The Kids Aren't Alright

Chapter 50: Finn

She bumps her knee against mine. The impact sends tiny shock-waves pulsing through my body. "Don't play dumb. I asked if you were checking me out. Were you?"

"Uh...."

"It's fine. You don't have to answer."

Nearby, a katydid clicks its wings together, the gentle thrumming joining an orchestra of other nightly noises. The air is thick with the tangy smell of pine needles; the scent so strong I can almost taste it in my mouth. I never experienced anything as wondrous as this night in Indiana. My muscles feel alive, like I could scale a mountain or run a marathon. It's electrifying.

But it still doesn't explain the moths flapping clumsily around my stomach.

Becca coughs, and I turn back to her. "What do you think the Director would do if he saw us out here?" she asks. There's an edge of defiance in her voice, like she's daring me to get scared and chicken out. It's certainly a challenge.

"Give us about a thousand marks, probably," I say, cracking a smile so she'll know I'm not worried. (Well, not too worried.) "But I doubt she's even awake. Right now, she's probably lying in her bed, dreaming about ways to make our lives more miserable."

She laughs again. "You're right. I guess it's just us out here."

And then, there's quiet.

And then, for the first time in my life, I realize I'm not bothered by the quiet. Sitting next to Becca, the silence isn't a void demanding to be filled; it's just... light, like a cloud or a breeze, peaceful and inviting. And I know that doesn't make any sense but that's how it feels. At least to me.

Becca sucks in a sharp breath, and the spell of silence is broken. "You know, you can be painfully oblivious sometimes," she says— not unkindly, but like she's pointing out a fact.

"I don't follow."

She tilts her head at me, like I'm being purposefully slow. But she's still smiling, and I can tell she's not actually frustrated with me; just pretending. "We're standing by the lake, alone, at midnight. Do you really not get the hint?"

"What hint?"

"Just kiss me, you idiot," she says, and I must look stunned, because she laughs again, and I can't help thinking to myself again that her laugh is such a wonderful sound, more wonderful than all the sounds of the trees and the wind and the water around us.
The moths have died away now, and I feel calm; tranquil, like sitting by the lake with Becca is the most natural thing in the world.

"Okay," I say, and I lean forward and press my lips against hers.

It occurs to me that I shouldn't be kissing people at a summer camp for juvenile delinquents. I mean, isn't the whole point of this stupid camp to get me to hate life and be miserable? I don't think my principal sent me here to make out with a girl I barely know. But here I am, anyway. Somehow.

I'm still breaking rules. (I can count at least four at the moment.) And I'm kissing Becca Fisher. Which I'm not protesting about at all. Anna would freak out if she could see me now— she would probably go off on a rant about how I need to stop fooling around and start paying attention and not break more rules because I'll just get in trouble. Again.

But it's easy to ignore Anna's voice in my head, especially when I'm kissing Becca Fisher.

Her lips are chapped from the cold and taste like camp-fire smoke, but I couldn't dream of a more perfect pair. My hands move to the back of her neck, and I can feel her pulse beneath my fingertips, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. And, as much as I hate to be the cliched kid who claims their first kiss is magical, I can't deny that there's something special about this moment, like we've created an entirely new and wonderful thing.