This is a regular column featuring original poetry and fiction by and for teens, provided by Figment.com, an online community writing site for young people.
By Tyra Lechner
There was a small click and I knew we were locked in. It was pitch black. If I wasn't clutching onto his jacket, I wouldn't know he was there. He was so quiet too. That's always how he was. I smiled sheepishly, even though he couldn't see it. He let out a long breath and something in his torso moved. Maybe he was rubbing his knuckles along his jaw, the way he often did when he was thinking, or running his fingers through his hair, the way he did when he smiled. Or when he was flustered.
I let out a breathy little laugh. I knew they wouldn't let us out for about six and a half more minutes and if he wasn't covered in my lipstick stains, we'd get shoved back in here. My eyes strained to adjust and I could see the whites of his eyes and his beautiful blue irises. Next I started to see his white skin and the basic outline of him.
I'd always liked him. There's just something about him. No, he wasn't some super popular, hot, jock. He was just some boy I'd met at church. I'd known him for three years and at first, he was just this quiet, loner guy. The guy behind the scenes who happens to know everyone on a personal level. Then he started hitting on me. It started out softly enough. Soft touches on my lower back and a few flirty smiles here and there. But that's how he treated all the girls. Then it grew worse … err, better. He showed me who he really was. A dork with ADHD who stumbles over his words around girls he likes. A boy who goes to military school. By choice.
Then I saw his white teeth in the shape of a smile. He took in a breath, as if he was about to say something. I, in turn, held mine.
"Hi." He breathed with a little chuckle.
I couldn't help but giggle. "Hey."
"How's it goin’?"
"Pretty good." I whispered, leaning closer to his face. "And you?"
He smelled like peppermint and... something else. But either way, he smelled pretty dang good.
Something shimmered and I looked at it. It was the little lipstick thingy. He was holding it. Then with a jolt of realization, he was holding it towards me.
I gingerly took it and put some on. "I can't do this in the dark. I probably have a pink moustache."
"Yummy." He laughed.
I could hear the teasing in his voice, but I could also hear the nervousness. I licked my lips, a nervous habit of mine, then leaned in and kissed him. He was a surge of warmth and a chill ran down my spine. I guess my hand was on his chest because I felt it rumbling with his laughter.
"What?" I smiled against his lips.
"Well in case you haven't noticed, I've had a gigantic... crush on you for like, the past two years." He murmured.
I could feel the vibrating of his chest and it made me giggle.
"Even when you had your girlfriend?"
"I wanted you."
I laughed a little and kissed him again. Then there was a little click and a blinding light. I shut my eyes, but didn't really pull away until I was yanked out of the closet. I heard him laughed softly and everyone around us was murmuring excitedly to each other. Some people were giggling and others were glaring at me. I looked over and saw that his face was flustered and I couldn't help but laugh at him.
He was the one with a pink moustache.
HuffPost Lifestyle is a daily newsletter that will make you happier and healthier — one email at a time. Learn more