I want to cry because I’m so relieved Ario wants to kiss me after all this time apart, but I don’t cry because it’ll spoil the mood (but he’d be cool with it if I did, which makes me want to cry even more because I love him).

Maybe I’ll tell him that I love him…

“Hey, Connor,” a tiny voice calls behind me. A nine-year-old girl, her dark braided hair fastened with a pink butterfly clip, trots past us into the Navissis’ great room, her tininess emphasized by the room’s chic, vaulted ceilings. A burning energy shoots through my neck, spasming the muscles and—against my will—forcing me to jump away from Ario.

Thanks to me, now our lips touch nothing but air.

“Relax, it’s just my sister,” Ario whispers, annoyed and rolling his Bambi-lashed eyes as he glides—flip-flop, flip-flop—toward his kitchen. “Come on.”

The kissing is over. I ruined it.

Embarrassment scalds my skin. Thanks to my mom, I’ve been stuck at home all summer—no school, no friends, no Ario—with nothing to distract me from how quiet everything has become. It’s her fault I’m so jumpy. Jumpy and nauseated. I’ve been out for over a month, and I still don’t feel normal touching a guy. As exciting as it is to kiss Ario, there’s a persistent…weirdness that comes packaged with each kiss. Sometimes it’s an upset stomach, sometimes I get dizzy, sometimes my skin twitches, and sometimes I suddenly have to run off to use the bathroom.

Maybe that’s how it’s supposed to be. I tried Googling “gay kissing makes me nauseous,” but all that came up was a LOT of homophobic tweets.

I follow Ario into yet another enormous room: a flawless kitchen that makes it clear just how cluttered, dark, and greasy my white trash home looks. Skylights pour intense sun beams across a kitchen island covered with trays of golden pastry pockets. Ario’s mother wipes ghostly flour handprints onto her black yoga pants and greets us: “Connor, hold out your hand.” Ario groans that we were on our way to his room, but his mother is already sliding a pastry into my open paw. “Turnovers. My first of the summer.”

Sour cherries drip piping hot onto my tongue and boiling rage settles down to a simmer. “Mom, Connor only has, like, twenty minutes,” Ario says, glaring at his mother’s stubbornness.

“All right.” Mrs. Navissi’s lips tighten. “But your bedroom door stays open, got it?”

“YES, GOT IT.” Ario yanks me away, with a turnover still half in my mouth.

Mrs. Navissi is cool with us just slipping off to his bedroom? It’s unexpectedly lovely that I’ve stumbled into some different, kinder universe where no one lies to themselves about what goes on between certain teenage boys.

Nevertheless, my breath shortens as we climb his stairs. Are we going to have sex? I’m still dizzy from kissing, plus I suck at it—the blowjob I gave him in his car two weeks ago…ugh, I could tell he wasn’t into it. My heart was beating too loudly, and Ario felt so heavy, so steaming hot in my mouth. It should’ve been this beautiful, passionate moment, and it was, but it was also awkward. I kept asking if he was liking it, but all he said was “Sure!” His voice went all high and fake, like he didn’t have the heart to tell me I was giving him the Debbie Downer of blowjobs.