“I am going to make my pizza in the shape of a dinosaur,” Alex announces. “And it will definitely kick your pizza’s ass.”
“Mine is definitely going to be cooler than that,” I say, trying to roll out the dough properly. Honestly, I’m not even sure I’ve made the dough right, or if a pizza in the shape of a dinosaur would cook evenly. But I don’t care. I’m happy in a strange, jittery way that I’ve never been happy before, and these pizzas will be perfect even if they cook black.
“How can you beat a dinosaur?” he asks, pretending to be offended. “You can’t.”
I grin at him. I grin at him all the time. It’s hard in class, because all I want to do is grin at him, but I have to be studious and quiet and uninterested and sit in the same seat and do the work like I’m not going to his house at night. So I bite at the inside of my cheeks and grip my pencil a bit harder and think about later, when I’ll be all his and he’ll be all mine.
“I can,” I say. “Easy.”
“How?” he demands.
“A baby sea otter, maybe.” I pull the dough into two pieces and toss him half.
“So,” he says. “You’re going to beat my dinosaur with sheer adorableness?”
I began shaping the dough with my hands. “It’s a pretty foolproof plan. You have to admit.”
“It’s so good I want to help.” Alex abandons his lump of dough in the flour and stands next to me. Very, very close. I smile up at him. He’s a floury mess, and I know I am too. His normally perfect hair has a dusting of the fine white powder in it, and there is just a smudge above his left eyebrow.
I’m not a very neat cook.
“How do you intend to improve on this?” I ask, gesturing at the vaguely otterlike shape that could also be a very good eggplant.
He steps behind me and puts his hands over mine. “Like this. Let the master work. I had a solid B in pottery, Riley.”
I giggle. “Show me,” I say.
“Well, you have to work with me.” His breath is hot on my neck. His fingers interlace with mine, and we’re both working the dough together. “How is this like an otter?”
“Like this,” he says, and squishes it into an unrecognizable lump.
“Alex!” I cry, and spin around. I push at him with my doughy hands. “You ruined my otter-pizza!”
He doesn’t laugh.
He doesn’t move, either.
He’s just there, close, looking down at me. He’s not smiling. He’s inches away, and he steps closer, so our bodies are touching.
We’re touching.
I reach back, my hands trying to find purchase on his counter. “Um, Alex?”
He touches my chin, very gently. “Riley,” he breathes.
And then he’s all the way against me and his mouth is against mine and he’s kissing me. He’s kissing me nice and soft and slow, and I’m kissing him back the same way, my eyes closed, but my heart is doing something crazy, hammering like I’m going to die, right here, while Alex is kissing me.
He pulls away. “Are you okay?” he whispers, his lips next to my ear. His hand slides to the back of my neck.
“Yes,” I whisper back. “I’m okay.”
I am.
He kisses my neck. He kisses the bit of my chest that is exposed above my shirt.
And then Alex Belrose lifts me up onto the counter. He steps between my legs.
“You,” he says, “are gorgeous, Riley.”
And then he kisses me more. Pretty soon, I forget to think about what I’m doing and his tongue slips into my mouth and he isn’t so gentle anymore but I don’t care because my hands aren’t hanging onto the counter anymore either. They’re on him.
And that is the story of my first real kiss.
Also, we ordered pizza.