“Okay,” said Jack. He went to the fridge. By now he knew I didn’t like beer, so he kept wine coolers on hand. When we’d drained our drinks, Jack got up and, without asking, got us two more. He held on to my glass a little longer than necessary before letting me take it. I saw the pulse beating in his neck. Some kind of showdown going on behind his eyes. I was pretty sure then why we were not getting down to any work.

On my way back from the bathroom I stumbled on the leg of the stool. Jack caught me from the side and stopped me from falling. Someone’s heart was thumping, maybe his, maybe mine. That was the moment he could have let me go. I could have pulled away. Instead, we straightened up and started to kiss. I was shocked at first by the greedy, fishlike movements of our faces. But soon I didn’t want to stop. I had never kissed a boy, but once we started, I knew exactly what to do.

I pulled back to see his eyes. The shy, proud look in them, and the sense of Jack morphing from one thing to another and back again, made me laugh. This time I knew he didn’t mind. It was a completely different kind of laughter, aimed at both of us because of the outrageous thing we were doing. Jack’s hands were on my back, pressing me against the bulge in his jeans. I felt myself teetering on the edge of empty space, and there was nothing to do but start kissing again. The universe might not want me, but Jack did.

He backed me down the hallway, our fingers laced together. I maneuvered us around so that I was steering him instead. The kissing made me daring and free. Jack had on this dazed expression, but he was with it enough to glance at his watch.

“When’s your father back?” I whispered, tightening my fingers.

“Late. I don’t care. Do you?”