Twisted

Apparently we lost the football game. I didn’t notice.
I started shivering right after we sat down on the bleachers, so Sean took off his jacket and put it on my shoulders. I could tell he was cold within minutes, but he didn’t seem to mind. He kept his arms around me. He brought me popcorn and hot chocolate. I didn’t lick the spot of chocolate off the corner of his mouth. I didn’t make passionate love to him on the bleachers. Thought about it, but didn’t do it.
When he bought the second round of hot chocolate, I confiscated his wallet and went through it, snorting at the picture on his student ID and arching an eyebrow at the patient condom that had probably lived in there for years.
It wasn’t like we were going out. Not exactly, not officially. But we were at the I-get-to-go-through-his-wallet stage, and we had kissed- in front of the police, armed with guns, and he kissed back instead of having me arrested.
There was a chance that somehow this was really happened. I didn’t know how, but I wasn’t going to question anything.
The whistle blew. Game over.
He walked me to Dean’s car, which was occupied with metalhead boys.
In the middle of a crowded parking lot, Sean kissed me again. It was a quick kiss, but it was a) public, and b) his initiative- again. Two kisses in one night. I was on a roll. (There was also a chance that I was hospitalized in a deep coma and that this entire night had been a hallucination, but so what?)
Dean honked the horn.
I took Sean’s jacket off to give back to him, but he gave it back and insisted I keep it. “I’ll see you at the party, right? Sorry we can’t give you a ride, but there’s no room.”
“No problem,” I said. “No, wait- problem. Where is it again?”
He chuckled. “Wilson’s House? Silly girl, don’t you remember?”
“Yeah, I know that, but… how do I get there?”
He grabbed a pen out of his sweatshirt pocket and wrote the directions on my palm. He blew on it to dry the ink. My knees buckled. He grinned and gave me a kiss good-bye on the cheek.
“Don’t be late,” he whispered.

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Okay, so maybe I should have admitted that I didn’t have a car, and that my father had confiscated my license when I was arrested for the Foul Deed, and that technically, going to a party like this would be a massive violation of my probation. But that’s the kind of thing you have to build up to in a conversation, and there wasn’t time for that, not with Dean honking the horn and cars squealing out of the parking lot.
I figured it would take me half an hour to get to the party on foot.
Idiot. Moron. Cretin. Fool.
Two hours and a couple of blisters later, I finally made it.