I was 13 years old and riding on a Greyhound bus the first time I made out with a boy.
(Anyone else been there? Raise your hand!)
There on I-95, somewhere between puberty and Maryland, in the beginning of a St. John the Evangelist school trip to Washington D.C., I was mashing my lips against red-headed Tim’s.
It was just like I had seen everywhere in our …
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