Most girls, I'm sure, would be thrilled to wake up sharing a sofa with a shirtless Dean Portman, but for me? It's nothing short of sweaty and gross, and as I realize I'm not sure where I am, it's kind of creepy, too. And my eyes hurt, which means I fell asleep with my contacts in. Again. I blink rapidly, trying to produce tears, and it helps, a little. I need some Visine, but since I have no idea whose house I woke up in, I'm not sure where the nearest medicine cabinet is.

"Dean," I whisper, nudging him, but instead of waking up, Dean just flops his arm over my hip. I'm vaguely uncomfortable. "Portman," I whisper a little louder, trying to rouse him.

His response is to pull me closer, mumbling a name -- who's Sarah? Oh, great. We're spooning.

And -- oh, great. And he kind of likes it, I think. Gross.

"Portman!" I shove him, throwing my entire weight into it, and barely succeed in lifting his arm. "You're spooning with me!"

"Am not," he replies, only half awake, but fully indignant.

"Are too. You called me Sarah."

"Oh, please stop talking."

"Where are we?" I ask. "This isn't Adam's house."

Dean groans and closes his eyes. "We're at Goldberg's, remember? Now will you let me sleep?"

I check my phone to see what time it is. Not even eleven yet. I don't have to be home for another two hours -- which, since I didn't drive either to Adam's or Greg's, is probably about how long it will take me to walk home. I instinctively hit the redial button, trying to reach Fulton for a ride, as I climb over Portman and try to find my flip-flops.

"Hello?" Averman sounds so cute when he's sleepy.

Wait a minute. I want Fulton, I was trying to call Fulton, why is Averman answering Fulton's phone? I pull the phone away from my ear and look at it, but see Averman's number on the display. I can't for the life of me remember why I called him in the first place. Note to self: Never, ever drink again.

On the other end of the line, Averman yawns. "Hello?" he says again.

I wonder, for a brief moment, if it's too late for me to hang up without saying anything. I could just call Fulton and get a lift home, and pretend this never happened.

"Maggie." He sounds exasperated. "I know it's you. Caller ID, remember?"

Oh. Right. "Hey, um, sorry. I was trying to reach Fulton, and I guess I just hit the wrong button or something. Did I wake you up?"

Did I wake you up? Of course I did, idiot!

"Um, yeah," he says through another yawn, "but it's okay. Where are you? Goldberg's?"

How does everyone except me know where I am? "Yeah," I reply. I swallow, and realize my mouth feels fuzzy, and I still need eye drops. "Uh, this is going to sound really stupid, but how did I get here?" I ask, blindly making my way to the bathroom. I wince against the brightness as I turn on the light, listening to Averman explain that the party got moved to Goldberg's when Adam's dad got home and kicked us out, threatening to call our parents if he found any damage to his property. I open the medicine cabinet -- jackpot! Visine and mouthwash. I feel human again, and with Averman's voice in my ear, I feel that strange nervous excitement. And out of nowhere, I can feel my resolve gathering.

I open my mouth and ask, before I think too much about it, "Can I come over?" The moment the words are out of my mouth, I close my eyes and slump against the bathroom door, bracing myself for the rejection that I am sure is to come.

"Uh, yeah. Okay. I'll, uh, I'll meet you by the back door."

I hang up without so much as a goodbye, because if I think too much about this, I will lose my nerve. I gargle some more mouthwash and fix my ponytail, which had come loose in my sleep. After I deem myself presentable, I let myself out of the house, and, while texting Dean to let him know where I went, cross through the Goldbergs' backyard to Averman's, two houses down.

He's waiting at the back door, as promised, and he looks absolutely incredible, standing there in the doorway in a pair of flannel pajama pants -- and it doesn't matter how many times I've seen him shirtless, it will never, ever get old. I have to force myself to keep my eyes trained on his face, or else I'll think too much about whether or not he's wearing anything under his pajama bottoms, and focusing on that makes it impossible for me to think about anything else at all.

In my head, I'm practicing how I'm going to lay it all out on the line for him, but what I say now is, "Can we go inside? I, uh, I'm sober now, and I have something I need to say to you." I feel so brave, and I'm not quite sure where it comes from, but I'm grateful for it.

Wordlessly, Les takes my hand and leads me inside, through the kitchen and into his room, where he shuts the door. It's just him and me, and it's so quiet and if I stop to think I get scared, so I take a deep breath and start talking.

"You are the only guy I've ever so much as thought about," I tell him, looking at my lap the entire time. "I've wanted you for seven years. Seven years, Averman, and I've thought about you so much and for so long and I think I've just built up this huge fantasy in my head of how it could be, and I know it's way better than anything that could happen for real, but I think we could come pretty close, if we try, and I want to." I pause long enough to draw in another breath before finishing. "And I really, really want to kiss you right now, but I've never kissed anyone before and I'm afraid I might be bad at it."

I look up, and as soon as our eyes meet, we're leaning towards each other and he's kissing me and oh, my God, I'm kissing Les Averman and it's more perfect than anything I ever could have imagined. I rest my hand on my stomach, trying to calm the fluttering occurring just beneath the surface of my skin, and Averman pulls away.

"Are you okay?" he gently asks, taking my other hand in his. "Was that okay?"

I shake my head, dazed. "Incredible," I whisper. I clear my throat. "I'm, um, my stomach," I try to explain. "It's doing this flippy thing."

Averman grins, kisses me again. "Butterflies," he says against my lips.

"Like, a million of them," I murmur back. "Was I okay?"

"You," he pronounces, "are exactly as fantastic as I thought you'd be."

He pulls me into his arms and I snuggle against him, resting my head on his shoulder. "Don't let me fall asleep, okay? I have to be home by one."

He doesn't answer for a minute, and I think maybe he's fallen asleep. "Why don't I," he says at last, "give you a ride home, and we can make out in my car until your curfew?"

I am already up and tossing him a shirt from on top of his dresser. On the way to my house, I am positively giddy at the thought of doing nothing but kissing Averman for the next hour and a half, but somehowhave enough presence of mind to text Portman, so that when he wakes up, he won't think he lost me.

Kissing Averman, I decide while we're parked in my driveway, is my new favorite activity, one that I doubt I'll tire of any time soon. The only downside is that time flies by entirely too fast, and before I know it, it's one in the morning. I'm able to tear myself away only because I know that if I miss my curfew, it will be entirely too long before I'm able to kiss him again.

"I have to go inside," I whisper in between kisses, "before I get in trouble."

"I know," Averman whispers back. He leans back, brushes back a strand of hair that's come loose from my ponytail, tucks it behind my ear. "But I'll call you tomorrow morning, okay? Do you have anything going on?"

I shake my head. "What about you?"

It's his turn to shake his head. "Do you want to go out for breakfast?"

"Can we make it brunch?" I ask. "That way I can sleep in."

"We can do whatever you want," Les responds. He leans down and kisses me again, and I really think that I could do this for the rest of forever and not get bored. "Call me when you wake up."

I reluctantly pull myself away and step out of the car. I start to head up towards the house, turning around when I hear Averman call my name. "Come back for a sec."

I jog over to his side of the car, where he's got his head sticking out the window.

He reaches an arm out and pulls my head down to his, kissing me one last time. "One for the road," he explains. "Goodnight."

"'Night," I say, beaming at him as he backs out of the driveway and onto the street. I wave and stand there watching his taillights get smaller and smaller in the night. When I can't see them anymore, I go inside the house and fall into bed, barely taking the time to change into my pajamas.

I know I'm only sixteen, but I really think this was the best night of my life.