Jessica Bishop was pretty, and she wore so much foundation to hide her zits that her face was whole shades lighter than her neck. Her eyelashes were solid and sticky, because she hadn’t gotten the hang of makeup yet, because it was eighth grade and she’d only been allowed for three months.

But she flittered them up at Amal as he licked his lips and panicked about how to do this.

It was lunchtime, and they’d been going out (not dating, because they were thirteen, they couldn’t really get together outside school) for a week, and Amal knew that eventually he had to kiss her, even though she looked like she would taste like chalk powder or too-sweet strawberry syrup.

He craned his neck and put his face near hers and then his nose had to go somewhere. They both tilted to the left, which didn’t work. Jessica wasn’t making this any easier.

Amal put his hands on her shoulders, and walked her two steps back into the uneven brick wall, so that she shrank down under his weight. She smiled up at him, serenely, trusting him to work it out.

So his hands came up to her cheeks and tilted her face the right way, and she tasted like nothing special, like spit warmed to a different temperature than he was used to. When he took his hands away, the whitish foundation stuck to his palms, and he apologized.

Jessica smiled up at him indulgently, still sugary sweet. She knew she’d been his first kiss.

He broke up with her the next day, making up some lie about his crazy parents and no dating.

---

Carly was approximately his age, too young to drive but too proud to walk far. She hung out at the arcade where TJ loitered so that he wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Long hair that slipped smoothly across her back, caught on her bra straps and tank top.

Pretty. Nice.

TJ hung out at her house when she invited him, because a bunch of her friends were going, and she always saw him around.

Anyway. The point of all this is, Carly’s brother, David, was two years older and tired from whatever part-time job he’d gotten for change. Solid in the shoulders, thin in the waist. Self-confident like the guys TJ had done for money or food never really were.

TJ didn’t know anyone, not even Carly, not really. And he couldn’t talk about recent pop culture, because there hadn’t really been time for that, lately.

So he sat and watched football with David in David’s room, because it was too loud and crowded and TJ had never been good with casual intimacy like the friends showed each other.

David idly drank beer, and offered some to TJ, but TJ was done with being buzzed around people he didn’t trust.

Time passed. The party and the friends settled down around two in the morning, and TJ was debating whether to just spend the night here or try to hustle money somewhere.

Then, David said, “You’re the quietest son of a bitch. You don’t make noise when you move.”

TJ, surprised because they hadn’t really spoken beyond no, thanks, said, “Guess not. I’m a ninja.”

“Nice hair, ninja,” David said. And then he stared at TJ with more sobriety than was really fair. “You don’t know Carly that well, I guess.”

TJ shrugged, and winced, because the growing pains and malnutrition sharpened the ache in his bones, lately.

“Seem lonely,” David observed.

And TJ was never really sure how that became David’s hand at the back of his neck, pulling him down because he was already tall, kissing him chastely and soundly and not touching him anywhere even near the belt.

He’d never been kissed before, on the mouth.

Then, David moved off and slumped down on the bed. Muffled by his pillow, he said, “Don’t tell Carly. But I guess you’re not exactly trading diaries with her.” Then, when TJ didn’t move, he ordered, “Sleep wherever. And turn off the light.”

TJ slept all folded up in the desk chair he’d used all night, and tried not to lose the fuzzy beer-and-morning-breath taste.

It was just a press of mouth on mouth. Didn’t mean anything, anyway.