And then she’ll tell me all sorts of incredibly weird stuff and ask the most insanely bizarre questions. Like I said before, with her there is no editing.

So I’m trying to be more like that. Just blurt out whatever’s on my mind.

Like the operation.

“The doctors say there’s an operation I could have.”

“And you could walk again?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool!”

“I guess,” I say. “But it’s supposed to be dangerous. It could, you know, make things even worse. Paralyze more junk.” I move my hand up from my lap to my waist to my chest.

She gets the picture. “Oh. Not cool.”

“Yeah. Plus no insurance company would ever pay for it, anyway. It’s what they call an ‘experimental procedure.’ ”

“Would it paralyze your lips?”

“Huh?”

“This operation. Would it make your lips go all limp and floppy?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. No? I guess if they cut the wrong nerve or something…”

“Well,” she says, scooting to the edge of the bench, moving in so close I could count the freckles on her face if I wasn’t so busy staring into her eyes. “I don’t want to risk it.”

I swallow hard. “Risk what?”

“Missing this.”

She closes her eyes and kisses me.

It’s soft. Gentle. Unbelievably gentle, actually.

And it’s over way too quickly.

But I’ll never forget it. Never, ever, ever. Even if I have that operation and it paralyzes my brain.

Because you never forget your first real kiss. Well, not me, anyway.

Hey, I’m just a kid from Cornball, remember?