Summer Loving

A note to the reader: This is a love story. Specifically, it’s about two people falling in love for the very first time. But it’s also a story that I hope opens the conversation surrounding consent and intimacy for our youths. Please be advised that the final scene of this story contains content surrounding that conversation. 

“Oh grow up,” Amelia scoffs at my big, black, puppy eyes staring at you and your best friend, Jacob. The two of you are known as Jacob and Carson, the two youngest black belts in the history of the Studio. Your names are always listed in that order because he was your black belt partner. It's been a year since then and I know that you're now expected to find your trainee...

“He’s never gonna know you like him if you don’t talk to him," scolds Amelia. Suddenly, she is boldly walking towards the couch tucked underneath the group photos of the class so she can take a seat on the armrest, waiting for you to notice the bombshell who has just decided you are worthy of her presence. Her long, tan legs dangle off the couch by the front door as we all wait for our parents to pick us up.

I trail her like a lost puppy, chewing cheek trying to swallow my embarrassment. As I approach, I hear the soft bells of Amelia's laugh cascading towards you for a joke that I am certain she doesn't find funny. I am acutely aware that we’re sweaty from class and teenage hormones. But Amelia still smells like her Cherry Blossom conditioner because she doesn't work too hard in class. It's unbecoming of a lady.

I’m left standing next to Jacob and he looks at me, but after a few moments of awkward silence, he returns to fighting zombies.

Melissa walks up to me, her dark hair bouncing in a ponytail, "When’s Mom coming?” she asks me and takes a swig of her water bottle. Melissa plops down on the other couch across from you and Amelia.

“Mom is coming in fifteen minutes. She ran to the store for milk and Amelia is coming over for a sleepover,” I tell Melissa, barely glancing up from my book. 

Apparently, you gave Amelia your number. Amelia says that you’re her boyfriend now. She tosses herself onto my bedroom floor. She gleefully pulls out her phone and shows me a picture of you and her, smiling after class from today. “Isn’t Carson dreamy?” Amelia says, stroking at the image of a dark, rebellious curl springing forth because that’s what we’ve seen actresses do in movies with their first pictures of their boyfriends. I smile at her reassuringly. “You know, Carson and Jacob are close. I bet I can ask Carson to talk you up to Jacob. He is my boyfriend.” She giggles. I agree with her and blush when she asks me about Jacob. I don’t tell her much so she changes the topic quickly, “Carson did so great in class today, don’t you think?” I nod at Amelia and retreat to the shower, the hot water attempting to wash away my humiliation. I even turn over my bottle of generic shampoo, sniffing a dollop in the palm of my hand, wondering how to convince Mom to buy me the fancy kind Amelia uses.

When I return, I see Amelia enjoying a slice of pizza. “Dinner came while you were in the shower,” she indicates the open box and glasses of soda pop on my desk. Amelia sits in my chair and I plop onto the bed, grabbing a slice and a napkin. “I think I’ll see my boyfriend next week, on Wednesday because that’s when they’ll go to class next,” Amelia says.

“That’ll be good. Are you worried that you’ll only see him at the Studio?” I ask her.

“I mean, we go to different schools, sure, but we have to go to class twice a week. So I know I will see him then,” replies Amelia as she pulls off a slice of pepperoni.

“That’s true. I…I fucked up talking to Jacob. I never know what to say to him. He doesn’t ever ask me anything,” I say. 

“Madeline, boys don’t ask girls questions,” Amelia scoffs at me. She wipes her mouth, “By the way, congrats on earning your Letter.” She grabs her PJs and walks out of my bedroom. Now that Amelia is gone, I walk over to my desk, wipe my hands, and grab the Letter:

Dear Amelia,

All of us at The Taekwondo Studio are thrilled to invite you to test for your black belt during the upcoming Spring season…

I take out the sheet of 25 dates over the course of the next three months and circle the very last date, Saturday, July 21st: Black Belt Promotion. Amelia comes back from the shower and we spend the night gossiping away. 

Melissa chooses your sister to be her black belt partner because she’s 11, just like her. Your mother volunteers you to be my partner, since you're only a year older than me, 14. It's critical to the Studio that training partners are the same age as the candidates to keep everyone safe. Amelia immediately begins plotting. She decides that I should be your friend so that you would convince Jacob that I should be his girlfriend. Then, we’ll be best friends dating best friends.

Our first practice is the last Tuesday of March. I have ten minutes to kill before our extra practice after our scheduled class. I flop back down onto the couch. My phone dings with a text from Amelia, Is Carson there? I haven’t heard from him all week. :( 

I text, Yeah, he’s here. I look over at you. You’re bent over the water fountain, your dark long hair clings to your sweaty face. 

Can you tell him I say hi and that I miss him, she texts back before I even have the chance to hit send on my message. 

You walk over, sitting so close our knees touch. You smell clean and I resist the urge to relish in it. Because you belong to her. Your cheeks are pink, giving you a boyish charm. “Are you ready?” you ask me. 

“Of course,” I say with a smile, tucking the book beside me, “Amelia says hi by the way. She says she misses you.” 

“Right. Amelia. Yeah, I miss her, too,” you say, but I don’t know if I believe it. Subconsciously, you lift your pointer finger to your lips and begin to chew on a hang nail. I grimace. You notice, pull your finger away, and stand up. You adjust your black belt proudly, “Well, it’s gonna be a challenge. Most of the time, the tests are underestimated.”

I see Mr. Song begin to waive us over and we bow onto the mat in the small gym. The black mats along the floor are still a deep charcoal color, contrary to the heavily used gray ones in the big gym. Mr. Song flicks on a large box fan while we line up, facing a mirror. Three feet behind us stand our partners. I catch your eye in the mirror and you smile. It’s decided we will begin by learning all of the forms for each belt. Above our heads is the rainbow of 12 belts from white to black along with their form names. 

Once our private practice ends, I make a bee line to my cell phone, tucked into a small cubicle with my book and shoes. I notice Amelia has texted me while I was in practice, Did Carson say anything back?

I report that you miss her, too. 

“Texting Amelia?” you ask me.

I look up a bit shocked, “Yes. Do you have anything you want me to tell her?” I ask because that’s polite. 

“No,” rushes out of your mouth, which makes me a bit sorry for Amelia. Your mom approaches us. You have her dark hair and matching eyes. She smiles a big smile while she congratulates me on making it through the first class. She offers a shoulder hug simultaneously telling us we will all go out for ice cream. My mom drives Melissa and me. You wave goodbye as we leave the Studio, despite the fact we are going to the same place. I’m texting Amelia the whole time. I order a chocolate cone like Melissa, your sister opts for vanilla, and you choose a fudge bar. Melissa and Nina sit in one booth, our mothers in another, which leaves us.

“Amelia is crazy about you,” I open the conversation and you shrug your shoulders. “It is honestly so great to see her so happy with you. What do you like about her?” I ask because that's what a good friend does. You are silent so I take a bit of my cone.

“I don’t know,” you mumble into your bar. “Did you understand why it’s so important to understand all of the forms?” 

I look up at you, “Of course I understand.”

“Well, it’s because you can’t be a good instructor until you know everything. Even,” you pause, gathering your thoughts and licking your dripping fudge bar, “No, especially what a white belt knows.”

“I told you I know,” I say and stand up, walking to our mothers chatting away. 

In the car, Mom says, “Talia advises that we meet at the park since it’s the beginning of nice weather.”

And that Saturday, we bring sandwiches, potato chips, and sports drinks to the picnic table for our lunch. Talia immediately begins chatting with Mom and you are left to start the practice. We start with a half mile jog around the park. You keep pace with me, encouraging me to push myself as hard as I can. The Songs have given us a binder of all of the forms and you begin drilling Melissa and I. Nina sits at a park bench watching.

“You could use the practice, too, you’ll be testing someday,” you holler at her. 

Nina rolls her eyes, “Not for a few more years, brother!” she calls. Nina is a red belt, a few steps away from black belt. 

You return your focus to us, watching Melissa and I carefully. Then, you come up close to me and raise my hand, straightening my wrist. Your fingers are cool to the touch and I can smell the clean scent of freshly washed hair. I find myself blushing and do my best to correct myself. You’re Amelia’s boyfriend.

That evening, Amelia calls me, “I need to confess something to you.”

“What’s up?” I ask her. I kick my feet up into the air.

“I met someone else,” her words fade into the background of the blood coursing through my ears.

I clear my throat, “Ok. What does that mean for you and Carson?” I swallow the lump in my throat and my mind jumps to our time in the park today.

“It means, I need you to break up with him for me,” she says matter of factly. 

“I can’t do that,” I can’t breathe. 

“Oh grow up, Madeline. You see my boyfriend more than I do. Just tell him the truth. I like Julio more than I like him," she says.

“Ok. I’ll try,” I hang up the phone and lie back on my bed. My heart is aflutter. If you don’t belong to Amelia, then maybe you can belong to me. 

The following Saturday we practice as usual. Once we’ve eaten our meal, Melissa and Nina head off to the playground and I’m left with you. Our mothers are packing up the trash and Tupperware. “We’re gonna take a walk,” you announce and stand up, indicating that I should follow you. We begin the same loop we just ran. I clear my throat. Blush creeps up like ivy along my cheeks and your fingertips almost touch mine.

“Can I ask you something?” my voice is trembling. 

“Sure," you shrug.

“Do you like Amelia?” I ask, but don’t dare look at you---just stare at my tennis shoes. The white laces on the right one are threatening to come undone. 

“No,” you answer.

I bend down to fumble with my shoe. My face is bright red now, “Ok, cause she wanted me to tell you she met someone else.”

“That's ok,” you stand beside me waiting. 

I stand, “Do you like someone else?” I feel each beat of my heartbeat echoing loudly in my own words.

“Yeah.” your answer tumbles out. 

I don’t meet your gaze because at this point I’m praying, “Can I ask who?”

“You can ask,” you smile.

“Ok,” I find my courage, hands on my hips in a superwoman pose, "Who do you like, Carson?”

“You,” you take my hand in yours and we walk around the park. I listen to the sound of our shoes scraping the sidewalk and look up at the ocean blue sky. 

Time at the Studio is a lot more fun now. Our mothers still take us out for ice cream and we spend the time cuddled together in our booth. Mom says that you are a good boy from a good family. The spring blossoms into a warm summer. Our neighborhood pool opens and you come over with Nina one Friday in June. The pool is shockingly cold and I announce that I’ll stay on the deck, in the sun. “No,” you correct me, “You don’t want that. You want to be in the pool.” You push me into the water, the cold water engulfs me, waking me up.

I pop up, bobbing in the deep end, “Why would you do that?” I demand. You grin and step back a few paces before cannonballing right next to me. Your toes can touch the bottom and you pull me in. Your skin is hot against my goosebumps. My heart skips at the feeling of your fingertips on my hip. We have a moment of silence backdropped against the screams and laughter of the neighborhood kids. 

We spend hours at the pool, but hunger brings us inside. We raid the pantry for cookies and crackers before Melissa and Nina decide to go watch a movie. “Do you want a tour?” I offer which you agree to. You reach for the basement door and I course correct you by saying, “Oh, it’s not a finished basement, it’s pretty boring down there.”

I can feel my beach towel sliding from around my chest; I pull it as tight as I can.

You shrug before heading down the rickety wooden steps.

I flick on the light to help us, following you in my own house. You admire the pool table, untouched for years and I shiver in the cold. Again, you embrace me; in the silence of a cold basement, you back me up against a wall, slowly, and you kiss me. I’m thirteen years old; and I am kissing you. I feel your skin, rewarmed against my own as my towel falls to a puddle at my feet, exposing a striped bikini. My mother interrupts us, “Madeline, are you down there?” I hear her footsteps and we quickly separate. I twist the towel around myself again. “What brought you guys down here?” she asks. My mother has changed out of her swimsuit shorts and a T-shirt. She glances around; I wonder if she knew that moments ago her daughter had her first kiss.

You cover for us, “Madeline said you guys have a cool pool table down here,” and saunter over, grabbing a cue from the wall. You challenge my mother to a game and I watch in awe, listening to the clack of the balls. I replay the kiss in my mind, savoring each moment together. Absentmindedly, licking my lips.

More ice cream is eaten after more practices in the park. More kisses are snuck, now underneath the willow planted in the corner of the Studio's parking lot instead of in my basement. We blink and it's the last week of July. Your mother has allowed you to invite me over to your house to watch a movie. Your house is large, much more impressive than mine. It's all brick with a yellow door. I had put on my cutest shorts and a push up bra. Your mom answers the door with a hug. The movie would be played down in the basement and you show me your collection. I notice a bit of Disney, a bit of comedy, and a couple horror films. My hand hovers over the Disney options.

“I already picked the movie,” you interrupt me. The TV is on and the Main Menu to an 80s film is pulled up. I hide my disappointment behind the smile you need. You pat the seat on the couch next to you. I sit as still as a statue as you pressed “Play.” 

The basement is cold and I shiver slightly. You pull me close and toss a blanket over us. The blanket smells like you. You raise a finger to your lips and start to bite a hangnail. I cringe slightly. I clear my throat; you wrap an arm around me. Then, you kiss me. I kiss you. I can feel you laying me down on the couch and shifting your weight on top of me. You taste like peppermint. I can feel your hands exploring me and I wrap my fingers in your hair. Then, I notice your hands drifting lower and lower, past my belly button to the top of my shorts. “Stop,” I croak out. I don’t even know where the word came from. I feel my hands shake. I feel the blood in my cheeks for a whole new reason. You’re holding your breath. I don’t know what to say and I feel my blood pressure rising. Suddenly, I can’t breathe. And my hands push you away.

You sit up. 

You push yourself to one corner of the couch.

And we watch the movie in silence. 

I move to the other side and wrap the blanket around myself. I feel tears burning behind my eyes.

When the movie is over you silently turn the TV off. “Sorry,” you apologize to the DVD player. I don’t know what to say and I take a gasping breath. I shift to your end of the couch and take your hand. Your fingers are bleeding from your nervous habit. 

“I still love you,” I say....I wonder if you believe me…. My phone begins to ring because my mother is outside ready to pick me up. In the car, I don’t tell Mom what happened. I don’t say anything about our movie date to anyone.