Sleep Tight

Chapter One: Kiss

He speeds up into a near sprint. With sweat dripping down my face, I quickly match him, the lactic acid in my legs building like bacteria.

    "What are—you doing?" I ask my friend, Skip, between breaths. Our Sunday morning jogs are usually a time for us to unwind. They start with Skip telling (or retelling) a story from his week, then evolve into strings of rants about things we don't understand, like girls. But today we haven't talked much; Skip is on overdrive.

    He replies as breathlessly as me. "We've got a game—coming up. We aren't gonna win—if we don't push ourselves." The words of a true athlete.

    I inhale a big breath of air. "In other words, you're tired," I tease.

    "Ha, you wish. I was doing it for you. You're panting so loud—the neighbors can hear."

    I veer to the right, bumping into him. He curves out, then veers left to return the favor. I bump him again, triggering a cycle of bumping and punching each other's shoulders, until I, in the spirit of not getting a bruise, decide to be the bigger person and end it.

    It's a little awkward not having Skip's tales to fill the conversation gaps, so I take the silence to complain about my teacher, Mrs. Calstic, who lost the one homework assignment I did for her class--the one that was supposed to get my grade back up to a C. I'm not as concerned about it as my parents, but that's why I really need that assignment to get into the grade book. My parents will give me hell if I fail that class. Meanwhile, he hasn't said a thing except for the distant "damn," or "yeah." Usually, he's the one talking my head off. But not today.

I struggle to hold the conversation on my own, so I let the air between us fall silent for a few minutes until he speaks. "Did I tell you?" he says tentatively after a bit. "Me and Venessa... kissed."

    Our pace slows. At first, my stomach grows heavy like I've lost something. And in a way, I have. As much as I hate to admit it, I always imagined that maybe, just maybe, he was into me. Of course, something between us would never work, but all those years he went without a girlfriend kept my mind spinning every time we would sit on a park bench or a lunch table or my bed and my eyes would wander to his lips, a magnetic pull consuming me. But this is also closure. A relief that I can move on and not jeopardize our friendship.

I turn to look at him, eyes wide. He tries not to break into a smile, but I can see his dimples appearing like craters on his cheeks. I can tell it's been on his mind for a while now. He takes this type of thing so seriously. He's probably been anticipating telling me our whole run. For most of the guys at school, a kiss is a kiss--I've had more than I can count, but for him, it's different. And as his best friend, it's my duty to hype him up for this accomplishment.

I force a huge grin. "No you didn't! Dude, good for fucking you. When did this happen?"

    "Yesterday," he replies. He makes eye contact with me for only a moment, then looks down the street into the sunrise.

    "You kidding me? Why'd you wait a whole day to tell me?"

    "I don't know. I didn't think it was a big deal."

    "Well it is. This is a pivotal moment in the history of Skip," I say with a pat on his back, but I have to turn away because I can't keep that smile on my face. I take one more deep breath. "Dude this is fucking awesome. Good for you."

I let my congratulations settle in before I say this next bit. "I mean, I can't believe you waited till Junior year to finally do it..." I brace myself for impact as he veers into me again, then laugh. "But good for fucking you. Was it any good?"