Something Like Gravity

by Amber Smith

  “Actually, I wasn’t,” I admitted. “I was drawing.”

  Her eyes widened, and she sounded surprised when she said, “You draw?”

  “No. Not well, anyway!”

  She laughed, then inched herself forward just a little more, leaning like she was trying to see over the top of the notebook. Something inside me said I shouldn’t show her. If I didn’t show her, that old logic told me, then I wouldn’t have to feel all the things she made me feel—terrified and hopeful, all at the same time, for wanting something I had been telling myself I couldn’t have.

  But another part of me, the newer part that somehow had manifested itself in this middle-of-nowhere town over the past month, that part knew it was too late. In spite of my best efforts, I had fallen for Maia. Hard. It was not just a crush, not a simple chemical reaction my brain was manufacturing. This was the real thing.

  “Can I see?” she finally asked.

  I opened my journal and removed the pen from the binding. I examined the scribbly drawing for another moment. Before I could change my mind again, I turned it for her to see. She reached out and ran her fingers over the indented hatch marks my pen had made, but the way it sent tingles through me, she may as well have been running her fingers over my skin. I watched her face carefully as she leaned into the space between us.

  We were so close, I could hear the breath she took before she asked, “Is that me?”

  The picture was of her. But it was of me, too. It was me seeing her. I wasn’t sure how to say that, though, so I just nodded. It was everything. It was too much. I knew what would happen if our eyes met again.

  I couldn’t. I was a coward. I had to look away.

  MAIA

  WE DIDN’T KISS.

  CHRIS

  WE SHOULD HAVE KISSED.

  MAIA

  IT WAS THREE O’CLOCK IN the morning and I was still wide awake. I had reviewed every single interaction I’d ever had with Chris, many times over. But there were only a handful of things I knew for sure:

  1. I liked him.

  2. He was sweet and smart and funny.

  3. I liked him a lot. And . . .

  4. He liked me back.

  Then there were all these other things that were more slippery, trickier to know for certain. Like the fact that he had secrets, and not just him being trans, but something else. The vague handful of scraps of information he had shared—the reason he wanted to help me that night at Bowman’s, how he had willingly exiled himself to Carson for the summer, the stuff with his parents—these pieces were adding up, and I got this sinking feeling that something had happened to Chris before he came here, something bad, and he didn’t want to talk about it.

  I had secrets too. But in spite of the fact that there were all these half-truths and half-lies standing in the way, he had somehow uncovered the me that had been obscured by Mallory, by the death of Mallory, and even by Carson itself.

  I got out of bed and went to my window. His light was still on. I turned mine on too and grabbed my phone.

  Me: Are you still awake?

  Chris: Yes.

  Chris: You can’t sleep either?

  Me: No

  Me: Hey, can you sneak out for a little while? I want to show you something.

  Chris: Like right now?

  Me: Yeah

  Chris: Umm . . . Sure.

  Me: I’ll meet you by your car in 10, ok?

  Chris: Okay

  I swapped my pajama bottoms for jeans, twisted my hair up out of my face, put a bra on under my T-shirt, grabbed my keys and my strawberry lip balm from my bag, and put them in the pocket of my hoodie. I kissed Roxie on the head and told her I’d be back soon. In the kitchen I found the pad of paper we kept in the junk drawer and left a note—I doubted anyone would notice, but just in case.

  • • •

  An owl called out to me while I waited for Chris by the car. It was that four-beat phrase of the barred owl. People say it sounds like “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for yo-ou?” I remember when Mallory and I were little, Dad always said an owl meant bad luck, but Mom would argue that it was a good omen.

  I guess I’d have to wait and see which was true.

  “Hey!” Chris whispered as he skipped down the porch steps.

  “Hi,” I whispered back.

  When he reached the car, he asked, keeping his voice low, “Where are we going?”

  “Not far,” I told him as I slid into the passenger seat.

  He waited until we got out onto the road, past Isobel’s house and mine, before he turned on the headlights.

  There was no one around. The only bar in town had been closed for hours. And I could almost convince myself that we were the only two people left on the face of the earth.

  “Can you give me a hint?” he asked.

  The night made me feel invincible, like the world was ours for the taking. I wanted to tell him to just keep driving until we hit water, but that wasn’t my plan.

  “Are we doing something illegal?” he whispered again, even though it was just us.

  I cupped my hand around my mouth and whispered back, “No.”

  His shoulders bounced in a silent laugh. I couldn’t help but look at his arms, the sinew defined slightly as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, lean muscle under what I imagined to be smooth, soft skin. For a second I forgot I was supposed to be the navigator.

  “Are we at least close?” he said, drawing me back into focus.

  “Almost there,” I said. “Okay, slow down. Turn in here.”

  “It looks closed,” he replied, but he turned in anyway.

  “Drive around to the back of the building.”

  “Oh god,” he groaned. “Why do I just keep doing everything you say?”

  “Because,” I said. “We’re having an adventure.”

  He pulled around to the back of the gas station, the headlights shining on the brick wall, a spotlight on the words we’d shared earlier. I waited for him to see it.

  “It’s the quote,” he finally said.

  I got out of the car and walked around to the front of it, then leaned against the hood.

  He shut the engine off, but left the headlights on, and then got out and walked up to the wall and ran his hands along the words.

  As he turned around and walked back toward the car—toward me—the light shone on him, illuminating all the features I was growing to love. Not just the crooked smile and the dimple, but his walk and the way he would put his hands in his pockets, how he tilted his head ever so slightly when he looked at me—his everything.

  He joined me, also leaning against the hood, with one foot perched on the bumper. We had to stand close to each other so that our shadows didn’t get in the way of the lights.

  “What do you think?” I asked.

  He smiled as he looked at the wall. “I’m really glad you dragged me out in the middle of the night to see this.”

  “Really? Worth it?”

  He nodded, and met my eyes. “Totally worth it.”

  I adjusted the position of my feet on the blacktop, and the side of my foot tapped the side of his. Neither of us moved away. Maybe it was only an accident, but he shifted the placement of his hand on the hood next to mine so that the pinkie finger of my right hand and the pinkie of his left were touching.

  We stayed like that, neither of us talking, simply looking at the wall, and allowing these small points of contact between our bodies.

  The air had cooled, and the insects had even quieted down. The only sounds were of our breathing. Now would have been the time to tell him all of those things, to let him hear the secrets I was so ready to get out. But I was distracted by the feeling of his arm, warm against mine, and my shoulder leaned into him.

  Any one of these tiny touches could’ve been an accident, but I felt each one deep inside me, starting in the very center of my abdomen, moving up under the ribs, sending minor shock waves to my heart.

  I moved my hand on top of his, each of my fi
ngers gliding over his, exploring the grooves of his knuckles, my fingertips along his smooth nails. His fingers parted, allowing mine to fall between them. I couldn’t tell if it was my hand shaking or his.

  “Is this all right?” I heard my voice whisper into the night air. I looked up at his face then. He had his eyes closed, but he nodded, almost as if he knew I was looking at him.

  He turned his hand over slowly and let our palms slide together, our fingers intertwining like they each had little individual minds of their own. It was like all of the nerve endings in my entire body were concentrated in the places where our skin was touching. We held our hands out in front of us, both of us now watching as they mingled and became one, the backdrop of the brick wall receding into the distance.

  I could feel the breath in my lungs moving faster, in and out, and I dared myself to look at him once more.

  His eyes were open now, and they were on me.

  I felt that magnetic pull again, tugging on my whole body, and he was drawing closer to me too. He’d stopped leaning against the car and was now standing up straight, turning to face me. My eyes followed his movements first, and then my feet followed, until I was standing up as well. His gaze moved back and forth between my eyes, glancing down at my lips.

  With his face close to mine, he spoke so quietly that his words were made mostly of air: “Can I?”

  I parted my lips. My mouth wanted to answer, Yes, kiss me. Now, please. Because I’ve been waiting thirteen billion years for this, but I couldn’t make any words come out, so I nodded into the rapidly shrinking distance between us.

  Our palms pressed together hard like there were magnets there, too. His other hand floated against my cheek and down the side of my throat, and his fingertips rested in the hair at the back of my neck. I moved my free hand to his forearm, and pulled him closer.

  We were breathing against each other, breathing each other in, and the instant our lips touched, I felt this enormous release, like a sigh escaping, not from my mouth, but from my whole body.

  His mouth was warm, his lips soft.

  CHRIS

  SHE TASTED SWEET ON MY tongue.

  My heart was pumping, fast and strong and steady, like I was running a race. I didn’t care what the repercussions might be for this moment; I was taking it.

  We were taking it.

  This moment was ours.

  If there had been any doubt left in my mind about whether or not she really did like me, it vanished, like the space between us vanished as our lips slipped together. She brought our hands—the ones that were joined—down to the side of her waist, and left my mine there, while hers traveled up my arm, over my shoulder, around to the back of my neck. I let my fingers press through her shirt against the soft part where her waist and hip met.

  I felt her breath catch.

  We pulled each other closer at the same time.

  Her other hand was touching my face, her fingers soft and searching as they passed over my cheekbone and jaw and chin and down the front of my neck and back again, like she was cataloguing their shapes in her memory.

  We were breathing the same; my inhale was her exhale, her inhale my exhale. I felt our kisses through my whole body as they grew faster and deeper by the second. Her hands moved down to my hips, and she took a few small steps toward me, steering me backward with her hands. We passed through the bright white light of the headlights, and I opened my eyes to see our shadows moving against the brick wall. She was leading us around to the side of the car, still kissing me.

  I pulled my mouth from hers for a moment, but she answered my question before I had a chance to ask: “I just want to be closer to you.”

  I heard the click of the handle unlatching, and she swung the back door open. I got in first, and I held her hands while she slid in behind me.

  I pulled her close, our chests pressed together, and when she tilted her head back, her breathing was just as ragged as mine. I could feel her throat swallowing against my lips as I kissed her neck. She brought her leg up and wrapped it around mine. My hand went to her thigh—I wished I could touch her face and her arms and hands and legs all at the same time.

  She was slowly sliding down onto her back, pulling me against her so there was no space in between us. I was on top of her and I tried to hold myself up, but my arms were shaking. My shirt had pulled up a little, and our bare stomachs were touching. My leg was between her thighs, and as she raised her hips and pressed herself against me, I thought my heart was going to explode.

  “Wait, is this okay?” I asked her, pulling out of our kiss to look at her.

  She was nodding, saying, “Yes, yes. It is, I swear.”

  Her hands were on my back, over my shirt. I knew she had to have been feeling my binder underneath, and I knew I needed to stop before it went any further, but god, I didn’t want to.

  I leaned down and kissed her collarbone, then her neck again—her elegant neck—I’d been wanting to do that for so long. I felt her thighs squeeze against my sides. I had my mouth close to her ear. I was going to tell her, Maia, we should stop, but before I could, she moved her hands from the small of my back, where her fingertips were touching skin, to my waist, and just as I was going to catch her hand, not let it go any further, she took mine in hers instead and placed it, so gently, on her stomach, under her shirt, and guided my hand up and over her bra.

  I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against her shoulder for just a moment while I tried to gather my willpower.

  “Is this really okay?” I asked again. Part of me hoped she’d say no, because I was scared.

  “Yes,” she answered.

  I felt her breathing hitch as my hand molded to the shape of her breast. She pulled her shirt up, slowly, over her head. We watched as she tossed it aside and it fell out of the open door onto the ground outside.

  We looked at each other and laughed at the same time.

  She bit down on her lip, and whispered, “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” I said. “But are you sure you’re—”

  “I am. I’m really okay,” she said, cutting me off. “I’m just a little embarrassed.”

  “Why?” I whispered back.

  “I’ve never done anything like this,” she said. “Like. Ever.”

  I nodded. I understood. “You don’t need to feel embarrassed about anything.” I understood completely. “You are so amazing, and so kind, and smart, and so, so, so incredibly beautiful in every way possible.”

  She held my face in her hands and kissed me, and I felt so comfortable under her touch that I almost forgot about the thing I could never quite forget about. She let her hands trail down my neck, over my shoulders, and everything felt so right. Until she placed her hands on my chest. I pulled back, recoiled—it was a reflex. She flinched. And almost right away, she moved her hands down to the sides of my waist. She was watching me too closely. I needed to look away, so I leaned down and kissed her shoulder.

  “Chris?” She brought her hand under my chin, tipping my face forward, making me look at her. “Is this okay for you?”

  I hesitated. She was asking me the question I really needed to be asked right now, only I didn’t know how to answer her. There were no simple yes or no answers to that question. I shifted my weight off her and sat up.

  So did she.

  “It’s okay,” she said, taking both of my hands in hers, “if it’s not okay.”

  “I want this. I want all of this. I really do.” I paused. I wasn’t sure what was about to come out of my mouth. Part of me just wanted to hop out of the car and run away and just keep running forever, and never face her again. Not if telling the truth meant that everything was about to be ruined. I swallowed hard past the fear that was collecting around all the words that seemed eternally stuck in my throat.

  “But I have to tell you something, Maia,” I forced myself to continue. “And I don’t know what will happen after I tell you. It might change everything for you. It might change everything between us,
and that is terrifying to me because I’ve never felt like this about anyone. I’ve never even dreamed that it was possible to feel the way I feel right now.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

  I nodded, took a deep breath, and spoke the words I’d practiced saying out loud in the mirror earlier that night after she’d left:

  “I’m transgender.” I let the words dangle there, feeling the rest of my life hinging on what would happen next. “I just—I needed you to know.”

  I held my breath as I watched her face for some sign of recognition, some sign that told me she understood what I was telling her, but she just kept looking at me in the same way she had been. All open and soft and patient.

  “Maia, please tell me what you’re thinking?”

  I braced myself, but she reached for my hand and held it in hers with so much tenderness. Then brought my fingers to her lips and closed her eyes as she kissed them. “I’m thinking,” she began, looking at me once again, “it doesn’t change anything.”

  “Are you—are you sure?” I asked.

  “I’m sure,” she said.

  She let go of my hands and moved close to me, wrapping her arms around my neck, my shoulders, and I could feel her breath moving in and out of her body. She tightened her grip until I placed my arms around her too.

  My hands felt cool against the warm, bare skin of her back.

  I felt her relax against me, and just like that, all of the tension I’d been holding on to for my entire life started draining out of my body. We stayed in each other’s arms—the door wide open, her shirt on the ground, headlights still shining against the wall—until daylight began creeping in through the night clouds.

  MAIA

  CHRIS GOT ME HOME BEFORE dawn. It was 5:55 when he parked at his aunt’s house, and he held my hand as he walked with me through the grass, all the way up to my porch.

  He kissed me on the cheek, and looked down at his feet as he smiled. In that moment I didn’t care if we got caught.

  I crept up the stairs to the second floor as quietly as possible, every tiny creak my steps made sounding like doors slamming. As I passed Mallory’s room, I looked in like always, but Roxie wasn’t there. I tiptoed down the hall and into my bedroom, silently closing the door behind me.