Breaking The Ice Between Us
Everyone laughing, chanting names, passing around an empty soda bottle like it was a crown of thorns.
And then someone shouted mine.
And his.
Logan Shaw.
He was all wild hair and crooked grin and too much confidence for a thirteen-year-old.
We stepped into the closet, the door closed, and for five full minutes we just stood there — two awkward kids drowning in the sound of our own breathing.
Then, right before the timer went off, he kissed me.
Quick. Soft. Awkward.
The kind of kiss that shouldn’t matter and somehow still does.
The door opened, everyone cheered, and he bolted like touching me had been a dare he was relieved to survive.