A Very Large Expanse of Sea(33)

But I didn’t respond.

I walked into bio the next day, prepared to make the herculean effort to be an aloof, boring lab partner yet again, when the whole thing finally just fell apart. Collapsed.

Ocean ran into me.

I don’t know what happened, exactly. He’d sidestepped too fast—someone had been rushing between the lab tables with a sopping dead cat in their hands—and he’d slammed into me just as I was walking up. It was like something out of a movie.

His body was hard and soft and my hands flew up, found purchase around his back and he caught me, wrapped his arms around me, said, “Oh— Sorry—” but we were still pressed together when instinct forced my head up, surprised, and I tried to speak but instead my lips grazed his neck, and for one second I could breathe him in, and he let go, too fast, and I stumbled; he caught my hands, and I looked at him, his eyes wide, deep, scared, and I pulled back, broke the connection, reeling.

It was the clumsiest production of physical interaction; the whole thing lasted no more than several seconds. I’m sure no one else even noticed it happen. But I saw him touch his neck where my mouth had been. I felt my heart stutter when I remembered his arms around me.

And neither of us spoke for the rest of the period.

I grabbed my bag when the bell rang, ready to run for my life, when he said my name and only the very basic rules of etiquette held me in place. My heart was racing, had been racing for an hour. I felt electric, like an overcharged battery. Things were sparking inside of me and I needed to go away, get away from him. Sitting next to him all through class had been profound and excruciating.

I’d had many unimportant, insignificant crushes on boys before. I’d had pathetic daydreams and silly fantasies and had devoted many pages in my journal to entirely forgettable people I’d known and quickly discarded over the years.

But I had never, ever touched someone and felt like this: like I was holding electricity inside of me.

“Hey,” he said.

It took a lot of effort to turn around, but I did, and when I did, he looked different. Like maybe he was just as terrified as I was.

“Hi,” I said, but the word didn’t make much sound.

“Can we talk?”

I shook my head. “I have to go.”

I watched him swallow, the Adam’s apple moving up and down in his throat. He said, “Okay,” but then he walked up to me, walked right up to me, and I felt something pop inside my head. Brain cells dying, probably. He wasn’t looking at me, he was looking at the two inches of floor between us and I thought maybe he was going to say something but he didn’t. He just stood there, and I watched the gentle motions of his chest as he breathed, in and out, up and down, and I felt a faint spinning in my head, and like my body had overheated, and my heart would not stop, could not stop racing and finally he whispered the words—without touching me, without even looking at me—he said, “I just need to know,” he said, “are you feeling this, too?”

He looked up, then. Looked me in the eye.

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t remember how. But he must’ve found something in my eyes because he suddenly exhaled, softly; he glanced, just once, at my lips, and he stepped back. Grabbed his bag.

And left.

I wasn’t sure I would ever recover.





17

Seventeen

I was a complete idiot at practice.

I couldn’t remember how to do simple things. I kept thinking about the fact that Ocean and I had only touched by accident and what if we’d touched on purpose and wow, I wondered if my head would just explode. I also kept thinking that I didn’t want to get my heart broken. I didn’t know what could ever come of this, of us, or how we’d ever navigate these murky waters and I didn’t know what to do.

I felt like I’d lost control.

Suddenly all I could think about was kissing him. I’d never kissed anyone before. A boy had been dared to kiss me once and he’d kissed me on the cheek and it was not repugnant, exactly, but the whole thing had been so awkward that even the memory bothered me.

I was, in this regard, woefully underprepared.

I knew my brother had kissed lots of girls. I didn’t know what else he’d done, and I didn’t ask. In fact, I’d had to tell him to shut up about it several times already because for some reason he always felt comfortable sharing these details with me. I think my parents had known about his many relationships, but I also think they were happy to pretend they didn’t. I was also pretty sure my parents would’ve had simultaneous heart attacks if they knew I was even thinking about kissing a boy, which, surprisingly, did not at all factor into my considerations.

There was nothing about the idea of kissing Ocean that felt wrong to me. I just didn’t see how kissing him would help anything.

Just then, my brother threw his water bottle at me.

I looked up.

“You okay?” he said. “You look sick.”

I felt sick. Like maybe I had a fever. I was sure I didn’t, but it was weird how hot my skin felt. I wanted to climb into bed and hide. “Yeah,” I said, “I feel kind of weird. Do you mind if I cut out early? Head home?”

My brother came forward, collected his bottle. Pressed a hand against my forehead. His eyes widened. “Yeah. I’ll take you home,” he said.