My First Love by Callie West

smell the soapy scent of his hair in the brim. For nearly a week, I slept with the hat tucked beneath my pillow before I reluctantly gave it back.
    But one night about three weeks after we had first climbed to the roof, Chris showed up with something that wasn’t homemade. “Amy, I want you to have this,” he said, and he handed me a tiny box wrapped in pretty paper.
    I was sure I knew what it was before I even opened it, but I couldn’t quite believe I was right. I mean, guys didn’t give girls rings anymore, at least as far as I knew. Maybe someone Mom’s age might have worn a boy’s ring in high school, but among my friends, “going steady” hadn’t been cool since about the seventh grade.
    I tried to look surprised as I tore off the wrapping paperand cracked the hinged lid. And then I really was surprised, because what lay there on the box’s velvet lining wasn’t a ring after all, but a small brass key.
    It wasn’t a modern key, like the kind you’d use to open your front door. It was old, small, intricate, and slightly worn. “The key to your heart?” I teased Chris as I examined it, turning the key over in my hand.
    “You could say that,” he answered. “It opens a locker full of treasures I used to have, this old sea chest I got from my grandpa.”
    “What was in it?” I asked, imagining yellowed pirate maps and gold doubloons.
    “Old toys and models, mostly,” Chris explained. “Souvenirs from being a kid. But when we moved into our new house, my parents must have gotten rid of it. They swear they stored it in the garage, but I haven’t seen it since.”
    “That’s so sad,” I whispered, thinking of my collection of dolphins, and the stained and scruffy animals who lived in my closet, piled cozily in an old doll cradle. I hadn’t played with them since I was a little girl, but I wouldn’t dream of giving them up.
    Chris shrugged. “Mom said she wanted to start over in our brand-new house.”
    “But they’re like old friends,” I protested. “You can’t just decide one day to toss them out.”
    Chris took my hand and held it, so that the key waspressed between our palms. “I hope I’ll have you forever,” he said, and I understood then that the key meant not what he had lost but what we would have together.
    “You do,” I said. “You will.”
    Later, when Chris helped me back through my window, I briefly thought about how fast my life was moving—faster than I knew how to handle. My days blurred together—one long run of school, swim practice, and evenings spent falling asleep over homework, then waking up and climbing out the window to see Chris. Our secret meetings—we called them the Astronomy Club—were the only parts of the day I looked forward to. I wasn’t swimming well, and I was behind in my classes.
    I can’t explain why we didn’t go on more normal dates. Partly, I knew my mom would not let me date anyone on a regular basis, but mostly it was because it was so romantic, climbing up to my roof and looking at stars and having our own secret place.
    “I don’t want to go in,” I said that night, hating to say good-bye.
    “In that case,” Chris teased me, “why don’t you invite me in out of the cold?” He leaned forward through the open window to kiss me.
    “I can’t,” I said, meaning I couldn’t invite him in, not that I couldn’t kiss him.
    Just then, my door slowly creaked open, and we both heard Mom’s angry gasp. There we were, the two of us, caughtin the hall light. Mom was silhouetted in the doorway, and she was furious.
    “Amy, what are you doing!” she demanded. “Who’s there with you? Do you have any idea what time it is?” She lobbed her questions at me so quickly that I barely had time to react.
    “Ms. Wyse—I mean Turner—it’s my fault,” Chris said, trying to defend me. “I knocked on Amy’s window. She was just this minute pleading with me to go home.”
    Mom marched over to the window. Her lips tightened with anger.