Are You Still There by Sarah Lynn Scheerger Page A

not like one of those guys our texter was talking about. I’m a nice guy. I promise.” I see a tiny dimple in his upper right cheek that I never noticed before. “And you are muy bonita . Can I kiss you?”
    His shirt is pretty tight. I try not to notice how his chest presses against it. He looks like he’s fit underneath it—not like he lifts weights, but more just naturally fit. He waits expectantly. Crap . I answer in Spanish, as corny as that sounds. “Está bien.”
    He pulls me in again, and he doesn’t hesitate. I hold back at first, tense. Take a risk, take a risk , I tell myself. I close my eyes and allow myself to relax. Then I’m melting into his arms, my mouth melting into his mouth, and every single hair on my body is standing on end. So electric. The rest of the world blurs and there is only him. His hands cupping my face, moving to my shoulders, and settling around my waist. Our hips touch and my body is on fire. So this is a kiss. I want more. I am hungry for more.
    When we pull away I have no idea how much time has passed. Was that one kiss? Or a marathon of kisses?
    â€œWow,” he whispers in my ear. His breath sends tingles down my arms. “We got to do that more often.”
    I don’t say anything at first, just stand there, catching my breath and drinking him in with my eyes. “I think you have a point.”
    That seems to be all the invitation he needs, because suddenly I’m melting into him again, feeling warm and cold and tingly and like I’m floating. Everything I see bleeds into something else, all my senses are on overload, and my thoughts are ricocheting around in my brain. Like I might lose my footing at any moment.
    Even after we stop kissing, the goose bumps last twenty minutes. And the tingles last an hour.
    When I get home, I realize something terrible. I’m a player. I can’t believe I just kissed two different guys in one day. Or, more accurately, two guys kissed me. I’m the kind of girl Beth and I normally hate.
    Both the kisses were nice. But Eric’s kiss was all about the physiology of it—lips meeting lips, tongue meeting tongue. Miguel’s kiss involved all the same body parts, but the end result was tingling electricity. No comparison. Just the thought of Miguel’s minty taste makes my body light up again.
    And suddenly it feels wrong . I feel wrong.
    I can’t be kissing two guys in the same day. Especially not two guys who know each other. That’s a recipe for disaster! It’s the kind of reality-show drama Chloe would love. And the kind I avoid like the plague.
    I’m not sure if I’m feeling panic, or my heart is just racing because I’m thinking about Miguel’s kiss. But I know I have to do something right away. Take a risk , I prompt myself. If I want to try dating someone (and I most definitely do), then I need to decide which one.
    But it’s not a decision. My mind was made up from the moment our lips connected. I want to be with Miguel.
    So I corner Eric at school the next day. And I lie. A great, big, fat lie about why I don’t want to study together anymore.
    I don’t mean to lie. I mean to give him a mostly true explanation about valuing his friendship and not wanting to mess that up. I think through at least five different ways to say it, but none of them sound right.
    And then because I start to tell him without thinking it all the way through, I lie. I say, “I’m just not into guys right now.”
    I see him digest this meaning, and I know within seconds that he thinks I just told him I’m gay. I’m not, of course.
    But I don’t correct it. Letting him believe this about me seems like an easy way to let him down.
    As long as he doesn’t find out otherwise.

Stranger’s Manifesto
    Entry 11
    I stand corrected.
    I have a friend.
    A new friend.
    Guess it depends on how you define “friend.”
    I send her