After a moment, the handicapped stall door opens. Kimba doesn’t come out, but stays in place. She doesn’t look hurt, or like her dress is ripped or any of the awful things I imagined. I hesitate, then step inside and lock the stall door behind me.

“You sure you’re okay?” I ask. “When Jeremy came back by himself, I thought—”

“Told you I’m fine.” She leans against the wall and looks down at the floor, shrugging. “I just realized I didn’t want to kiss him.”

I press my lips together to fight the smile that wants to break out all over my body. “Oh. Okay.”

“Did you kiss Hannah?” she asks, her voice soft, her eyes still fixed on her shoes.

“Hannah? No. I didn’t want to.”

“You didn’t? I thought…never mind.”

“I don’t know why her brother thinks I like her. And I don’t know why she would think I did. I’ve never said anything to…never.”

Her head still dips so I can’t see all of her face, but a smile curls the corners of her mouth. “Have you ever kissed anyone, Ez?”

I don’t speak, not sure how to tell her the truth without sounding like a total dweeb. There was a time when I told her everything, but things have been changing so much lately. The way we hang out, the things she tells Mona but doesn’t tell me, the way I feel around her.

“No.” My answer is so hushed I barely hear it leave my lips. “But I…”

“But what?” She takes a few steps toward me. “It’s okay that you haven’t kissed anybody yet. I haven’t either.”

“Maybe we could…” I clear my throat. “Maybe we should kiss each other.”

When she doesn’t respond right away, I rush on. “Just to get it over with, I mean. It’s not a big deal. We don’t have to—”

“Okay.”

I look up sharply, connecting our stares in the quiet. “Okay.”

In a few steps, I erase the small space left between us, standing close enough to smell her minty gum.

“Can I do something gross?” she asks, a smile pinching her eyes at the corners.

“With your tongue?” I ask half-apprehensively, half-jokingly.

“Ez.” She laughs. “No. I mean…not yet.”

She reaches into her mouth, pulls out a blob of gum and sticks it to the wall right under a poem scribbled in red ink that begins “Roses are dead.”

“You r-r-ready?” she asks, her eyes are steady like she’s in command, but I know what Kimba’s actual confidence looks like, and she’s as nervous as I am, which somehow makes me feel calm. I reach for one of her hands and link our fingers and I stroke my thumb along hers.

“Can I do something weird?” I whisper.