CHAPTER ONE
-PAISLEY-
Record scratch.
Freeze frame.
Yup, that’s me. Paisley Turner. Making out with a random guy at my first college party. You’re probably wondering how I got into this situation.
Not that it really matters at the moment, seeing as how all I can think about is this guy’s hand on my waist and his fingers in my hair and, oh my god, there’s his tongue in my mouth.
WE HAVE TONGUE, PEOPLE.
This is the weirdest, most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me.
Should I be thinking so much?
I turn my brain to silent mode and concentrate on the kissing.
When that doesn’t work, I take to cataloging the moment, so I can remember it always. The way his fingers lightly brush my neck and send a chill down my spine. How the pulsing bass seems to beat along with my heart. The way the dark basement around us fades from existence. The slightly minty flavor on his lips that makes me wish I had brushed my teeth before leaving my dorm room.
But I wasn’t thinking about making out when I left my dorm! I was thinking, I’ve never had beer before, and I don’t want the first time I taste it to be tainted by toothpaste breath.
Is this how college is going to be? Walking into parties and being swept away in a kiss?
This was not in the brochure.
Did I even get a brochure?
Focus, Paisley!
All too soon he pulls away from me. I want to chase his lips with my own, but I realize I’m breathless and a bit dazed and could probably use a break. I look up at his face. He’s so tall I want to climb him like a tree. Just scamper up him and perch on his shoulder and hang out there in his sandy-brown hair. But then I wouldn’t be able to see his eyes, which are dark brown, at least in the dim light of the basement.
I am the whitest white person, there’s no denying that, but my hand on his neck practically glows white because he’s got this tan that’s like something you’d see in a teen drama that takes place near the beach.
“That was…,” I say.
“Yeah,” he responds when I don’t finish my sentence.
I lean back and try to ignore the way the damp of the wall immediately seeps into my shirt.
“I could use a beer,” Mystery Boy says. “You want a beer?”
I nod and almost as soon as he walks away, my new roommate, Stef, ambushes me.
“What the hell is going on?” she asks. Her voice isn’t accusing, more intensely curious. Which I understand. This is a very curious situation.
“I don’t know!” I stage-whisper, glancing over at The Boy. He’s standing in the beer line, waiting for a new keg to be tapped. I turn my back to him because I don’t want him to be able to read my lips. I start talking. Fast. I need to get this full story relayed before he comes back over.
“So, I’m standing here in the corner, playing with my phone, trying to talk myself out of begging you to leave early. Then that guy comes up to me and he was like, ‘Remember me?’ And I was like, ‘Yeah, totally!’ Because I didn’t want to admit to not knowing him. I figure he’s probably one of the guys who was in our group at the choosing-a-major thing earlier.”
“Yeah, maybe. I don’t remember him either,” Stef says. “But I’m following you so far.”
“But then! Then!” I say, gesturing wildly to emphasize how completely unexpected this situation is. “Then he’s like, ‘I’ve always wanted to kiss you.’ And I was like, ‘Huh?’ But I didn’t say ‘Huh,’ because honestly, all I could think about was that literally on the walk here we were talking about how I’d never kissed anyone and this was, like, too good to be true.”
Stef is watching him, observing him. I can tell she’s going to be a really good roommate. “I wish I could place him,” she says. “We’ve been inseparable for the past three days. Maybe he was sitting behind us at the welcome convocation yesterday?”
“I don’t know. But the thing is, who cares? He’s a really good kisser, and I can play along.”
She grins. “Well, I’m glad to hear he wasn’t harassing you. When I looked over and saw this big dude all over you, I was worried for a minute. I was this close to interrupting.” She holds her fingers a hair’s width apart.
“I like and appreciate those instincts,” I say.
“But then I saw your arms wrap around his neck, and you seemed relaxed and into it. This makes me think we should have a sign for a time when you aren’t into it. Or when I’m not into it, for that matter.”
I nod along even though what I’m really thinking about is kissing this boy some more right away.
“He’s coming back over!” Stef says in a whisper yell. “Try to find out who he is! I’m going to talk to that girl over there, the one playing beer pong. You can’t be the only one of us who gets to make out at our first college party.”
She slides away just as The Boy returns with two red Solo cups of beer.
“Here,” he says. He smiles a sort of tight-lipped smile that might not be attractive on most people, but on this guy, it really works.
“Thanks,” I say.
He shuffles in place looking as awkward as I feel. Possibly even more awkward.
I wish we could go back to making out immediately. I suppose we can’t enjoy our beer and make out at the same time.
All I know is that I am not the same person I was when I walked into this damp, slightly gross basement a little over an hour ago.
“I like your T-shirt,” he says, his cheeks pinking up. I might actually be in love with him. “Pilot episode,” he reads out loud, gesturing toward my boobs. He quickly puts his hand down when he realizes where he’s pointing.
I want nothing more than to assuage his embarrassment. That is my only goal.
“You should know that the way to my heart is through complimenting my T-shirts. I make them myself. I got really into screen printing a few months ago. It’s like my hobby.” Oh god, that’s so unbelievably weird. Why did I say that?
“You’re really into screen printing T-shirts?” he asks, a bemused expression crossing his features.
“It’s a long story,” I say.
“You’ll have to make me one sometime.”
“I could definitely do that.” Okay, that’s a little more like it. Maybe he’s not totally turned off by my bizarre, nerdy hobby.
“So why ‘pilot episode’?”
“Well, I figure if my life were a TV show, this party would be featured in the pilot episode.”
He laughs.
“Though I have to say,” I continue, “I feel like they really distort college parties on TV, unless this isn’t a fair representation of one to begin with. I’m pretty sure we’re currently being exposed to asbestos.” I point up toward the world’s saddest disco ball hanging from one of the exposed pipes.
“My roommate, Ray, his brother Luis lives here,” The Boy explains even though I don’t technically know who any of these people are. He gestures toward the corner where there are two boys with their heads bent over the keg, laughing about something; their dark hair is nearly black and their golden skin like something from a teen telenovela that takes place near the beach. I don’t get a good look at their faces, but I can tell they’re brothers even from across the room.
Copyright © 2019 by Sandy Hall
