour inbetween doors. He was chains and baggy black sweatshirts. We would split headphones. He would tell me he thought I was cute. I hated the way he said it, like an exception to some rule.
His house had sheets hung as curtains, the kitchen was filled with dirty dishes and pots on the floor where the roof leaked. His room was in the basement. I had heard rumors on how his ex-girlfriend gave him bjs down here. The floor was wet and the stereo glowed green. From across the room I saw painted in white, a heart with her initials.
He hands me an orange cream savor. We sat there not touching, listening to Incubus' Drive, sucking on our candy, waiting for our mouths to be free. We moved in and it tastes like orange creamsicles, its wet and sloppy. His tongue runs against mine and I can feel his hands move from my knee up my shirt, then across my bra hook. He without a flinch, pinches it off. He has done this before. I can’t stop thinking about the white heart on his wall.
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