So. Last night. Matt. Me. Whoa. That was...new. I mean, I've never laid next to a boy in my life, so that's crazy enough, but the fact that it was Matt is double crazy. We never get close like that. When we watch movies, we sit next to each other on the couch. Close enough so that we both can still reach the popcorn, but not close enough to the point of touching. It was weird, but also kind of nice? Like it was comforting, but at the same time it definitely felt like we crossed some boundary. But is that a bad thing? Is it a good thing? Ugh, I have no idea. I need Whit and Bridgette.

I grab my phone from my bedside table and shoot them both a quick text.

Girls Night?

Whitney and Bridgette don't miss a beat. Barely a second goes by before my phone is buzzing with heart emojis and eight million exclamation points. I smile to myself. Okay. Perfect. They got my back. I can do this.

I jump from my bed and pack my duffle bag with my pajamas, my tooth brush, hair brush, deodorant, and clothes for tomorrow. Once I finish up with the essentials I look around for any fun things to throw in there. It occurs to me I don't have that much to work with so I decide to toss in my nail polish and a few lotion samples we got in the mail. I throw my bag over my shoulder, ready to see my girls.

But then.

I catch a glimpse of Mr. Purdy walking into Matt's room. In nothing but a towel. I freeze in horror. He doesn't see me. He doesn't even look. In all honesty I think he's completely forgotten my room is over here. He shakes his hair out and puts his right hand over the knot where his towel is folded over. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no.

"Hey Mr. Purdy," I blurt out in a panic.

His head makes a sharp turn towards me.

"Jesus," he says and jumps back with his hand clutching onto his towel. When he sees it's me, he exhales deeply and closes his eyes for a brief moment.

"Hey Kiersten," he says and gives me an embarrassed half wave. He grabs a t-shirt from the stack of clothes on Matt's desk and throws it over his head. "Sorry about that. Not quite used to the new arrangement yet I guess."

"That's okay," I say. "I do it all the time."

"You do?" He says with raised eyebrows.
I quickly realize my poor choice of words. I could see the wheels turning in Mr. Purdy's head. I'm not a father, but I could see how having a teen son with a room across from a girl who doesn't close her blinds could be somewhat disconcerting.

"Not all the time," I correct. "It happened once. Actually twice. Maybe three times, max. But I was changing into my pajamas so I wasn't naked or anything. And he had his back turned so he didn't see anything. I don't think anyway."

Granted my correction is probably worse than my original statement, but my mind is still pretty swirly from almost seeing Mr. Purdy drop his towel in front of me. Mr. Purdy nodded in that "uh huh" way of his.

"All right well," he says and reaches to close the blinds. "Have a good night."

"See you later, Mr. Purdy."

Shaken by the close encounter, I bolt out of there and head downstairs with my bag. I say a quick goodbye to my parents and then wait on the front steps for Whitney and Bridgette to come pick me up. I pull my phone out quick to check the time. They said they'd be here at 7:30 and it's 7:28 now. I tuck my phone back in my pocket and lean against my duffle bag like a pillow.

"Hey," I hear from the porch next door.

I look over and see Matt smiling on the porch swing.

"Hey."

He puts his hands on the arm rest and slowly starts to pull himself up. I protest and insist I come to him, but he refuses and walks over to me and joins me on the porch steps. He sighs as he sits down and stretches his legs out.

For the first time ever, I feel nervous. I don't know what to say. What do you say to someone after you spent the entire night with your head on their chest? Especially someone who is supposed to be your completely platonic childhood best friend. Am I overthinking? Was that just something that friends do? It didn't feel like it, but what do I know? When it comes to relationships, I have less than zero knowledge. I literally have negative amounts of romantic instinct. I should become a nun.

"Going somewhere?" Matt says, just barely pulling me away from my wandering thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Your duffle bag. Are you going somewhere?"

"Oh, uh, yeah. Girls Night."

"Cool."

He nods, but doesn't say much else. The silence makes me nervous. Did he spend all day thinking about last night, too? Is that why he's not talking much? Or am I crazy? I gotta get this out of my head.

The desperate-for-a-distraction part of my brain thinks about telling him about what happened with his dad to break the tension, but the logical part of my brain knows that would make things 100% more awkward. So, I tuck that one away for Whitney and Bridgette since they are not related and therefore will not get embarrassed by association. We'll have a good laugh about it I'm sure.

"What are your plans for tonight?" I spit out.

Oh, thank God. Something normal.

"Don't have any," he says with a sad kind of shrug.

My heart sinks. It's killing him. Being hurt. Not being able to play. Or do anything besides sit in bed. Matt's not the type to sit around and do nothing.

"I'm sorry."

Matt looks down and shrugs. When he looks up again, he looks straight past me to the dim headlights closing in on us.

"I think your ride is here," he says and pushes himself off the front steps.

He turns his back to me and walks away before I have a chance to say goodbye. Part of me wants to run after him, but Whitney and Bridgette are pulling in front of the house and I don't want to keep them waiting. I take one last look at Matt as he sits back down on his porch swing then grab my bag and jump in Mrs. Allan's bright white Prius.

"You saw him naked?!" Bridgette scream-laughs.

"No! God no," I say with a laugh. "I stopped him before he...de-robed."

"But he was shirtless, right?" Whitney pries earnestly with one hand on my arm.

"Well, yeah," I say with a shrug.

Whitney and Bridgette share a look. Whitney puts her hand over her heart like she's about to faint.

"Oh my god," she says. "What did he look like?"

"I don't know. A shirtless man?"

"Details, Kiersten, come on."

Bridgette flops down to the end of the bed and tucks a pillow under her chin. Whitney scoots closer to me on the floor and nudges me for details. I look at them both waiting patiently with mischievous grins.

"What do you want to know?"

They come at me in rapid fire.

"Was he muscular?

"He looks muscular."

"Yeah, did he have a six pack?"

"What about his arms?'

"Oh yeah, Kiersten his arms. Tell us about his arms."

"And his shoulders. He has such broad shoulders."

"Guys," I say to put an end to the madness. After all, this isn't the cute boy in English class or Teddy's hunky older cousin we're talking about here. "He's Matt's dad."

"So?" Whitney says. "That doesn't make him any less hot.You said it yourself, remember? At the sleepover?"

"I did not call him hot. I said he was the best looking male teacher at school. Which, let's not forget, there's only two. So, really it means nothing."

"Same difference. Mr. Purdy's hot and everyone knows it. Matt had to get it from somewhere, right?"

"Exactly," Whitney says with a matter-fact nod and casually pops a cheese doodle in her mouth.

"Guys."

This is not the conversation I need right now. This is the opposite of the conversation I need right now.

"What?" Whitney says.

They both look at me.

"Oh come on," Whitney says. "You are seriously not gonna tell me you don't think Matty is cute. Be real."

Do I think he's cute? Before now, it's something I'd never thought about. But maybe I should start thinking about it. He's certainly not ugly, that's for sure. From a purely objective standpoint, I would say he's above-average. In my personal, subjective opinion he's...

"I don't know," I say and cover my face with my hands so they can't see how red I'm getting.
It doesn't work. They know. They always know. I put my hands down and let my shoulders slump. I am defeated.

"It's okay to think he's cute," Bridgette says.

Both girls put their arms around me and give me a squeeze. My face is redder and hotter than ever. I bury my head in my knees and grunt in mild agony.

"He is cute, isn't he?" I admit into my knees.

Whitney and Bridgette laugh and hug me again. Bridgette gently runs her hand through my hair. I place my head on her shoulder for comfort. "I think he's cute. I think he's really cute. God, when did he get so cute?"

Whitney and Bridgette cuddle up next to me. Whitney leans her head on my shoulder.

"I think he's always been cute," she says.

"Yeah me too," Bridgette says. "Except maybe minus the year his mom gave him a bowl cut."

"True," Whitney says. "Third grade was not a good year for him."

I look at Whitney and Bridgette and they both smile at me. I smile back and they give me one last squeeze then let go. I lift my head off Bridgette's shoulder, sit up normally, and recollect myself.

"Are you okay?" Bridgette says.

"Yes," I say. "No. I don't know. Ugh, I'm so confused."

"Come on," Whitney says and pulls me off the ground. "Let's get some popcorn and talk about it."