Isma met me outside the school. She was shivering a little, with her arms wrapped around herself against the autumn chill, but she smiled when she saw me. Suddenly I didn’t want to see anyone else even half as much as I wanted to see her right then.

“I actually watched the whole game this time,” she said. “I guess if you absolutely must play frivolous games, it’s at least good that you were great.”

“I wouldn’t say I was great,” I said. I wouldn’t say it, maybe, but inside I felt it.

We started walking. “Some of the guys in band actually understand what’s going on out there, and they told me you did a touchdown and caught some passes.”

“Yeah, I did, but that’s just playing the game.”

“It’s okay to admit you did a good job, you know.”

Before I could answer, a car pulled up beside us in the parking lot. The window went down and McKay called out, “Hey, Wilson. We’re heading out to Nature Spot for a little celebration. A couple of guys plus most of the cheerleaders are out there already. There’s drinks and burgers and hot dogs and stuff.”

Dozer leaned forward in the passenger seat. “Yeah, man. Get in. It’s gonna be a blast.”

All freshman year I’d told myself that I didn’t want to go out partying. When I saw high school people having fun driving around in their cars, or when on Monday mornings I heard whispers about weekend adventures, I had always reminded myself that I’d never get out of this town, never go to college, unless I studied a lot.

But that night, I wanted to discover firsthand what Dad had been talking about when he mentioned Nature Spot in his letters. More than anything, I wanted to complete the mission from his most recent letter: to go to a party.

Isma shifted her weight next to me. More than almost anything, I wanted to. I couldn’t promise to walk Isma home and then just ditch her. Unless maybe … “Can Isma come too?”

McKay looked confused. “Um, I guess. Sure. Whatever. Just get in. We gotta get out there before everything’s gone.”

Isma took a step toward me. “I can’t go. Mom and Dad are expecting me.”

I sighed, but then remembered my own mother. “Yeah, I’ll have to pass,” I said, trying to conceal my disappointment. “Thanks, though, man.”

“You’re missing out!” McKay said. They sped off out of the parking lot.

I grabbed Scrappy from the rack and Isma and I started for her house. Neither of us said anything for the first two blocks. The silence made the walk uncomfortable, especially when Isma usually had so much to say.

“Um, was band fun tonight?” I finally said.

“I guess.”

I risked a look at her but she stared straight ahead.

“You have big plans for the weekend?”

“Nope.”

Our last walk had gone much better than this one. “Are you —”

“Mike.” She spoke clearly and calmly, as if giving a speech for a class. “If you want to go party with those guys, don’t let me stop you.”

“What are you talking —”

“Oh, please. You almost scrambled to jump in the stupid car with Dozer and McKay, even if it meant you had to drag along your weirdo girl —” She stopped herself, and I looked at her with wide eyes. Had she been about to say what I think she’d almost said? She went on, “Your weirdo friend.”

This was unfair. “You’re not weird. And I asked if you could come. What’s so bad about that? They said it was cool if you came too.”

“Come on! You heard the way he said it.” She made air quotes with her fingers and spoke in a deep, dumb-sounding voice. “ ‘I guess she can come. Whatever.’ ”

“I don’t get it,” I said. “You want to go to the party? I thought you said —”

“No!” She stopped and faced me. “I don’t want to be with those guys as they act like a bunch of idiots. I don’t care to watch the cheerleaders and other female sports worshippers hang on them while they recount their glories in a stupid game. I don’t want to listen to girls like the Dinsler cousins and Hailey Green faking like they’re nice, saying crap like, ‘Oh, Isma, that’s such a pretty shirt. Did you get that at such and such store in the mall?’ They’re such jerks to people like us all the time, and I don’t understand why you want to impress them so much!”

We’d stopped by the side of the road, where we were mostly shaded from the nearby streetlight under a big oak tree. I dropped Scrappy to the pavement. “Whoa,” I said. “Isma, don’t worry about it. I can’t go to the party anyway. My mom will be freaking out that I’m home so late as it is.” I disagreed with her us-versus-them mentality, but I couldn’t say so right now.

“I just … you know …” Isma wiped at a tear on her cheek. “We were going to walk home together and I’m … tired of being second best, you know? Tired of being a consolation prize, someone to hang out with when there’s nothing else to do.”

I brushed a stray strand of dark hair back from her face and worried for a moment that she’d step back or push my hand away. She only watched me. A breeze blew, rattling the changing leaves in the branches above us, making the light from the streetlamp dance with the shadows.

“I’m tired of being so alone,” she whispered, stepping a little closer to me.

Somehow my hands slid around her back. She looked up at me and I leaned toward her. Our lips pressed together, warm and electric. We parted a little, but our foreheads still touched, and I could breathe her breath. Then we kissed again and our mouths opened and I could taste and feel her everywhere.

For years my companions had always been books. I’d read how Romeo kissed Juliet, how Katniss kissed Peeta in The Hunger Games, and how Gatsby kissed Daisy in The Great Gatsby. I’d read hundreds of storybook kisses. None of them were as perfect as this kiss with Isma.

When we somehow finally stopped, we still stood close, and I let out a slow breath as I stared into her dark eyes. “You’re not alone, Isma,” I whispered. And I realized that for the first time in a long time, neither was I.

She shivered. “I’ve never kissed a boy before.”

It had been a first for me too. I smiled, slipped my jacket off, and put it over her shoulders.

She made a small effort to squirm away. “I’m not some helpless girl who can’t remember her own jacket and —”

“I know you’re not.” Pulling the coat tighter around her, I leaned in to kiss her again, and this time I felt her warm fingers press my cheek.

I picked up Scrappy and gripped the handlebars with one hand so that I could take Isma’s soft hand in my other. My arm grew tired from the constant adjustments I had to make guiding the bike that way, but it was worth it to hold on to her. She rubbed her thumb against mine as we walked, and each movement warmed my whole body.

When we reached her block, she squeezed my hand. “I’ve got to go.”

“I wish you didn’t have to.”

“I know. But we better say good-bye here. If my parents see us together …” She let the thought trail off, but I understood her completely. My mother would be even worse. “Thanks for walking me home,” she said.

I wanted to thank her for the kiss. For holding my hand. For everything. I wanted to tell her how I felt, but I didn’t know what to say. “I … uh …”

She smiled in that cute way she had that wrinkled her nose. Then she quickly kissed me on the cheek and backed away toward her house. “Good night,” she whispered with a little wave before running home.

“Good night, Isma,” I said quietly, pressing my fingers to my cheek where her lips had been.