A group of us ran from the house and sprinted into the dusk, a silent getaway. A swell of laughter tried to overcome me but I stayed quiet, sticking with the group plan.
With the dusk so heavy, watching my feet accelerate across the golf course grass, it was then I realized I ran faster in the dark. We landed up in a circle, breathing hard. There was giggling when somebody took out an empty Dr. Pepper bottle and placed it in the middle. He did a test spin. It landed on me but he didn’t look up and didn’t follow through. Bats flittered above.
When the game officially started, I struggled with sitting properly. I wore a dress that was a hand-me-down from my cousin and it was a size too big. Its straps were loose and the blouse underneath had a collar that made me look young, like it spoke for me, and all of a sudden I didn’t like that.
When it was my turn, the kiss I gave and received came from a place of dare but the softness was so surprising, I think for him, too, that we held it longer than expected, and I decided that maybe I loved him. When the kiss was over, I sat back and felt older.
Soon the mother was calling worried through the dark, her voice traveling through the trees, and now that we were a changed group, we took our time acknowledging her. I called the boy I kissed by his first name as we ran back to the house. I stared at him instead of my fast feet. His white T-shirt carried over his frame and glowed with moon as he sprinted ahead of me, pumping his arms.