The Leanover.

He spoke and I listened.

When we sat together on the Coach bus, seeping with garbage and a rancid stench emulating from the bathroom, I rested my head on his shoulder and he held my hand.

I knew him for three days and already he consumed my senses.

In eighth grade, students of the 8^th grade class from Percy Julian Junior High School were able to travel to Washington DC during spring break. On the second night there, after a day spent sightseeing and shopping, our group of students relaxed in an Old Country Buffet for dinner.

I sat across from him, Scott, while eating my food. He was sweet but I was hungry. I consumed fried chicken and spaghetti with marinara sauce. I consumed macaroni and cheese and creamed corn. I consumed jello and vanilla ice cream.

I consumed.

He ate, but we talked. And so I noticed the massive bites of food I began to take and limited them to respective nibbles.

Christy tried to steal packets of saltine crackers and Constance joined her. Amanda talked to Hilary. And I sat there, sipping a glass of ginger ale through a straw and having an actual conversation in as limited of a condescending voice I could handle at the age of 13.

“Will you have sex with me?” he asked while I dribbled ginger ale.

“Yes,” I said.

“Really?” he questioned.

“Uh-huh. Have you had sex before?” I asked.

“Yeah. You?” he inquired.

“I don’t know,” I uttered.

We left it at that.

And that was fine with me. At least I could tell my friends he asked me in the first place.