Kiss the Girl

Kiss the Girl

Bernie Kissen rocked the soda can lazily in his hands. He had never really been fond of underage drinking, though he was seventeen. It just wasn't right. Luckily, he was tought and on the football team, so if someone teased him about it, he could crush them. Not that he would. He was one of the few actually smart and nice jocks in his school. The others were stupid and obnoxious.

"Hey, dude, great game yesterday!" said some random guy. Bernie smiled and nodded in thanks, but then returned to his glum mood. All his friends were pretty much pole dancing with girls, but he didn't feel like dancing. He didn't feel like drinking Mountain Dew either, but hey. A guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do.

He chugged down the rest of his soda, then lazily basketball-shot it into the nearby trashcan. His fist went down in his NYU sweatshirt pockets, and he observed couples and non-couples humping each other for a while, before going to find someone to talk to. He was passing the front door, when he heard singing.

"There you see her, sitting there a cross the way

She don't got a lot to say, but there's something about her."

Bernie paused, and recognized the voice. He turned to peek out the mini-windows next to the closed front doors. There sat a small Gothic girl, looking out into the street. There was only a small light that slightly shone on her, and her shadows reflected back to her face. Bernie stared. He had never really known her before, just as the girl who was always at the beginning of the alphabet in roll calls. He didn't know she was at the party. He watched her rock back and forth on the porch swing, singing to herself.

"And you don't know why but you're dying to try

You wanna kiss the girl.

Yes, you want her. Look at her you know you do

It's possible she wants you too, there's one way to ask her

It don't take a word, not a single word

Go on and kiss the girl."

Her voice echoed in Bernie's mind melodiously, so much that he accidentally hit his hand on the doorbell. Luckily for him, no one in the house seemed to notice since they were too busy grinding each other. But Morgan's head shot up quickly. She stared at him in the way a child might stare at a parent when they were caught doing something bad.

Bernie opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. Clearing his throat and struggling to find his voice, embarrassed, he said, "I...I heard you singing."

"I see that," said Morgan, her light cheeks turning pink with embarrassment.

"You—You're a good singer," said Bernie after a few awkward seconds. Morgan, this time, cleared her throat.

"Er, thanks," she said.

Bernie noticed that her fingers were fumbling nervously together. He wondered if she liked him, because he knew now that he definitely liked her. Why?, he didn't know. But neither did he care. But there was only one way to find out if she returned his feelings.

"It don't take a word, not a single word," sang Morgan quietly, as if reading his thoughts. Bernie smiled, and his shadow grew closer to hers. After gently placing his lips o nhers, he softly sang back,

"Go on and kiss the girl."