Page 65 of Error Handling

“We do?”

“I lied to Travis and told him I made out with some girl at church camp. I need to know what it’s like to kiss someone in case he ever asks for details.”

“You’ve never kissed anyone?”

Patrick shrugged. “Have you?”

“My cat.”

Now Patrick looked even more relieved. “Ok, well. Do you want to?”

“Do I want to kiss you?”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you make a face when Shelby called my name?”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked at the floor.

“Guilty,” I said.

“I have a crush on Shelby,” he said finally. “I was hoping I’d get her.”

I believed there was more to it, but I decided to let it go. The more pressing question was whether I was going to kiss this boy who had once eaten a pre-digested, macerated blueberry.

I understood why Patrick had lied about kissing a girl. Teenagers put so much pressure on each other. “Have you ever kissed someone? No?” the popular kids said. Then came the incredulous look that meant,There must be something seriously wrong with you.

I didn’t want people to think there was something seriously wrong with me, even though I knew there was. Like Patrick, I was willing to lie to appear normal.

“Fine,” I said. I walked back over to the door and flipped off the light.

Two sources of light remained: the glowing green button on the computer tower beneath the desk and the white halogen light that cascaded through the office’s only window. In a few seconds, my eyes adjusted, and I could see Patrick well enough to be certain my lips would land on his lips rather than on his nose or an eyeball.

Sweat trickled down my temple. My deodorant was working at maximum capacity.

He made the first move, which was good because if it were up to me, I would have just stood there for the remaining seven minutes. His lips pressed against mine in a crushing fashion. And then it was over.

He backed away. “You have to open your mouth.”

Curses once again flowed through my mind. Saliva from his previous attempt coated my lips and the skin around them. If he was that messy with a closed-mouth kiss, how bad would it be if I opened my mouth?

“I know,” I said.

“You kept it closed.”

“You took me by surprise.”

Even though Patrick’s features were shadowed, I clearly read “perturbed” on them. So, to spite him, I initiated the next kiss.

I pretended I was at the dentist’s office and the momentary affront was necessary for the greater good. His tongue wiggled around in my mouth like a little worm, and then it was over again. We parted, but I couldn’t remove the worm imagery from my mind. It was there in the forefront, a little earthworm digging through topsoil. I wanted to barf.

“Was that good enough?” I asked.

“I guess. Did we do it right?”