COURAGE?

Matt’s sitting on the couch, waiting for me. He drinks from a fresh bottle of Coke.

Courage, I remind myself.

Walking back toward him is among the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. Leaving, though, would be impossible.

We sit close, side by side. I crave the simple solace of the hammock. Him there, me here, no ambiguity, no alternatives. The couch is nothing but ambiguity. Where do I put my body? Where do I put my hands?

Matt doesn’t move or try to touch me. I know what it means. I confused him before. The ball is in my court, in a game I don’t have the first clue how to play.

I’ve never been kissed. That’s obvious, right?

Matt’s hand is right there, resting on his thigh. My hand inches toward it, but at this rate we’ll be holding hands in a hundred years.

Courage.

“Do you think kisses are like potato chips?” I say.

“Like potato chips?” Matt echoes.

“It’s hard to stop after one.”