MY FIRST KISS

“HOW OLD WERE YOU when you had yours?”

I leaned my hands on the sun-warmed railing of the old covered bridge and hung my head low so Ethan wouldn’t see the corner of my mouth twitch the way it always did when I lied. “Sixth grade,” I answered.

“Really? I didn’t kiss anyone until eighth.”

I smiled a little to myself. “Who was it?” I pressed onto my toes, squinting against the summer sun, so I could see the family of brown bats that roosted between the wooden beams under the bridge. My best friends, Aimée and Madison, and I spent almost every night that summer before freshman year on Aimée’s roof watching the bats flap and dive in the indigo sky as we debated whether or not the food would be better in the high school cafeteria come September.

“Layla Moore,” Ethan answered.

I jerked my head up and grinned at him. “You made out with Lay-me Moore?”

He held up his hands. “She wasn’t like that in the beginning of the year, and we only kissed once behind the dugout after baseball practice.”

“Ooo, behind the dugout,” I teased. “Were you in uniform?”

He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “All right, I told you mine. Now tell me yours.”

“Some other time.” I turned my head and watched the river babble below us. A heady summer breeze that smelled of honeydew and grass blew my skirt flat against my thighs.

“Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad.”

It was worse, way worse. I was finally hanging out with a cute guy—alone!—and I’d lied so massively that I couldn’t even think of another lie to get out of it.

“Okay,” he started, “I’ll guess.” He bent down and leaned his elbow on the railing so he was eye to eye with me. “He definitely goes to our school, because you’re scared I’ll know him.”

“I’m not scared,” I retorted, trying to hold together a decent poker face, but I couldn’t stop smiling. Every time I met his rich umber eyes my mouth curled up uncontrollably.

He squinted at me. “I definitely know him. Let’s see.” He tapped his chin. “Was it Luke Newman?” I shook my head. “Mica Torrez? Drew Ridelle?”

“It’s not any of your friends.”

“Hmm.” He thought a minute. “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to spread a rumor that you kissed all those guys in sixth grade before they had their braces off.”

“Mica never had braces,” I said. “And you’d never start a rumor.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I suck at lying. Besides, rumors are lame.” He opened his mouth to say something else, then started over. “When I was little my grandpa used to tell me this story about the river. He said if you looked into the reflections from the sun long enough the water would reward your patience with the face of your true love.”

“That’s a sweet story. Have you seen your true love’s reflection yet?” I asked playfully.

He held my gaze long enough to paint a blush on my cheeks. “I’ve been very patient.”

I glanced down at the water, hoping to catch a glimpse of what he saw. And there it was, a wavy version of him reflected beside me.

He wrapped his arm around the crossbeam between us and leaned out past the railing, peeking back at me. “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

My heart jumped into my throat. “About what?” I stared at the shiny spikes of golden-brown hair sticking up from his forehead. If I met his eyes, I’d probably confess everything. Ethan had that effect on me. I wanted to tell him everything about myself. I wanted him to know me better than anyone else did, even Aimée, who I’d known since we were embryos.

“You’re not going to tell me some other time, are you?” he asked.

An airy, relieved laugh escaped my lips. “Doubtful.”

He leaned closer, and my eyes moved to his lips. I’d never really paid attention to boy lips before. I was used to my own full, glossy girly lips. His were uneven—full on the bottom and chiseled on top—and they looked dry.

“So you’re a woman of mystery then?”

I wasn’t sure which word caught me up more, woman or mystery. Either way, I didn’t answer and I didn’t look away from his lips.

He tilted his head toward mine, and a slow rush of heat spread through me. When his lips touched mine they weren’t dry; they were soft and warm and the kiss was everything I’d never thought to dream a kiss should be. It only lasted a moment, but the tingling in my toes and low in my stomach lingered.

When he pulled back, I answered his first-kiss question. “Ethan Keys.”

“What?” he asked softly.

I pressed my fingers to my giddy grin and shook my head. “Nothing.”

“You used my last name. I thought I was in trouble or something,” he said, and laughed. I did too.

He took my hand, and I was certain, in that moment, that I would never kiss anyone else for as long as I lived.