Page 13 of Summer of the Boy

Open.

He does it. He looks me directly in the eyes for the briefest moment. I watch the pain and panic spread behind those glorious flecks of yellow, brown and green, but he does it. Ridley looks me in the eyes, blinks and asks, “Leif, be my boyfriend?”

“See, that wasn’t so hard.” Even though for an autistic, I know it was. “Yes, Rid, I’d love to.”

Here I thought after knowing him these few weeks, I had all his smiles figured out. And the guy smiles a lot. They seem to be his main form of communication. But once he releases his lip, the smile he levels on me, blows every other one out of the water.

It’s infectious. He smiles. I smile. Until his hands grope my butt again. His lips slam against mine a little harder than necessary. I don’t want to say anything to embarrass him. Ridley took control. This is a huge moment for him. For us.

And by the end of our second kiss, I’m absolutely certain my worst case scenario has been realized. I’m falling in love with Ridley McAllister.

A Ms. McAllister freak-out looms over us just an uncomfortable conversation away. Ms. McAllister, Ms. I learned because she never married Rid’s fatherandshe’s a modern woman. Modern with the exception of believing her autistic son can be gay.

Ms. McAllister has met me on several occasions since Rid’s brought me to play PlayStation at his house almost every night after shift, or his days off we spend hanging out because she doesn’t want him at my house. And even though she clearly sees us growing close, has neglected to upgrade me to calling her Jen.

Deep down, in the dirtiest, most cobweb ridden recesses of her mind, she has to know what Rid and I have growing between us. There’s how friends act. There’s how more than friends act.

Whether we mean to or not, we act the latter. Touching a little longer than necessary. Tickling. Our thighs touching when we sit playing our favorite MLB, at first butts to the floor, leaning back against the bed up in his room. Then from the sofa, knees bent and feet up on the coffee table in the living room where she insisted we move because she “doesn’t want us bringing food to Rid’s room.”

Right.

When I chose a college two states away, part of my decision, a big part, was so I could have this, right here. Who would’ve thought I’d find him at home for the summer?

“Let’s sit.” Rid searches my face, landing on my left ear as his focus spot. He has something to discuss. I move from his embrace hopping up onto the flat surface of the rock facing the ocean. He hops up next to me.

I’d found this secluded jetty years ago and have been coming here to think, or in the few times I got the chance, to make out with other boys who weren’t ready to come out either. Boys like Gabe Cera.

“What’s up?” I ask. Putting my hand on his arm to still his restless movements after he takes up five minutes to find a comfortable spot, which really means avoiding whatever he wants to talk about. “Come on, Rid. Don’t shy up on me now. What’s on your mind?”

“I really liked kissing you.”

A soft “sss” laugh escapes through my nose. “That’s good,” I tell him. “Because I did too. You’re a natural.”

“I want to kiss you more often.”

“My lips are your lips, Rid.”

“I um…don’t know the rules,” he says then.The rules?“I’ve never dated. Mom says I have a couple more years before I’m allowed to date.”

“A couple years? Rid, you turn twenty next month.”

He shrugs.

“She says I don’t understand enough of how the world works to mix myself up in a relationship.”

“Do you agree?”

“No. I might not always understand my surroundings, but I know how I feel.AndI promised her I wouldn’t get a girl pregnant.”

Holy shit.He said that to his mother?

“I’m going to kiss you again.”

Our lips brush, one, two, three brushes before he has enough of my teasing and takes control of the kiss, kissing me hard and deep. No tongue, just lips. His hands hold my chin to keep me where he wants me. Beautiful. It’s like in those stupid, sappy chick flicks Amanda used to make me watch. Where one character says to another, “I felt you down to my very soul.” I never believed in that, never believed a person or a kiss could be felt ‘down to my very soul’. Until now. Until Ridley.

When he pulls back just enough for us to suck in a breath, he whispers against my lips, “I know how I feel about you.”

Score.

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