When Life Gives You Lemons [COMPLETE]

The Beginning

My first kiss tasted of burnt marshmallows and bug spray.

I'd just finished eighth grade when it happened: fourteen years old, awkward, and still a lip-virgin. Well, an everything-virgin, but still. By that point, most people I knew already had their first kiss, except for me. The summer before I would start high school, I was determined to change that status. And I knew exactly who I wanted to help me do it.

The night of the bonfire, I walked over to Jessie's, a plate of fresh-baked cookies from my mom in my hands. My parents loved the Mastersons almost as much as I did and insisted on me bringing some kind of food for them whenever I visited, which was almost every day. Jessie and I had been best friends ever since first grade when her family moved three doors down from mine. Jessie walked over to my house to play Barbie the day she arrived, and we had been inseparable ever since.

"More cookies?" Jessie groaned when she opened the front door. Her long, brown hair was curled and shiny. She tugged on her bracelet, the one she got in Italy two years prior. "We still have some from the last time you brought them over." I shrugged. "You know how my mom is."

Jessie rolled her eyes and led me through the hallway to the backyard, where the bonfire would be. Jessie also hadn't had her first kiss yet, so we planned together and decided that her backyard, with a full-on fire pit and fancy patio furniture, was better for the occasion than mine.

As we walked through her house, I waved to Mr. and Mrs. Masterson, who were watching TV on the couch in the living room. The Mastersons themselves were practically my second family; it was no surprise to them I was visiting once again.

A thump sounded from upstairs, and when I looked at Jessie, she just shrugged. "Mason," was all she said, and I couldn't help the quickening of my heart.

Jessie had two older brothers: Mason and Caleb. Caleb, only a year older than us, was the brother I was the closest to. We'd always been friendly to each other when I was around Jess, forced to interact out of awkward family-friend etiquette, but it wasn't until fifth grade that our own connection began. No one wanted to be on Caleb's basketball team at recess—he never made a shot—so I joined him. We definitely sucked, completely failed, and horribly lost, but it created a bond that has lasted ever since.

That day with Caleb was the most fun I had ever had playing a sport. He could make any mundane activity an adventure, and he was kind, almost to a fault, so it was hard to say no to him. In my mind, he would always be the boy who would build snowmen with me and Jessie in the wintertime, no matter how cold it was outside, just because he knew we wanted to.

Mason was two years older, and what my mom would call the "brooding bad boy." He wasn't necessarily "brooding" or even a "bad boy," Mom watched too many rom-coms, but he had his moods. We used to talk when we were younger, forced by our parents' interactions to play together, but as he started high school, we only had the occasional conversation. I assumed he thought of me as his little sister's best friend, which, of course, I was. Ever since the beginning of that year, he was too busy with his on-and-off girlfriend, Alexis, to notice me, anyway. Even though they were in an "off" phase. Not that I cared.

Outside, Caleb, Jess, and I sat together on a wooden bench that Mr. Masterson refurbished that summer, the dark brown stain matching the freshly painted deck. A few of our eighth-grade friends and some of Caleb's freshmen classmates sat in the cushioned lawn chairs around the fire with us.

Despite being in high school, Caleb still hung out with us because we still thought he was cool. If he tried hanging out with one of the older kids, Mason included, they'd just put him in his place and let him know how insignificant, by high school standards, he was.