Bathe in Color

18. Paris Wills, Age 16, August 5, 2019

I can't believe him.

I hate him for showing up at a godforsaken time in the morning and asking me to take him sightseeing. I hadn't even taken a shower or had time to change out of my grungy pajamas before he arrived, barely taking a bite of cereal before hearing him knock on my door.

Who am I kidding?

I couldn't be happier that he came to my doorstep.

I wish I could get him out of my head, but he's all I ever think about. It's only been a few days since I met him, but it feels like a lifetime. Whenever we talk, I know exactly what to say. There's nobody I feel more comfortable with than him. I know I'm desperate. For years I've yearned for a guy to take my hand, kiss my lips, hold me in their arms, and touch me like never before. I crave a relationship where I'm loved more than anyone else. Every second I'm not around should make their lives a living hell. Every second Gray's not around the whole world dims.

Now, I'm seated on the passenger's side of Gray's truck, driving down to Stearns Wharf. Gray keeps asking me about the buildings and landscapes we pass, and I go into detail about the city's history, unweaving tales told to me by my parents when I was younger.

When we stop at a red light, Gray asks if I want to play some music. I nod and he hands over his phone, which is open to his music library. Immediately I notice a Lady Gaga playlist and hit shuffle, thrilled that we share an adoration for Mother Monster.

The opening electric guitar synths to "Perfect Illusion" pipe through the truck's speakers, causing the seats and my chest to vibrate. I'm tempted to scream along to Gaga's soaring vocals like I have so many times before. There's something so liberating to shrieking this song at the top of your lungs. Not wanting to embarrass myself, I mouth the words, earning a beaming smile from Gray. Sensing my hesitation, he sings out loud, breaking the ice and looking to me with an expectant glare. Realizing he wants me to join in, I nervously take on the chorus and we start jamming along together, voicing every word in perfect harmony. We fall into a natural symmetry, Gray pretending to rock out on the guitar while I imitate Gaga's low, raspy vocals, much to Gray's delight. Gray applauds my theatricality, sending me into a fit of laughter.

"I can't believe I just did that!" I exclaim in between giggles. And it's true. I'm stunned by my behavior. Around anyone else, I wouldn't have felt comfortable enough to belt Gaga at the top of my lungs. Yet, around Gray, all my walls seem to come down.

As Gray chuckles at my bewilderment, the both of us lock eyes and I notice I've scooted so close to him that our lips are mere inches away from touching. Beads of sweat trail down Gray's face, causing his skin to gleam. Before my mind can entertain the thought of what his soft pink lips must taste like, Gray returns his focus to the road and I slide back to the other side of the truck, tension lingering in the air.

"So you like Lady Gaga?" Gray asks, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Who doesn't?" I reply.

"You're so funny, Paris. I've never met somebody like you before."

Did he really just say that? Grayson Pierce, the guy who I've been thinking about nonstop for the past few days. Maybe I'm exaggerating. Yet it seems impossible to ignore the way my heart soars after hearing his compliment. Am I crazy for thinking we could become more than friends?

"Well, tour guide, are you ready to show me around?" Gray asks as he pulls into a parking spot near the beach, prompting me to slip out of the truck. The only thing with me is my phone.