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Sam Wilson will never forget that day in junior year when Laura Palmer kissed him.
He’d read about kisses before. They were supposed to make you feel warm, make your lips tingle. They were supposed to feel right and make you happy and he was supposed to want kisses. Especially kisses from pretty girls who always laughed at his stupid jokes.
Sam was supposed to want this. He was supposed to want Laura. Looking back on it, Sam thinks he should’ve seen the kiss coming.
He was walking her home after school. It was nice enough out that she didn’t want to take the bus and he wasn’t about to let her walk home alone. The neighborhood was alright while the sun was up, but she was pretty, black, tiny, and too smart for her own good. She always told him that he was too protective over her, and he never denied it. She was his friend, so of course he would want to protect her, right?
It wasn’t until later that he understood the soft look in her eyes she got when he said this.
Eventually, they reached her door. He smiled, like always, said bye, like always, and waited until she was safely inside before turning to leave, like always.
But this time was different.
This time she grabbed his arm before he could fully turn.
This time she kissed him.
And he didn’t know what to do.
Her lips were soft and squishy against his own. His mind kind of went blank in a way that reminded him of when a teacher called on him in class even though he didn’t raise his hand. He wasn’t ready and he didn’t know the answer and he suddenly felt very, very stupid.
When Laura pulled back, he didn’t know what face he was making, but whatever it was, she didn’t like it.
“Were you leading me on?”
He didn’t feel any less stupid when, after he failed to respond, she just shook her head and closed the door in his face.