Young Adult Fiction
Chill's foot dragged behind him like a murder victim being taken to a shallow grave by a killer too weak to do the job—but he still stood straighter than any other kid in school.
Isn't she fazed by any of this? Does she do this all the time? Make unsuspecting, seemingly straight girls squirm? Or am I making it all up? But making up what? The butterflies are real. The fact that I want to kiss her is real.
Would kissing a girl be different from kissing boys? If all I did was kiss her would that make me queer? Are you queer just for thinking it? Or does doing it make you queer? And what if I don't want to be queer? Do I get a say in this at all?
What had Mac said? Tomorrow everything would be gone. Did she mean herself too?
From behind the mirrored lenses of my sunglasses, I snuck yet another peek at the most beautiful girl I had ever seen.
Her wet hair was slicked back from her face, a white towel was draped across her tanned shoulders, and her long bare legs were stretched out in front of her. Whoever she was, she was breathtaking. And there she was, in a red bikini, sitting three plastic lounge chairs away from me.
