Page 26 of Exrated
And without trying, my mind drifts back to when we I was twelve.
I lie awake, staring at the glow in the dark stars on my ceiling. I glance at the clock and hear a tap on my window. Smiling, I throw the covers off and hop out of bed. As soon as I open the window, the humid summer air swoops in.
Tyler grins as he crawls inside. “Sorry I’m late, titch. Mom stayed up watching some dumb movie.”
“It’s fine.” I haven’t been scared to sleep by myself for years, but I haven’t told him that. His eyes skim over my body then suddenly dart to the other side of the room. He shakes his hair out of his face while rubbing his hand over his arm and shifting his weight on his feet. “Your legs are getting long.”
“Yeah…”
“Not gonna be able to call you titch much longer if you keep getting taller.”
I flop down on the bed, and he crawls in next to me. We sink underneath the covers. His leg brushes against mine. I feel guilty because I want him to do it again.
He’s starting to get the tiniest bit of facial hair, and he just got his braces off a few days ago. All the girls in my class have a crush on him which makes me mad.
Tyler looks over at me and narrows his eyes. “What do you think about Ellen Frampton?”
“I don’t like her.”
He laughs. “Why?”
“I just don’t.” I don’t because Ellen Frampton spends all day writing his name over the front of her notebooks. She even wrote Ellen Westbrook the other day. I wanted to tear the piece of paper out of her notebook and ball it up.
“She’s nice,” he argues.
“I don’t like her.”
“She likes me.”
I cross my arms over my chest and grit my teeth. “I know.”
“That make you mad, titch, huh?” He pokes my side, and I jerk away.
“No, why would it make me mad? I don’t care who likes you.”
“Sure you do.”
He pinches me again and I punch him in the arm.
“Ow,” he says still laughing.
“Do you like her?” I ask, my heart pounding in my chest.
“No.” I let out a breath.
“She wears too much makeup,” he says. “Hey, titch…” he takes a piece of my hair and twirls it around his finger which causes this flittering flutter deep in my stomach.
“What?”
“You aren’t gonna start wearing makeup like that are you?”
“Momma said I can’t wear makeup until I’m thirteen.”
“Yeah, but you’ll be thirteen in a few months.” He unwinds the tendril of hair from his finger. “I don’t want you to wear makeup like that.” He rolls over and pulls me toward him and now this awkward—thing—is going on. Things used to be easy between us. Tyler would come in here, and we’d talk and fall asleep. Now, I get nervous. I try to find ways to get closer to him. I stare at his face because I like the way he looks. I want to kiss him and I shouldn’t because we’re friends and friends don’t kiss.
“Well, I’m gonna wear makeup,” I say.
“Oh, come on.” He inches closer to me. “You’re too pretty to mess your face up with that junk.”
