Sixteen

ABBY LANZ

and nervous to the point where my hands shake. I try so hard to keep them still, but find that electricity still leaps to take away my breath and dignity in kind.

We turn, eyes glance into each other, shy embrace, anticipation hangs, a lull and this is It, the moment. Time to fly or hit the ground—it’s too late not to fall.

My lips, brand new to the sensation—pure like Magic dancing on my skin—found yours were pillowy. My heart could take no more, so I stood back; the blush spread to my ears.

The butterflies inside my chest took wing and were released into a burst of Song.