♪ Young Love by Kip Moore
I reached behind her to shut the door, then pulled her to the living room.
“How long are you staying?” Her voice was both fearful and hopeful.
“Just a week,” I said sadly.
“Then we don’t have time to waste. What do you want to do?”
I grinned. Some things never changed. She always went along with whatever I wanted. “Just hang out with you.”
The week passed more quickly than I could’ve anticipated. We spent every possible moment together. My dad and her parents allowed us to camp out in the treehouse every night. It was like coming home, being in that space with her, holding her in my arms. I showed off my improved guitar skills. I played dozens of songs she recognized. Every night, she requested our song—the one I’d played before I moved. It still didn’t have any words yet. But it was our lullaby, the thing that symbolized the peace we found in each other.
On my last night, as we lay wrapped up in each other’s arms, she drew a deep breath. “Did you get my letters?”
I wondered when she would work up the nerve to ask. To call me out on ignoring her. “Yes. Every week.”
“Why didn’t you write me back?” the hurt in her tone was unmistakable.
For the first time I could remember, I lied to Izzy. “I’ve been really busy with lessons, trying to get ready to go to a new school and making new friends. I’m really sorry that I’ve been such a crappy friend.” I didn’t know why I didn’t just tell her it was too hard and hurt too much. That as much as it warmed my heart to read her words, it froze it just as much to have to read words instead of being with her.
“It’s OK.” She stroked my cheek.
“No, it’s not. But maybe we can email each other.” Email wasn’t as personal as handwritten. Yeah. That would work better and hurt less. Now, I was lying to myself.
“I’d like that.” She pressed a kiss to my lips, then snuggled into the crook of my neck to go to sleep.
“Goodnight, flutterby,” I whispered against her head.
“’Night, Dawson.” She squeezed me.
The next morning, Izzy had to leave for a dance class. So, we said our goodbyes after breakfast. After she left, I climbed back up in the treehouse. I drew a crude sketch of us kissing, and on the bottom, I scrawled, “You forgot the best memory in the sketch book.” I pinned it to the wall.
Then I tore a sheet of paper out of my song notebook and wrote her a note.
Flutterby,
I’m so glad I decided to come back and spend a week with my dad. I wish I’d decided to come sooner, so I could’ve stayed longer. I’ve loved getting your letters and drawings every week. I’m sorry I didn’t write you back. It wasn’t that I was too busy. It was more that I wasn’t sure what to say. I miss you so much but didn’t want to come off like a wimp. Moving away from here has been so hard. Leaving you was so hard. That’s why I almost didn’t come for a visit — I didn’t want to have to say goodbye to you again. I’m sorry. I will try to do better with writing back.
Dawson. ([email protected])
I folded it up and left it on the table in the treehouse by her sketchbook. I knew she’d find it there.
When I got home late that night, there was a message in my inbox from [email protected]. I clicked it open quickly.
I’m not too sure about this email thing. I prefer writing real letters. But I’m willing to give this a try, if it works better for you. It was SO good seeing you. And I know what you mean about how hard it is to say goodbye. But I guess if we weren’t the best of friends, it would be easy to say goodbye. So, I guess this means we ARE the best of friends and hopefully always will be. Christmas is such a long way away. You’ll probably forget all about me by then, but I hope not.
Love,
Me
PS Thanks for the picture. I left it out of the sketchbook because YOU said it didn’t mean anything.
Before I collapsed into bed, I tapped out a response for her to find in the morning.
You emailed me! Awesome. If you’d rather write real letters, that’s OK. It’s kind of cool getting real mail. But maybe we can email too, since that’s faster. We ARE the best of friends. Location can’t change that.
Me
PS. Of course, I said the kiss didn’t mean anything. I’m just a stupid boy after all.
♪ Boys Chase Girls by Ingrid Michaelson
I hoped she would laugh when she read it.
We spent the rest of the summer emailing back and forth. We didn’t really talk about anything major, just chatted like friends were supposed to. She still mailed me a letter every week. And I treasured them.
The day before school started, there was an attachment to her email.
Since you said I left this out, I spent my spare time creating this for you. I’m glad it meant something to you after all. It certainly meant something to me. It meant EVERYTHING. I’m scanning it to you, so you can see it now. I’ll give you the original when we see each other next because I’m afraid it will get damaged in the mail.
♪ This Magic Moment by Jay and the Americans
When I opened the file, I found a sketch. It was the most detailed drawing she’d ever given me. The love pulsed off the drawing. I could almost touch it. She’d captured the love that flowed between us that day. She’d drawn us with our lips pressed together in representation of the first kiss in my life that ever mattered. Our first kiss.
Chapter 15
Izzy
♪ From Where You Are by Lifehouse
The time had finally arrived. As I was driving towards my future, I immersed myself in my past as I hit ‘play’ on the CD player in my car.
Static crackled for a moment, before Dawson’s voice filled the metal cocoon I traveled in. “Hey, flutterby. Hopefully, you’re listening to this on your birthday. If not, blame the international postal system. I swear I mailed this early. Anyway, I hate that I’m not with you right now. I really miss your face. I hope you like the songs.” His voice sounded as good as it always did. A little road-worn, a little raspy, a lot seductive, and a lot like home.
Strumming started. After a few bars, the other instruments joined in, and before long, Dawson was singing a song I’d loved since he gave it to me for Christmas three years ago. It was about a first kiss shared between best friends. And how it sparked an ember that went unfanned for a few years. And how after years of care, the ember raged into an inferno. It was about the power of a first kiss. Our first kiss.
A green glass bottle at a sixth-grade party was responsible for our first kiss. But our first real kiss, the one that ignited a passion in me I’d only read about when I sneaked my mom’s steamy romance novels out of her nightstand, that one came a few years later. My skin heated and tingles covered my skin as I remembered that first tasting of tongues when we were fourteen…
RIIIIIING.
And with that final bell, freshman year was officially over, and Dawson would be next door when I got home from school. I was so excited to see him. It felt like forever since he was here for spring break. This year, he was spending a month with his dad over the summer. A whole month of seeing him every day. My heart could just burst.
When my ride dropped me off in front of my house, I nearly bypassed home and went straight next door.
“Flutterby!” shouted from the direction of my treehouse halted my steps. I turned, and there hanging out the window of my sanctuary was Dawson. I took off at a run and scrambled up the wooden slats. As soon as I was standing inside, I leaped into his arms. He caught me and lifted me from the wooden platform. I threw my arms around his neck and wrapped my legs around his waist. His hands gripped beneath my thighs, keeping me eye level with him.
“You’re here. You’re really here. God, I missed your face.” I loosened my grip around his neck, so I could trace his high cheekbones, underneath his whiskey colored eyes, around his soft pink lips. His eyes searched mine as I did.
“I missed your face
too. And your smile. And your laugh. And your hugs. And everything I haven’t even experienced with you yet but will.” Without any more words, he pressed his lips to mine.
My heart pounded against my ribcage. This was going to be it. I had dreamed of my first real, real kiss. I was so nervous. I had no idea what to do. I didn’t want to suck at it. All those frantic thoughts flew right out of my head the moment his tongue traced the seam of my lips. Instinctively, I parted them, and his tongue dove in. It stroked the inside of my mouth in a delicious rhythm. Time stood still while we learned this new part of each other. When we finally broke apart, I was breathless. I didn’t quite have the hang of breathing while kissing. Maybe I’d get better with practice.
Dawson leaned his forehead against mine. “Wow,” he panted.
“Wow’s right. That was so much more than I ever imagined.” A giggle slipped past my lips.
“Me too.” He smiled widely at me.
“You mean you’ve never…” Why did I say that? I wished I could yank those words back. I didn’t want to know about the girls in his life and what he did with them back in Ohio.
“Nope. Not like that.” I breathed a sigh of relief at his admission.
I frowned in confusion. “But you went on dates and stuff.”
He sank down into my trusty, pink bean bag with me still wrapped around him. Since my weight was now on his lap, he ran his fingers along my jaw and peered deeply into my eyes. “Yeah, but they didn’t mean anything. It was just a way to pass the time. Besides, they weren’t you.”
“What are you talking about?” His kiss must have short circuited my brain, because I couldn’t make sense of the words coming out of his mouth.
“My first kiss… like that… it had to be you.” He shrugged his shoulders like he’d just reminded me the sky was blue.
“Not that I’m complaining, but why did it have to be me?” God, why couldn’t I just shut up? This boy always brought out the need for full disclosure and honesty in me. Even when it made me look like an idiot.
“Because every first that matters in my life has to be you.” He was so matter of fact about it.
He settled more comfortably into the pillow of Styrofoam.
“So, I didn’t suck at it?” I asked self-consciously.
“Hell no,” he chuckled.
“It was hard to figure out the whole breathing thing. I don’t know how they kiss for so long in the movies,” I admitted.
“Practice. You’ll get better with practice. We’ll get better with practice.” A confident smirk tipped up his lips and revealed that dimple I loved so much.
I touched my finger to the little indention. “I like the sound of that.”
“We have a whole month to practice,” he said as he waggled his eyebrows at me.
“Can we start now?” I asked eagerly.
He tangled his fingers in my hair and meshed his mouth with mine.
I sighed and brushed a tear from the corner of my eye. It was true what they said. Practice did make perfect. Dawson and I practiced kissing every day for the whole month he was back. And we perfected the art of it. No one had ever kissed me like him. I shook my head to rid my mind of the memories making my heart race and ache at the same time. That summer produced a kissing addiction and a logo I created for Dawson’s band. A logo they still used to this day—a reversed silhouette of a guitar on a multi-colored paint splatter.
♪ It’s in His Kiss by Cher
When the last notes of the song faded, his voice returned, speaking to me. My heart clenched tightly. “I have a confession. This next song is one I wrote when we were thirteen. I never shared it with anyone until a few weeks ago. The night I came home from taking Casey to the stupid eighth grade formal, I wrote this while looking at your picture. Do you remember?”
I did. That was back before Dawson and I had explored anything outside the bounds of normal friendship. Before our first real kiss. Why would he remind me of that terrible time when he was with someone else? Especially after I’d just relived our first real kiss?
Casey. Oh, how I hated that girl…
With a sigh, I collapsed on my bed and hugged Mr. Fluffy. School was abnormally brutal today. Too many pop quizzes. I was certain the teachers had a meeting in the teachers’ lounge before school and plotted against us unsuspecting students while they enjoyed their coffee. I grabbed my laptop and logged in to my email account. My day immediately improved when I saw a message from Dawson waiting for me.
Iz,
So, there’s a dance at my school, like a winter formal or something. I’m sure there’s one at yours too. Is it lame that I kind of want to go?
D
Immediately, I responded.
Yes, there’s one here too. I don’t think it’s lame if you want to go. The music might be good. I was thinking about going to the one here. A bunch of my friends are going to all go dress shopping together. I haven’t decided for sure if I want to go or not, but I might go dress shopping just in case. No one has asked me to go yet. But you never know.
He must have been sitting at his computer, because his reply came back pretty quickly.
Cool. I think you’d have fun dress shopping with your friends. And even if no one asks you, you can still go and have fun. Don’t know if I will go stag with a bunch of my buddies or if I’ll ask someone. There’s this girl in my English class that I thought about asking. But I don’t want to sound like a dork. You’re a girl, what should I say?
I logged out and shut my computer. He likes a girl in his English class enough to go to a dance with her. The thought crushed something inside of me. I knew it was impractical, but I kind of thought he might ask me to come go to the dance with him. Stupid, fanciful notions.
Thankfully, it was time for dance class. With any luck, I’d dance myself to exhaustion and collapse into sleep when I got back.
A few days later, I finally responded. It wasn’t in me to ignore him.
Hey Dawson,
Sorry, I didn’t answer sooner. Just got time to check my messages. It’s probably too late for my advice. The girl probably already has a date. But if I was the girl, I’d just want you to say something nice like:
I think you’re pretty and was wondering if you’d go to winter formal with me.
Anyway, good luck. Are you going to buy a suit?
Izzy
Every day I checked my inbox several times a day. There was no answer each time. He must have gotten mad when I didn’t answer right away. Or maybe he was too busy with the girl from English class to message me.
Finally, there was an answer.
You weren’t too late. I asked her, and she said YES. She’s gonna let me know the color of her dress after she buys it. I might need some advice about the corsage.
No, I’m not going to get a suit. There’s no way I’d wear a monkey suit to some dance. I’m going to wear black jeans and a nice shirt. Maybe a tie.
On a different note, I met a guy at my school who plays bass. We’re going to jam sometime soon. I’ll let you know how it goes. Maybe I can put together a band.
His email didn’t sound mad. But how much could I really tell from typed words? And he’d actually asked her out. I knew it was inevitable that he’d find a girlfriend in Ohio one day. All my friends here were pairing up left and right. I was sure his were doing the same thing. I had to figure out a way to let go of my hope for something more than friendship with him. We were separated by, like, 600 miles and four states. Us was impractical.
Like a good friend, I wrapped myself in appropriate enthusiasm and wrote him back.
Wow, a band would be awesome. I can’t wait to hear what you sound like with other guys backing you up. I still haven’t heard you play electric guitar yet. Are you writing lyrics yet? I listen to your guitar playing every night, and I imagine words with the songs. You have a great voice.
And by the way, I know suits aren’t cool, but I think you’d look handsome in one. And would look even better in a tux.
Maybe we can Skype soon, and I’ll play electric guitar for you. The guy came over and brought his bass. We sound awesome together. I will see if I can hook up the camera and computer in the garage and do a jam session for you.
Yeah, suit or tux – not happening. This dance isn’t THAT special. LOL.
So, Casey says her dress is purple. What should I do about the corsage? Pin on or wrist?
The girl he liked was named Casey. Sounded like a nice name for a normal girl. A girl next door, even. A girl like I used to be for him. Only more because he actually asked her out on a date.
Sucking in a deep breath, I planted my fingers on the keyboard and tapped out:
I’d love to Skype with you. My new computer has a camera, but I haven’t ever used it. Awesome about the bass player. What’s his name?
I’m telling my date to get me a wrist corsage. I don’t want him to accidently stab me with a pin in the boob or something.
I watched for his answer to pop up. Nothing came before bedtime. Nothing was there when I got up the next morning either. Several days passed before his reply came.
So, you decided to go to the dance too? That’s awesome. You’ll have to email me a picture of you in your dress. Who’s taking you?
I’ll go with wrist corsage. Boob stabbage is not something I want to do.
Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series: Box Set 1 Page 31