Chapter Twenty-Eight

Kiss Me

Friday 7th, July

"How you convinced him to go to an after prom party, I'll never know. Or maybe I don't even want to know. Gross." Mel pretends to puke into her hand and Libby follows suit, though it's a struggle for her to both apply mascara and make fun of me.

"Trust me, it's not like that," I say, in my defence. I leave out the part about Maddie inviting me, and that she'll likely be there too. "Max said it might be fun. He actually wants to go."

"Straight into your pants," Libby snorts, throwing her head back to laugh and shoot Mel a smirk, who quickly covers her ears.

"Stop it. Right now." She chucks a cushion from Libby's bed and it hits her back. "This is my disgusting, annoying kid brother we're talking about and I'd really rather not, thanks."

Finishing off her make up and fluffing the hem of her puff ball skirt covered in black glitter, she shrugs. "Someday Josie's gonna be your sister-in-law, you know that right?"

Mel rolls her eyes. I'd be offended if she wasn't grinning. "Unlucky for her."

"Can we stop talking like I'm not in the room?" I say, propping up the mirror Libby's stole from her parents bedroom. "And here, you're going to rip the fabric if you keep doing that."

Libby begins to frown, standing still like a wax statue so I can adjust the skirt and tuck in the rogue laces of the clunky Dr. Martins she's insisting on wearing even though every other girl from her school is going to prom in 'stupid heels'.

"Thanks for helping me guys," she says, half-sincere, half annoyed at the mess we've collectively made in order to help her get ready for the biggest night of her life (at least according to her mum who keeps popping her head in).

After shutting the doors on a wardrobe now full only of hangers and shoving bundles of clothes under her bed, Libby struts in front of the mirror, posing and tossing her wavy and now semi- permeant pink tipped hair (credit to Mel) back for all to admire.

"I'm ready to get this shit show over with," she confidently announces, "and then, we can all party over at Becky's mansion."

Mel packs up her hair dye pots and gloppy mixtures and groans, "Not me. Someone signed me up for the late night shift so I'm stuck there all bloody night."

"Can't you sneak out early?" Libby suggests.

"Can you afford to pay for my tickets to every single one of Fear Less Youth's summer tour dates if I get fired?"

"No..."

Mel sighs, "Thought not. Anyways, don't cry for me, I went to prom before - it sucked and the after party sucked harder, so, like have fun kids!" She sarcastically salutes us both as she heads for the door.

When she's gone, Libby turns to me and leans in to quietly whisper, "Do you really think it'll be that bad?"

I try to smooth away her doubt, though I've no idea. I never went to my Year 11 prom and I wasn't even invited to the after party or any of the many that capped off the last dying breath of high school life.

So I lie, which I've been excelling at recently. "It will be fine. Great even. It only happens once, so might as well enjoy it or at least try to."

"What time are you and Max arriving?"

"We plan on getting there just after 10pm."

Twisting strands of newly dyed hair, Libby nods towards the wall. "What are you both planning on doing up until then?" Prodding a finger between her forefinger and thumb curled round, she chuckles and her eyebrows dance.

"Definitely not that."

"Why not?"

"Because..." I pause. I'm not sure I should be talking to Libby about any of this. "We're taking things slow."

Her lips curl up in shock. "As if. Why? What are you waiting for?"

"Peace and quiet," I laugh, thinking about last week and my extreme, completely unsexy parental anxiety. "No interruptions."

Pulling a leather strap bag over her head, Libby tuts and hits the lights by the door. "Have fun being a virgin for the rest of your life then."

I tap her shoulder as she steps out towards the stairs. "What do you mean?"

She groans. "Because life is just one, big fucking interruption and there will never be a right time. It's all a lie. Just do it if you want to. Whenever you want to. It doesn't have to be some big, spectacular movie-like moment you know."

Swallowing my surprise and awkward induced blush, I check around for any lingering nosy parents, and I whisper, "You've had sex? But wait, you're not even sixteen yet."

"August 4th I will be and besides, so what? I wanted to. What's wrong with that?"

"But with who?"

Libby takes each set of stairs two at a time and when she wafts past the living room where her dad sits watching football, she shrugs and says, "The son of my old drumming tutor, who was totally fit by the way, but it didn't work out between us, obviously."

"But you have a boyfriend...well, an online one, but still, it counts."

"This was before him." She shoots me a don't be dumb look and I continue to follow her round the kitchen where she picks up the fake corsage left out for her to wear, which she insists she'll chuck in the bin once she get's to the prom venue.

"Mum will be happy to see me wear it out the house," she says, shooting dead our previous topic of conversation, when her dad steps in. "Won't she?"

"That she will," he replies, his voice deeper than I'd been expecting. "So, what time would you like me to start the engine on your waiting carriage, madam?" He bows to half a knee and Libby giggles like a little girl.

You'd be forgiven for believing that they didn't have a shouting match not a minute after Mel and I arrived earlier in the afternoon.

"Soon," she says, "Josie's just leaving, after she's finished having a mini-crisis."

I take her sarcasm with a pinch of salt, mainly because I don't want to bug her with questions and because I'm learning that Libby cares, she just can't verbalise in the right ways all the time.

And so after we've adjusted the strap on her corsage, I take my cue and my mum's fancy make up bag and all my nervous energy about seeing Max because he's got a free house until we set off for the after prom party and I leave.

I try to process what Libby said on my short way over, but I don't feel any better for it. I wonder if a week and a half passing is enough of a wait or if Max is secretly getting tired of waiting.

If he's now hoping that today is the day to crack the whole not wanting to die a virgin thing.

Nervously I ring the bell.

Linda's car is gone. Mel's windows are shut. She's at her shift.

Max opens the door with a warm smile and a hand out stretched, ready to pull me in and waste away the couple of hours before the party.

And when he eagerly leads me upstairs, to his room without saying a word with a big grin plastered across his face, I feel like I can hardly breathe. Libby said it's no big deal but the hard, thumping in my chest says otherwise. The shaking through my arms and legs and hands makes it hard to concentrate and not worry.

The blush creeping up my neck, spreading rapidly to my cheeks threatens to cut short whatever Max has got into his mind, what he expects to happen next.

Shit.

* * *

Like a magician conjuring up expectation, Max opens the door and with a simple whisper of ta da I'm dazzled and amazed by the brightness.

Dimming the main light switch beside my head, he gently pulls me forwards and shuts the door, sinking us both into the dewy twinkle-like glow of fairy lights.

With my breath caught in my throat I scan the room and the many lights, twisted and tucked round everything - lamp shades, his desk and the back of his chair, snaking across the carpet to a plug socket.

"You like?" Max asks over the hum of music playing from his computer.

"This is...it's all..." I can't get the words out. I can hardly believe my eyes at the transformation and the thought behind it and the effort. Just how unexpected it all is.

Stepping over a balled up flannel shirt, he keeps a hold of my hand and sighs, "Okay so, there wasn't time to assemble the disco ball," he pauses and points to a box in the corner of the room, abandoned. "It's been in the garage since Mel's thirteenth pop party and I think it's broken. Sorry."

With my eyes slowly adjusting to the magical glow of hundreds of sparkling fairy lights and the sight of cider cans and plastic cups on top of his desk, I inch my fingers up his wrist and push my face against his chest.

"Is it too much?" He asks, holding his breath. I can feel it in the way his heart beats fast.

"No, no, it's perfect, honestly, I'm just struggling to believe that you'd do all this for me."

Leading me into the centre of the room, a clear patch of carpet bordered by his discarded clothes and shoes pushed aside, he leans in and softly grazes my cheek.

"It's supposed to be the cliche prom of your dreams, at least that was what I was originally going for," he grins, "there's even a mini buffet table with finger food leftovers from the BBQ and out of date cider cans and a dance floor."

Curling my arm around his waist, I lift my head up under his. "You've really thought of everything, haven't you?"

He laughs, turning both his thumbs to his chest. "Don't forget the terrible DJ."

"This is amazing Max, honestly."

"Unfortunately, I had to abandon the obligatory balloon drop," he sighs as my hand reaches out to touch one of the white balloons tacked to the wall. "And I couldn't quite afford a swanky background or a professional photographer so we can have our picture taken and be forever immortalised in an overpriced year book."

"Can I ask what I've done to deserve all this? Minus the balloon drop and disco ball and embarrassing arrival picture?"

His shoulders slump, "I kinda assumed that you never went to prom. And that made me sad."

"You assumed correct."

"Me neither," he says, letting my fingers slip from his. "My mum wanted to throw one here, but can you imagine how awful that would have been? A one man prom and his mum? No thank you."

I quietly laugh and edge round the makeshift dance floor, to receive a plastic cupped filled to the brim with fruity cider.

"So, I thought why not throw an impromptu prom, it's over a year late but hopefully it still counts."

"Way to forever raise my expectations," I joke, enjoying the fizz of the cider against my tongue.

Taking a slow slip, Max wiggles his brow. "That was the plan."

"Well, regardless, this is just about the loveliest thing anyone has ever done for me," I say, feeling the warmth of his cheeks against mine, pleasantly pink from the surprise and thoughtfulness.

"Wait, hold that thought, one second," Max places his cup down and asks for mine. When I hand it over, he turns to the computer and starts to drag the mouse back and forth. Soon a blast of music kicks out from the speakers.

When he pauses it, he reaches down to pick up an old torn shoe and pretends to tap it like it's a microphone.

"So, this next one goes out to the most beautiful girl in the room, blushes and all," Max scans the room, his hand flat to his forehead until his wide gaze meets mine. "There she is."

As he hits play, my cheeks flush.

And he tries to side slide across the shaggy carpet but gets stuck halfway.

My chest jumps from the hearty laugher.

"May I have this dance, my punk rock queen?" Max's hand circles mine and I grab on tight.

"Of course."

With my arms round his shoulders, we sway in time to a song I've heard on the radio before, just not like this. It's a different version, heavier, rockier.

Kiss Me plays out through the computer and the mini speakers as Max slowly dips me like they do in the movies and when he lifts me up I kiss him. And the balls of his rosy cheeks and down his neck and the curve of his shoulder.

We dance for a long while, to songs I've grown to like, with someone I've grown to like and love.

And as we fall back onto his bed, tired and spent from twirling each other round to a soundtrack just for tonight, I realise that it's not about losing anything. It's not the end, but just the beginning.

It doesn't have to be perfect. It doesn't have to be planned. It doesn't even have to happen, right here, or right now, but it has to feel right.

And at last it does.