“Thanks,” I say. What else did Sally tell him?
“Ella, I can’t tell if you’ve forgiven me for being an idiot, but I’m really sorry. I’m also sorry for blaming everything on my complicated family. I know it’s not an excuse for everything I do.”
“My family’s complicated, too,” I insist.
He laughs, then gets serious again. “And I talked to my sister about you. She might not be mature enough to admit it, but I think she feels bad about the way she’s been acting toward you. Anyway, I hope you’ll let me make it up to you.”
“Okay,” I say, standing. I’m not all that sure about Sally, but I’m not going to blame Nate for her behavior, either. He’s too adorable to not give another chance.
He hesitates, then stands. “I guess that’s my cue to go.”
At the door I say, “Thank you for coming over,” very formally.
But there’s just one more thing.
On tiptoes I lean into him and put my no-longer-fat lips to his. I close my eyes, and feel his surprise and then his hands cupping my face gently. We stand there for nearly a minute, kissing. His lips are warm, and he tastes like candy. Light stubble rubs my cheeks, and I can barely breathe from the five million feelings I have bombarding me. If he weren’t holding onto me, I might drift away like a balloon.
When I pull away, his eyes are still half closed. Then he opens them slowly and says, “Ella Kessler, I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I saw you.”
“Really?”
He smiles. Our faces are close. “Yes. And, if I don’t go now, your father will catch us, and he’ll never let me come back.”
I wave as he jogs out to his car. He nearly trips, and I giggle. After he drives away I walk out to the yard, where my parents are surveying the garden, talking about what to do with a space by the garage, where they’ve removed some hedges.
They don’t see me and I decide to stand here for a minute watching them. It’s a perfect, sunny day, and as much as I love softball, I feel happy to have the season behind me. And next year’s ahead of me. But before then, I have summer to look forward to and three friends to share it with.
Turns out, being fifteen’s been pretty spectacular.
Throwing Like a Girl Page 21