Written in the Stars

One

Bridget leans in closer than she needs to, looking over my shoulder at what I'm writing. Her hair tickles my ear and gives me goose bumps. "Why won't you kiss me?"

"We need to get this done, Bridg," I reply. Of course I want to kiss her. We don't get many opportunities, so normally I'd take every single one of them. This time though, we're running late on the first part of our big history assignment thanks to kissing instead of studying, and we're only two weeks into the new school year. Plus, my mum's home and she could walk in on us at any time. Mum knows I'm gay but she thinks Bridget is just a friend.

"It's not due until the end of semester. There's plenty of time."

"The assignment's due at the end of semester, but the outline is due next week," I correct her.

She wriggles closer to me across the floor so our bodies are touching from our feet all the way up to our shoulders. "Come on, Quinn. Don't you want to kiss me?"

I turn to look at her and my heart skips a beat. Our faces are so close our noses are almost touching. Her eyes are sparkling with the same mischief they did when we were kids, and when I glance at her mouth, the corner of her lip quirked up just a little, my heart almost stops. I have to focus. I can't afford to fail history. I can't afford to fail anything. I kiss her on the tip of her nose and turn back to my notes.

Bridget doesn't give up. In fact, she ups the ante by running her fingers lightly down my arm. It takes all my strength to not respond.

"If we start, we won't get any work done."

"And why is that a problem?" she asks. God she's good at this.

I suck in a breath, more to keep myself calm than anything else, and let it out slowly. I turn back to her, kiss her quickly and then pull away. "Do you want to explain to Mrs Kirkman why we didn't get the outline done?"

She pouts. "You're so boring."

She hates being rejected. I try to smooth things over. "Bridg, if someone finds out why we're spending so much time together studying, even though we're supposedly not friends at school, what do you think will happen?"

"We're friends," she replies defensively. "We just don't hang around the same people." She rolls over onto her back and crosses her hands under her head. "Do you remember when we put those up there?" she asks.

I look up at the fake stars on my bedroom ceiling. They're faded now and most of them have lost their glow. "You gave them to me for my eighth birthday," I reply.

"Yeah, but do you remember us putting them up?" she asks again.

"I guess," I reply, not getting where she's going with it. "Dad told us to wait until he got home from work and he'd do it."

"But we didn't wait," Bridget says. "We got your dad's ladder from the shed and—"

"I held it while you stretched right up to stick them on," I finish. I smile at the memory.

"I fell for you that day," Bridget says.

"You fell onto me and I fell onto the bed," I correct her.

"No, I mean, that was when I fell for you."

My whole body tingles. I'm not sure why she's never told me that until right now. "Really?"

She pokes me in my side with her pen. "You practically saved my life. How could I not fall for you?"

I laugh. "You're so melodramatic sometimes, Bridg."