It's in his kiss~

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When you like someone—like, like like
—it's all about the firsts. First glance.
First smile. First dance.

First kiss.

My first kiss wasn't with Jacob Fischer.

Technically, it was with Matt Thompson
—a super-dorky kid I'd met at summer
camp when I was twelve. Matt and I
dated for approximately thirty-seven
minutes, during lunch. He asked me out
across the cafeteria, from, like, ten
tables over. His friend Alex Grant asked
his friend Charlie Frazier to ask his
friend Angela Bell to ask her friend
Rachel Goldman to ask my friend Zoe
Michaelson if I liked him. I'd never even
spoken to the kid, but my entire cabin
went crazy, since this was clearly the
most romantic thing ever to have
happened to any of us, so I obviously
had to say yes.

But by the time dessert rolled around, I
realized I was way too young to be tied
down to any one guy. So I let Matt kiss
me once for like two seconds behind the
Fro-Yo machine—a huge piece of
cheeseburger bun stuck in his braces—
and then promptly told him it was over.
Not my best moment.

But don't worry. My second kiss made
up for it.

Big-time.

That kiss belonged to Jacob. That was a
kiss I could relive again and again and
again and never get sick of. That's how I
spent a full three days at Slice, actually,
when I first got there. Just reliving that
kiss. One nice thing about heaven is that
you can relive all your favorite moments
and memories pretty much as many times
as you want—sort of like a DVD of your
whole life. Pause, rewind, fast-forward,
slowwww motion, all day, every day.

At this point, I have relived my first kiss
with Jacob too many times to mention.
It's an easy memory to find because it
happened on the night of my fifteenth
birthday. Tenth grade. The night of the
PCH Autumn Formal.

Emma, Sadie, Tess, and I were so
excited because it was the first formal
dance of our high school careers. Also,
it was '80s themed, which made it even
better. We all went shopping after
school at Luna (my favorite boutique)
and bought the prettiest dresses. Mine
was a black tube dress, a little
shimmery, with gold sparkles at the
bottom. Then we all got pedicures and
went back to my house for my birthday
dinner. Dad made my favorite, his
world-famous "special spaghetti," and
after that we powered upstairs to my
bedroom to get ready for the dance. It
was going to be the Best Night Ever.

Mom drove us to school at eight thirty
and we tore across the lawn toward the
auditorium, barefoot and giggling like
crazy. (The same auditorium where they
had my memorial, p.s. Not, like, to put a
damper on things.) We didn't have dates,
but Tess was convinced that "Prince"
Eric was finally going to ask her out
after years of pining for him, and Emma
had schemed up a detailed plan at my
house for getting the New Kid/Soccer
Star, Nate Lee, to dance with her. Her
plan went like this:

1) Bump into him. (Literally.)

2) Spill punch and/or chocolate (it has to
be chocolate) cupcake all over his shirt.

3) Volunteer to help him "clean it up."

4) During walk to hallway water
fountain, engage in angsty, hilarious
banter about why school dances are
Lame with a capital L. (And how much
of a Bummer with a capital B it is to be
missing the Brazil vs. Spain soccer
match on ESPN!)

5) Time entry back into the dance at
exact moment when Perfect & Preselected
romantic slow song is starting
up. (Thank you, Mr. DJ.)

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