The Boy in the Attic

Chapter One: Invisible Forces and First Kisses

You'd think you'd remember your first kiss.

In a way, it's kind of a big deal, a rite of passage.

It's the first time your lips touch another's, the first time you feel the heat and intimacy of another person in a way you've never felt before.

It's a moment that every teenager can't wait to happen, a moment you tell your kids, your friends and future husband and laugh about how bad it was.

Yet my first kiss felt like my second.

I guess, in a way, I set myself up for disappointment because I did find it really sad that I was seventeen and had never been kissed before. Sure, I've had wet grandma kisses, the kind that leave a lipstick smudge on your cheek, and the stubbly dad pecks. But let's not forget moms; they gave the best kisses, the kind that pulled you into a tight hug and planted a delicate kiss on the top of your head.

Those were the kind of kisses I had.

Yet nothing should be comparable to the first kiss because it should be like this release of emotions and lust.

Right?

So as my junior year drew open, I thought it would only make sense to kiss Charlie Hartway. Charlie Hartway, Benjamin's friend Charlie.

Yet the condescending way he said, "Don't worry, if it's your first time, I've kissed a bunch of girls," really pissed me off enough to almost call off the entire thing.

My childhood best friend, Benjamin, assured me that Charlie had nothing more than foot-in-mouth disease, so I shouldn't take anything he said seriously. He also stressed that besides Charlie's foot in mouth condition, he was disease-free lip and genital wise, not that I would let it get that far.

I'm not going to lie; if you could get past Charlie's personality, he seemed like the perfect first kiss material. Charlie was with burnt auburn hair and freckles scattered across his face like stars scattered across the sky.

Even his slight lisp was oddly charming.

You would think it would turn girls off.

But it certainly didn't, nor did it turn off boys that were also looking to get their hearts broken.

Charlie used everything God gave him and twisted it to his advantage. His abnormally dry hands? Charlie was the before picture in lotion commercials.

His perfectly smooth lips? Charlie was deemed the best kisser in our grade by seventh grade, racking a lip count of seventeen.

Okay, so Charlie was kind of a kissing whore. But it was better to pick someone experienced than someone who wasn't.

So, there we were, sitting on the ledge of my creaky porch after school.

"I heard this house is haunted." Charlie taunted, pulling me closer towards him.

I laughed, "I heard you're a dumbass."

"No, seriously, Amelia." He said, lowering his voice as if someone were listening.

As if on cue, a sudden gust of wind blew by, rustling the wind chimes above his head. He jumped.

I hid a giggle behind my long black hair as it danced with the wind.

Charlie wasn't lying.

When the Bournegat house went up for sale a couple of months ago, everyone in town thought my parents were insane for buying it. We lived about ten minutes away from the house, in a modern flat above a coffee shop. Our home was cozy, a little on the small side, but always smelled like fresh muffins in the morning. The Bournegat house? Well, there were rumors of drug deals, squatters, and even murders before we moved in. But the second the for-sale sign went up, my mom went for it, claiming it had more character to it than our cookie-cutter house.