It’s the middle of the night, and I have to go to the bathroom so bad that I think my eyeballs will pop out of my head from the pressure build-up. Livvy snores on the floor beside me. Seriously, she snores. And I haven’t really been able to sleep since she told me her brother acknowledged that I’m not an amphibian.
There is no bathroom upstairs at Livvy’s house except for the one in her parents’ room, and I’m not about to go tiptoeing through their private space to use the facilities. I review my dilemma: The bathroom is downstairs, down a hallway, and past Nate’s room. Nate is still awake. I know this because I heard him come back from seeing a movie and goofing off with Chris about twenty minutes ago. If I sneak downstairs to use the bathroom, he’ll know someone is up, and he’ll most likely come to investigate, which means he will see me in all my middle-of-the-night glory, which isn’t very glorious. I make a mental note to myself about not drinking so much root beer before bedtime.
Livvy makes a snorkeling noise and rolls over to the other side. My bladder begs me to take the risk and avoid the pain. The humiliation of wetting the bed seems greater than the potential humiliation of being caught looking gruesome in the middle of the night, so I slide on my leopard-print slippers and venture down the stairs.
The necessary location is at the end of the hallway. Nate’s door is closed, but a beam of light shoots out from under it. I make my way to the bathroom and silently shut the door. It’s pitch-black, and I grope around for the light switch. The brightness hurts my eyes, and all I really want is to get back upstairs and try to get some sleep.
My business completed, I face a new set of issues. How much noise will this make? What if Nate thinks it’s Livvy? That might be good, because he’d probably ignore her. What if he thinks it’s me and comes out of his room? On the surface, it might appear this is a good thing. A private, late-night conversation with the man I have fantasized about since I was old enough to fantasize? Sounds like a good option.
I imagine him standing in his doorway, the outline of his body against the light coming from behind him. He motions to me, his deep voice whispers my name, calling me to come closer, closer. I lean forward, holding my breath, anticipating his touch—or dare I think it—his kiss. My heart pounds against my chest, and I move even closer, until . . .
“Who’s in the john?”
My eyes pop open and I turn, banging my knee against the cabinet. “Ow,” I say, not meaning to blurt it so loud.
“Mattie?”
Blood rushes to my face. “Yeah, just a second.” I flush the toilet and wash my hands, then splash cool water against my cheeks to keep them from looking so red. I turn off the light as I pull open the door. Maybe if I hurry, I can avoid looking into those perfect, brown eyes.
“You okay?” Nate asks.
“Yeah,” I say. I glance up.
Trapped. Those eyes are looking right into mine, and I’m sure he can see right into my heart. My face feels hot again, and I’m glad that the light in the hallway is so dim. “Sorry if I woke you.” Oh what a stunning conversationalist I am.
“Nah, I was up.”
Like I didn’t notice, since I walked right past his door.
“How was your movie?” I say. I should be back in Livvy’s room, but I somehow seem to be stuck here, in the hallway, by the bathroom.
“It was all right. Nothing to get excited about.” Nate looks great. It’s not fair. It’s the middle of the night, and he should have to look as disgusting as I do.
“Well, goodnight,” I say.
“Wait,” he says. He puts his hand on my arm. I think my knees will melt and leave me in a puddle on the floor. His hand is warm. My heart beats like a hummingbird.
“You want a snack?” he asks.
I nod my head. It takes every ounce of concentration I have to make my head move up and down, because every other part of me wants to run screaming up the stairs to hide under the bed and giggle.
Nate moves his hand away, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath. He shuffles up the hallway toward the kitchen and I follow him. The house is making its nighttime noises, little creaking and groaning sounds that remind me how late it is and that I should be asleep. I notice the hum of the refrigerator and the clicking sound as the air conditioner switches off.
Nate takes two glasses from the cupboard and fills them with milk, then pulls out a bear-shaped bottle of honey and grabs a bag of dinner rolls. He hands one to me. “I love to drown these in honey,” he says. He squeezes a long, glistening stream from the bear bottle, then takes a bite.
I drizzle little swirls on the top of my roll. “I’m usually a jelly person, myself,” I say. Nate laughs, then takes another bite.
“You excited to start high school?” he says, his mouth half-full.
I shrug. “It’s just four more years of the same,” I say. “I’m just looking forward to not having to spend every day with my brother.”
“I dig your little brother. He’s funny.”
“Oh yeah, a laugh a minute,” I say. “Try living with him, and then see how funny he is.” This is not quite the direction I had imagined for our conversation, but I figure at least he’s talking to me. This is a good thing.
“At least you won’t ever have to go to school with him,” Nate replies.
“You mean, like you have to go with Livvy?”
Nate stuffs the last bite of roll in his mouth, then takes a big drink of milk to wash it down. He nods. “Yeah, it’s a drag.”
A little zap of anger stings me, and I want to defend my best friend. But I also don’t want to look like a complete dweeb in front of this guy. I mean, this is the first time he has really talked to me like I’m something other than a lower life form.
“She acts like a reject,” Nate says. “It’s embarrassing.”
“Because she has a major crush on Chris?”
Nate groans. “It drives me up the wall. The ways she acts around him—sometimes I just want to shove her in a closet and lock it until she’s forty or something.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. I’m nervous, so I wrap my hands around my glass of milk and try to get control.
“Sometimes I wish she was more like you,” he says. His voice is soft now.
My heart starts the hummingbird thing again. In an effort to control my nerves, I grab my roll and tear little pieces from it.
“You’re just so casual, you know? You don’t make a big deal out of stuff like Livvy does.”
My eyes focus on the growing pile of shredded roll. My fingers are sticky from the honey, and crumbs stick to them like I’ve been tarred and feathered. Honeyed and breaded.
Nate continues. “And you don’t act like a geek around guys. You’re really easy to talk to and stuff.” He leans over the counter. I look up, and his face is so close to mine that I can smell the sweetness of the honey on his breath. Everything inside of me is twitching and shimmying, and I’m afraid I may lapse into convulsions if he gets any closer.
“What I mean,” Nate says, his voice almost a whisper, “is that I like you, a lot.”
My mouth freezes. My brain freezes. My eyes lock with his. He leans closer, and I can’t believe it but his eyelids are lower and he gets closer, and I lean closer and I close my eyes, and before I know it, he kisses me and my insides feel like a million pieces of machinery flying apart all at once and melting into my toes.
And then it stops. I can’t hear the house creaking or the refrigerator humming. All I can hear is the bird in my chest that flutters so hard I think it might beat itself to death. Nate steps back.
Blood rushes to my cheeks, down my neck, and I imagine that my skin is the color of strawberries. My lips feel warm. Part of me wants to run to Livvy, giggling and ready to gossip. Part of me wants to tackle Nate and kiss his whole face. But I don’t move—I can’t move. I sit on the stool at the Byers’ kitchen counter, my fingers covered with honey and crumbs. I wonder if this is what someone feels just before they go into shock. Maybe this is shock?
“Are you okay?” Nate’s head is tipped to one side like a puppy. Like Donny, I think. I force the image of my little brother out of my head. He isn’t going to ruin this moment for me.
“Yeah,” I manage to say.
“You looked like you might be sick or something.”
A little laugh escapes from me, and my body feels lighter somehow. “No, I’m okay.”
Nate looks relieved. He steps around the counter and sits on the stool next to me.
“’Cause for a minute there, I thought maybe you were totally disgusted.”
“No, it’s okay. It was great.” I wonder what time it is, then I decide I don’t care. I hope time stops completely and lets me sit here forever.
“Good,” he says, “’cause I might want to do it again.”
I turn my head to look at him, partly because I don’t believe him and partly to make it easier, just in case. He looks right at me, and I lower my gaze so I don’t seem too obvious, too eager. He cups my chin in his hand and lifts my head so I look right into his eyes again.
“Is that okay? If I kiss you again?”
“Uh-huh” is all I can manage to say. I close my eyes—waiting—hoping it will be just as good the second time. His hand moves away from my chin. I wait to feel his lips brush against mine. The fluttering inside my chest has picked up again, and I can’t remember if I brushed my teeth, so I hold my breath so that I don’t somehow breathe bad breath on him.
But nothing happens.
I open one eye. Nate is looking at me, smiling. I would like to crawl under the stool and die of embarrassment now. Blood races through my face again, all the way to my scalp. I turn away and sweep the pile of crumbs that used to be my roll into my hands. I move to the cupboard where the trashcan is and brush the crumbs off, then go to the sink to wash off the honey. I look for a dish towel to dry my hands, and I try to avoid looking at Nate. What a twit I am. As I turn from the sink, I run right into him.
“Sorry,” he says. He puts his hands on my shoulders, and I think I might turn to mush. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“I’m not,” I say, a little too loudly. “I mean, no big deal.”
I look up into his face, and he leans over and kisses me again. It feels like a bolt of lightning hits me between the eyes. He smiles, turns, and heads down the hall toward his room. I lean back against the sink, partly for balance, partly because I don’t know what else to do. “That was weird,” I say to no one.
Back in Livvy’s room, I lie on the floor and review these events. My first kiss. Okay, not my first kiss, but my first real kiss. That thing with Josh Hill in fifth grade shouldn’t count. Especially since it was a dare, and while he won the two-pound bag of candy, he didn’t bother sharing any of it with me. But this time . . . this was an oh-my-gosh-I-can’t-believe-it’s-really-happening kiss. A kiss that can make your innards feel like you’re in the middle of a nuclear meltdown—that kind of kiss has to count.
Maybe I should wake up Livvy and tell her. A twinge of guilt goes through me. I didn’t defend my friend. I should have told Nate that Livvy is not a geek, that she is one of the coolest, funniest people I know. But if I did that, he probably wouldn’t have kissed me. And if I tell Livvy what happened, she’d probably say something to him, probably in front of their parents, and then my chances of him kissing me again would be, like, none. Better to keep my little piece of heaven than to run the risk of causing family turmoil.