Another Day by David Levithan Read Free Book Online

around, for introducing her to my friends, and for putting up with her questions. I tell her it wasn’t any problem at all. Justin drives over and honks.
    I almost tell him I want to go back to the ocean.
    But instead I decide to see if I can bring the ocean here.
    —
    We go to his house like we always do, because my mom is always home at my house. We don’t have a chance to talk on the way over, because I’m in my car, following his. But even when we get there, we don’t say much. He asks me if I want something to drink, and I tell him water. He steals some scotch, but not that much. I never mind if he has a little. I like the taste of it on his tongue.
    He sits down on the couch and turns on the TV. But I know what’s going on. It’s like he can’t come out and say,
Let’s make out.
A few times he’s started kissing me the minute we’ve gotten in the door—but usually he has to make sure no one’s home, get used to the gravity of being home before we can resist it a little.
    So most of the time, it starts like this. Both of us watching the show but not really watching. Him leaning into me or me leaning into him. Putting our drinks down. A hand on a leg, an arm over a shoulder. Bodies starting to confuse. He won’t say that he wants something from me. But it’s there in the air. It’s there and understood between us as his hands go under my shirt and my hands touch his cheek, his ear, his hair.
    I return to him. He returns to me. But then it’s not enough for us to balance like that. He pushes it. He’s saying things, but they’re not really directed at me. They’re directed at what we’re doing. They’re part of what we’re doing. The heat feels good. The touch feels good. But it doesn’t feel like enough. Not for him, since he wants more, and more, and more. Not for me, because if it was enough, I wouldn’t be thinking about whether or not it’s enough. We aren’t going all the way—not on the couch, only in the bedroom, where there’s a door to close and protection to wear and blankets to pull up when it’s over and we lie there, pleased. But we’re still doing something—he does what he does when we’re on the couch, and I do what I do when we’re on the couch, and none of our clothes are totally on and none of them are totally off. He starts to murmur, starts to moan, and yes there’s something he wants from me, there’s something he really wants from me, and I am giving it to him and he’s giving it back to me. I want him to get that peak, because what I want more is the sweetness of breathing together afterward.
    He groans. His back shudders under my hand. He kisses me. Once. Twice. Three times. We lie back. I find his heartbeat and lay my head there. He says more things.
    The TV is still on, and what he does next is what makes me grateful, what makes me think that maybe all of this is worth it. Because instead of turning back to the TV, he turns it off. He stands up and gets me more water. He does not get himself more scotch. He comes back and returns to his place on the couch, then returns me to my place on his chest. We stay like that for a while. No longer in a rush. No longer wanting anything more than a quiet spot of nothing to share.

Chapter Four
    I’m good. I wait until after school on Friday to ask about Steve’s party.
    “Will you just
stop
?” is his reply.
    “Excuse me?” I say. “I don’t think I deserve that.”
    He shakes his head. “Sorry.”
    We’re at my locker. I know he has to get to work. That’s why I’m trying to figure this out now.
    “I’m just going to hate at least half the people there,” he says. “As long as you can deal with that, we can go. If Steve and Stephanie start attacking each other, do
not
expect me to calm him down or take him outside or shield her bitchiness from his bullshit. Just let me sit in the corner and drink and watch like everyone else.”
    “They only fought that once!” I argue. These are our friends. Most of