The Naughty List - 2. First Kiss

If I could go back in time, and warn my past-self about what was about to be in store for me… let’s be real; I probably wouldn’t believe a single word that came out of my own mouth.

First of all, my past-self wouldn’t believe in time travel to begin with, or anything magical or superstitious for that matter. (Yep, I’m in for a real surprise there.)

Second of all, even after I manage to convince myself that time travel and magic is somehow real, I’d have to then warn myself that I was about to kiss another boy for the first time ever. Haha, good one, my past-self would probably snort. I’d likely even remark how that’s somehow less believable than the whole time travel thing.

And lastly, even after convincing myself of all of that, I’d still be left with the impossible task of alerting myself that I was about to kiss Ernesto Alvarez-Cruz. Yep, that’s right, me-from-the-past. That South American heartthrob from your Spanish class. Him. Oh, and did I mention that all this is going to take place within the second day of you returning to school?

Wow, even playing this conversation out in my own head right now, I sound absolutely insane.

And yet, here I was, finding myself in that exact, outlandish situation. After school, in the library, alone with Ernesto… kissing him. In the damn lips, too.

For a split second, the neurons in my brain physically short-circuit from what felt like sensory overload. On one hand, the abnormality of the situation screamed something wasn’t right, that this wasn’t natural, and that I should pull away immediately.

Yet, on the other hand, the softness of Ernesto’s lips, the sweet scent of his cologne, and the firm grasp he had around my arm, all kept me planted right where I was. Truthfully, it was more of a knee-jerk reaction— not a rational decision— that instinctively made me pull myself away from him a short moment later.

Ernesto and I stare deep into each other’s eyes. He looks just as confused as I am. The sound of our heavy breathing fills the room, as if to replace the innumerable number of questions we were both probably asking inside our heads.

An incredibly thick and awkward silence lingers between us, until finally, a sharp pain on my right hand causes me to wince.

“Agh!” I yelp out loud. I glance down at my wrist, and my eyes widen as I see Ernesto’s name glow a fiery, molten red. A line was getting carved through his name, and the radiating heat was intense and palpable; almost as if I had accidentally pressed my wrist against a hot iron.

“Quentin, what’s wrong?” Ernesto asks me, presumably alarmed at the sudden sound I made.

I look at him. His deep, caramel eyes are filled with a genuine look of concern. It was enough to remind me of our little ‘moment’ from earlier, instantly snapping me back to reality.

“I-I need to go!!” I hear myself announce out loud. Before Ernesto can react, I’ve already grabbed my belongings, and have lunged myself out of the library.

By the time I reached my car, the pain on my right hand had thankfully receded. However, my brain didn’t really have time to process or care about that, since it was mostly preoccupied by the fact that I. Just. Kissed. Ernesto. Fucking. Alvarez. Cruz!

My heart was beating loudly inside my chest the entire ride home, and at some point, I may have even almost ran over a cat on the street. (It was on accident!) It wasn’t until I darted into my house, ran up the stairs, and slammed the door shut right behind me, that I was finally able to relax my shoulders and stop holding my breath.

And then of course, the big question: What. Just. Happened??

As if to answer that thought, I notice the Naughty List sprawled out on my desk. Which was odd; I distinctly remember rolling it up and putting it away the night before. The quilted pen lay next to it, its tip covered in fresh ink. Weird. I slowly walk over, and my eyes widen.

• 1. Zayn Nassif Johnson
• 2. Aiden Takahiro Parker
• 3. Ernesto Alvarez-Cruz
• 4. Ryan Johnson
• 5. Hunter Emory
• 6. Terrance Campbell
• 7. Peter Kim
• 8. Dean Smith
• 9. Diego Garcia

Ernesto’s name has been crossed out, seemingly on its own. I look down, and notice the same thing has happened on my wrist as well. When I curiously sweep my fingers over the number "9"" on my palm, it crumbles into fine, coal-like ash that sifts onto the floor. A fresh new tattoo that lay underneath: this time, the number “8”.

Needless to say, I didn’t really get much sleep that night. Nothing that happened that day felt real to me. In fact, maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe all the stress from applying to college was finally getting to me, and I somehow managed to concoct this entire, bizarre string of events inside my head. Yeah, that must be it, I tell myself. This whole thing must be a reverse dream sequence of some sort.

… But that kiss. That damn kiss. There was a startling realness to that experience that I couldn’t shake away, no matter how hard I tried. If I brought my fingers to my lips, I could still feel the softness and warmth of Ernesto’s lips, as if he was right there with me, underneath this blanket.

I bury my face inside my pillow, trying to will my thoughts away. But the faint scent of Ernesto’s cologne clung onto me the entire night, setting my imagination wild.

~ * ~ * ~

I don’t really know what I was expecting as I dragged my feet to school the next morning, looking like a zombie. What I knew was that it was Wednesday. Which meant I still had to attend Spanish class. Which meant I had to sit next to Ernesto again.

I sigh a very, very heavy sigh. Was Ernesto really in love with me, because of the Naughty List…? A part of me was still doubtful. And truthfully, in my current delirious state, the theory that I somehow managed to hallucinate everything was proving to be quite convincing.

My footsteps unconsciously slow down as I approach the classroom door. Man, a part of me really wishes I didn’t have to attend Spanish, so I had more time to collect and organize my thoughts before I confronted the inevitable. My head is filled with so many unaddressed question marks, but as a senior in high school for whom class attendance was mandatory, it didn’t exactly feel like I had the option to avoid finding out.

I inhale, and peek inside. No sign of the Argentinian in sight. I mentally let out a sigh of relief, when suddenly—...

“Buenos días, Quentin.”

… Someone greets me in Spanish, right into my ear. An inhuman inflection escapes my throat. I turn around, in panic. The voice belonged to Ernesto, who initially seems taken aback by my reaction, but smiles warmly when our eyes meet.

“... M-Morning, Ernesto…” I somehow manage to croak out. I try to relax my shoulders. And not look too tense. Ernesto simply beams, looking amazing as he always does.

Silence lingers as the two of us make our way to our seats towards the very back of the room. My heart still thumping, I steal a quick glance towards him while settling into our chairs. Quick— assess the situation, Quentin. Assess!!

Ernesto’s gaze? Directed at his own backpack. His body language? Seems normal. Any weird behavior? Nothing observable for now... he looks like he's in a good mood. (But then again, when is he not.)

I let out another silent sigh of relief. Hey, Ernesto looked perfectly fine! He seemed just like his usual self. Didn’t seem brainwashed, or spellbound, or anything warranting major concern on my part.

I mentally laugh at myself. Maybe everything was just all in my head. I mean, it had to be! Man, that’s pretty embarrassing. Was I really that lonely that I imagined an alternate reality, where one of the hottest guys at our school kissed and fell in love with me?

Ms. Mendoza then calls on the room to quiet down. Class was about to begin. In my mind, I hold back a silly smile as I glance next to me one last time.

Ernesto was looking right back at me. Shit.

I instinctively jerk my eyes back over to the front of the classroom. An attempt to feign nonchalance is made, as I pretend to be suddenly very eager to learn about reflexive verbs. And perhaps this attempt would’ve been successful, if Ernesto didn’t pull himself closer to me, and bring his lips to my ears.

“Quentin, about the kiss yesterday—...” he begins to whisper.

My body immediately jolts up, and I knock my knee underneath the table with a loud bang. The entire classroom, including Ms. Mendoza, glances towards my direction.

“... Is something wrong, Quentin?” she asks, eyebrows furrowed. Oh, god.

I shake my head vigorously, trying to ignore the fact that my face was probably turning into the color of tomato paste.

“... A-Apologies about that…” I mutter quietly, slowly sinking back into my chair. I look over to my right, and even Ernesto is staring at me with a blank expression. He then turns his head the other way, seemingly holding back laughter. Great. Amazing. Way to go, Q. You’re a real natural at this.

For the rest of the class, the question marks in my head continued to grow in size, number, and weight, as I pretended to act normal like my life depended on it. Oblivious to my inner turmoil, however, Ernesto simply continued to do things that only threw me off more, exacerbating my teenage hormonal confusion to unprecedented levels.

For one, he sat wayyy closer to me than he normally does. Which I initially brushed off as a mere coincidence… until I noticed that, underneath our table, his thigh kept grazing against mine from over his ripped denim jeans. It was an unusual gesture that flirted along the line between innocent and suggestive. Maybe it meant something, or maybe it didn’t; either way, it was just enough to keep me guessing helplessly about his intentions.

In addition, the two of us would catch gazes on a near constant basis. Every time I looked to the right of me, he would be looking right back. At first, the exchanges felt unintentional. But after a while, I noticed the pattern: look at him, lock eyes, look away. Every now and then, he would lower his gaze after making eye contact, softly chewing his lower lips with slightly rosed cheeks and a timid smile. This bizarre charade continued even as the class went into study hall, and he walked around helping other students: a quick glance stolen here, and then again over there.

The boy was driving me insane. I truly wish I had the mental strength to endure these interactions with cute boys, and somehow remain unfazed. But that’s not who I am. By the time class was nearing its end, I was feeling utterly drained— emotionally, spiritually, physically. I mean, what the fuck was going on here? My heart honestly could not handle anymore Ernesto Alvarez-Cruz.

The bell rings, snapping me back to reality. I see Ernesto making his way back over to our table. Nope-nope-nopitty-nope. Without taking any chances, I grab my belongings and dart out the door, disappearing before Ernesto could get a hold of me.

~ * ~ * ~

The rest of the week inadvertently became a game of cat-and-mouse between me and Ernesto. I would catch him approaching from a distance, our eyes would lock, and I would subsequently bolt in the other direction before he could make his way over. At one point, I almost bumped right into his arms in the middle of a crowded hallway, but managed to finesse my way out of the situation by channeling an inner ninja I didn't know I had in me. I was determined to avoid him at all costs for the rest of the week, until I had some time to sort out all the cluttered thoughts in my head.

And could you blame me? I had no clue what the hell was going on between me and him. Confronting issues head-on isn’t exactly my jam, either. I just needed some time and space to myself; is that too much to ask?

And yet, even in a giant public school like San Nicolas High, avoiding someone for an entire week proved to be wishful thinking. By the time Friday lunch rolled around, I was finally caught by the hunky Argentinian.

“Why do you run away from me, Quentin?”

Ernesto demands, without as much as exchanging pleasantries first. His breath his heavy, and the tip of his nose was mere centimeters away from mine.

This lunch spot was supposed to be my safe haven. Tucked away in the bushes behind the music room in the corner of campus, it was supposed to be my hidden retreat secluded from the rest of the school. And yet, now that I was alone with Ernesto— my back against the wall, with no help on the way— the sequestered nature of the location suddenly seemed to work against me.

I gulp. “W-What do you mean?”

“It just feels like you’ve been avoiding me all week,” he pants, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. This boy really chased me down.

“U-Um, I don’t think I’ve—...” I attempt, voice squeaking feebly.

“Yes, you have. Every time I try to talk to you, you turn around and run in the opposite direction.”

Ernesto exhales slowly, leaning in and placing his hand against the wall, effectively sandwiching me. With thinned eyes, he cuts to the chase. “Why, Quentin? Was it because of what happened during tutoring?”

Shit. I could almost feel the dampness of his breath against my skin. How is it possible that I’m finding myself being turned on even in the middle of an interrogation?

“It was the kiss, right?” he continues. “You didn’t want me to kiss you. Just say it, please,” he mutters, with a look of hurt in his eyes. Oh god; not the sad puppy eyes.

“Quentin,” he pleads one last time. And that was it. I crack.

“Of course I wanted to!! I like you, Ernesto!!” I hear myself blurt out loud, almost angrily. Oh, fuck.

Ernesto simply blinks. Instant regret washes over my body, as I feel my face light on fire.

“Shit. Wait. No. Please forget I just said that. Oh my god. What have I—...” I begin to ramble nervously. As far as back-peddling goes, this is probably the worst attempt ever made in the history of humankind.

Ernesto, however, simply bursts into a small fit of laughter. I look at him with big, confused eyes.

“... So you do like me, Quentin?” he eventually asks. His eyes and smile were brimming with anticipation. Yes; now please stop being so attractive, I mentally beg him. I shift my gaze lower, unable to sustain any further eye contact. Very hesitantly, I nod my head.

“Say it out loud, please.”

He politely commands. I look up, and I’m met with Ernesto’s innocent, but teasing smile.

“… I-I like you, Ernesto…” I finally surrender. He grins.

“Good. Because I like you, too.”

Before I can react, Ernesto leans in, nestling his nose into the ticklish area around my neck, grabbing my hanging hands and interlocking our fingers together. “What are we going to do about this, Quentin?”

My knees were now getting weak, and I feel my temperature rising. “I-I don’t know…” my voice squeaks. Wait; where did the sad puppy eyes from earlier go?

“You don’t?” he asks. “Well, what if I did this…?”

He pulls my hands higher, pinning them against the concrete wall above my head. With his body engulfing mine, he begins to plant gentle kisses along my neck. Wait. Wait.

“E-Ernesto… p-please…”

I quietly gasp for air. The boy of my dreams simply looks at me, titillatingly.

“Please… what?" He brushes his soft lips behind my ear, and oh shit: he’s now pressing his thigh between my legs. "Do you like it? When I do this?”

My eyes are spinning into circles at this point. I nod my head in resignation, without even thinking. Ernesto seems pleased at how helpless I probably looked.

“You’re so cute, Quentin,” he giggles, grabbing my chin and planting even more kisses along my jawline. It appears he was gradually working his way up towards my cheeks, and at this rate, it wouldn’t be very long until he reached my lips again.

He pauses right before doing so. “It was very hard holding myself back all week, you know,” he breathes, his lips mere millimeters away from mine.

Okay, nope, nope, nope. I couldn’t take this any more. Where the heck did the shy, introverted, reads-Hemingway-for-fun Ernesto go??

Right then the school bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. Ernesto pulls away and frowns, but for me, the sound was honestly godsent.

“I-I guess we should head back to class…!” I laugh nervously, gently but firmly peeling him away from me to gain some semblance of control over the situation. Because, yes: this entire situation with Ernesto felt like a total dream come true. And yet somehow, it also simultaneously felt like my worst nightmare.

Ernesto glances at me. “Hmm, I suppose you’re right,” he mutters, before giving me an indecipherable look. “What are you doing after school today, Quentin?”

“Huh?”

“After school. It’s Friday, remember?” Ernesto’s eyes glimmer with intention. “If you’re free… let’s have more fun later.”

I blink. Someone, please— pray for me.

To be continued...