She grabs the front of my shirt and pulls it down with enough force that I stagger forward so that, just for a moment, we’re the same height. Then she kisses me.
Her lips hit mine hard, defiantly. Is kissing supposed to be like this? Her lips are soft, but seem too tight, and her mouth taste like root beer and, under that, stale cigarettes. When was she smoking?
I’ve never kissed anyone before, and this situation is all wrong. It’s not like I had it planned out or anything, God, I’ve never even thought about it, but I’m fairly sure a first kiss is supposed to be special. That being said… oh my god, this is my first kiss, and it’s with my little brother’s best friend. My first kiss is with a fifteen year old girl.
We’re standing under a streetlamp at night in the middle of March, and I’m supposed to meet Hugo in ten minutes, and her movements are sharp, almost violent, like she’s trying to prove something. I should probably back away, push her away, do something. I don't think I've ever been this close to anyone before. Personal space issues, and all.
My personal space issues don't matter right now.
Do I want to keep doing...this? Whatever this is? I don't know. Honestly. I have no clue. I've pushed all thoughts of romance to the back of my brain until now, and now I don't know how to deal with it. True, this isn’t exactly what I would have pictured my first kiss as. For starters, I always thought it would be with a boy...
I kind of like it. Her lips are warm, and she's more relaxed now, like she's realized I'm not going to stop her, and the brim of her fedora is pushing up against my forehead, and her hair smells like flowers... Oh my god am I smelling her hair? She's so tiny, and even though I know she's standing on her toes, her head is still tilting upward, and mine down. She's not holding onto my shirt anymore, so there's nothing stopping me from backing away. I think that, maybe, I do want to keep doing this, even though I'm still not entirely sure what this is.
After what seems like forever, she's the one who pushes me back, so hard that I stagger into the lamppost behind me. I regain my balance slowly, hesitantly, and I don’t walk back over to her. Now that the initial shock of it has faded, I’m wary of the distance between us. We must be standing at least ten feet apart, and it still seems too close.
She doesn’t say anything, so neither do I. Honestly, I don’t think I can. My mind is racing at a mile a minute, and my heart is beating so fast I’m afraid it might jump out of my chest. I have no idea what to do. The appropriate response, I think, is probably to get mad at her. But I don’t want to. Because I’m not mad. I’m not even entirely sure what I’m feeling. It’s all a big tangled knot in my stomach that I can’t unravel no matter how much I want to.
I’m seventeen years old. I should have this stuff figured out by now. I shouldn’t be standing here in the middle of the night deciding that now is a good time to wonder whether or not I’m in love with my brother’s best friend; whether or not I’m in love with a girl.
She looks like such a little kid standing there in her clunky boots and army jacket, like she’s trying to look older than she is. Even though she looks tough, under all that, underneath the fedora and band t-shirts and makeup, she’s still just fifteen. She’s so short that she doesn’t even look it, and it’s hard to believe that she spends entire days playing her guitar and smoking her brother’s cigarettes. 
Even as little as she is, she’s the bravest person I’ve ever met. After all, she just kissed me. I think I like her. I really do.
Oh my god, what is wrong with me?
Neither of us have spoken, or even moved. We just stand there, watching each other silently. Her hands are hanging loosely at her sides and she’s standing perfectly still. I’ve never seen her not doing something before. She’s always tapping her foot or biting her nails or playing with her hair or generally moving, and now she isn’t, and… Oh my god, is she crying?
She is, silently. Her shoulders are shaking, and her tears are tinged black from her mascara as they run down her face, collecting at her chin. She’s the only one of our friends I’ve never seen cry before, and I don’t know what to do.
I walk over to her. Her eyes are puffy, and her face is red and covered in black tears. She’s a total mess. I wrap my arms around her and let her lean into me. Even with her fedora, her head just barely reaches my chin.
I’m acutely aware of every breath she takes, ragged and uneven. Her tears soak into my shirt. There’s going to be wet spots on it when I let go of her, but I don’t care. I can change when I get home. 
“I’m sorry,” she says. Her voice is barely a whisper, the words coming out in strangled gasps for air.
It scares me, how weak she is, how fragile. She’s supposed to be tough. She’s supposed to be untouchable. Still, somehow, here she is, crying in my arms and apologizing for kissing me when I’m not even mad at her! In some crazy way, it just makes me love her more.
I move my hand from around her shoulder up to her chin and pull her face up so that she’s looking at me. Her skin is so soft -- softer than mine.
Her eyes seem giant when I look into them, and she looks almost scared, of me, I think. Of what I’ll say, maybe, what I’ll do. She thinks I’m going to hurt her. It makes me want to scream. No one should ever have to see her look like that. She’s just a kid and I feel like I need to protect her. Not because she’s a kid, or because she’s weak, or because she’s my brother’s friend, but because I love her.
I lower my head and kiss her again. This time, I’m the one in charge, controlling everything. I let her melt into me. It’s like we’re one person. Her mouth is warm, wet and salty from her tears. She’s still shivering, even though the night is warm, almost too warm. I never want to let her go.
It’s not like we’re the only people on the street. Other people are watching us, staring, my phone is buzzing in my back pocket, I’m pretty sure it’s past my curfew, and I don’t care. It’s like we’re in our own world, separate from everyone. Nothing else matters.
My braid is falling between us and over her shoulder, and the ring in the right corner of my lower lip provides a tiny, practically nonexistent barrier between our mouths. She’s not shaking as much anymore, and everything is wrong with me, and I’m so glad it is.