How I managed to get so attached so fast is a mystery to me; but almost anything that involves the heart is beyond my reasoning. It was a Friday morning that I boarded my first plane ever and was texting the boy. It was a Friday night that I sat next to the boy in the hotel hot tub after the most stressful day full of lost luggage and tears. It was a Friday night when the boy saw me half naked for the first time and shared his beers with me. It was a Friday night when his cousin told me that my hopes that had simmered for months had been lit aflame. The boy liked me, me who isn't as skinny as the last or as pretty as the first. He somehow liked me, a cute guy with a great personality that I was attracted to finally liked me back. It was a Saturday morning when I started to believe it was true when he texted me worried I would miss breakfast, and continued to text me all day. It was a Sunday night that we sat next to each other in the over-packed hot tub and he put his leg over mine and when I melted it had nothing to do with the hot water. It was a Monday night that he finally made a move, and I got my first kiss good night. We were on a cruise ship in the middle of the ocean and I was cuddling on a bed with a boy who got more adorable as the minutes past by and he even walked me back to my room like it was a date and then right in front of room 8525 he kissed me. When I boarded my plane Friday morning I had only dreamed that might happen. It was a Tuesday night that we ended up in his room alone. He said the words I should have listened more carefully to, "I'm down for anything on this cruise" followed closely by, "but we should see what happens after too". Those words held no promise of more, there was possibility and hope which often mix to feel like one, but they aren't. It was those words that led first my hand and then my head farther down than I had ever gone. Was I any good at it, I'll never know but he wouldn't either so we were equal in that aspect. I got called amazing, and then kicked out. I'm not sure if getting walked back to your room and another good night kiss counts as getting kicked out, but that's what it felt like. Was I kicked out, I'll never know because my hopes say that he was just nervous the other boys were going to walk in on us or my father was going to notice I was gone so early into the morning and I don't want to know the truth if it's a different answer. It was a Wednesday night that I first slept in a boys arms. The boy may have been so high on Jamaican weed that he was fuzzy on the memory of it, and it may have been so hot that both of us considered kicking the other off of the first one's, who had become just a very good friend to not only him but also me, very small pull out bed but never the less it was the first. It was technically an early Thursday morning that I stroked his face with my fingers as he slept, and I think that's the exact moment I fully stepped off the cliff into a chasm full of hope that I'd been leaning over for a week. Did he ever teach me how to play golf in the ridiculous cages, no, did we ever play ping pong, no, but did we dance even though he said he didn't, yes, did we sing to each other even though he said he didn't, yes, because he did find himself a cheerleader and he spun her around and twisted her heart even more. Did we sleep together Thursday night as well, yes, and was it just as hot because someone didn't like sunscreen and got his shoulders so burnt that they blistered and his entire body turned into my personal heater, yes, but was hearing his sleepy voice whisper, "come here" and being pulled closer in the middle of the night worth it, yes, was watching his hand keep slipping of me every time he started to fall back asleep and walking up every time to put it back on me worth it, yes. It was a Friday night that I refused to look at the picture of the two of us from dinner that night before because the thought of it made my ribs constrict around my heart. It was a Friday night that he was so sick from the sun that we stayed in his room while everyone else played up on the 13th deck. It was right after all the boys left us alone and warned us not to have too much fun and if the boy needed "another one" from his roommate, who slept on the top bunk, because he forgot where he put the first one that he said the words I had waited to hear all week. "I don't want you to feel like I'm using you" and "I'm not sure if I'm ready to be dating someone" and "I just got out of something" and "we're co-workers". It was technically an early Saturday morning when I learned that a good night kiss feels entirely different from a good bye kiss. It was an early Saturday morning that I was walked to my door for the last time. It was an early Saturday morning when he told me if we kissed it was up to me and after I said, "we might as well", he asked, "what's that face for", and I finally said the words I'd replaced earlier with, "No that makes sense", and "It's fine". "It's all ending, and it's sad." It was an early Saturday morning that I watched him walk down my hallway and wondered if he knew how many things I meant by those words. It was an early Saturday morning when I sobbed into a towel because for one week I lived in a bubble that had finally popped. It was an early Saturday morning when I realized I would rather toss and turn in the heat than sleep without his hand resting on my skin for the first time in two days. It was a later Saturday morning when I woke up and knew I had gotten too involved too soon. It was a Saturday afternoon that I played Stacks until I could finally erase his high score from my phone, and that was somehow supposed to help me erase the rest of it. It was a Saturday afternoon when I realized that it couldn't, and if it could I didn't really want it to. It was a Saturday afternoon when I wrote this down on the plane home with sunglasses hiding my tears. It will be a Saturday night when I unpack my bag and all of my clothes will smell like him. It will be a Saturday night when I lay in my queen sized bed alone and wonder if who ever was sleeping in the beds in 9193 and 6505 could sense anything about the events had been linked to those rooms this past week. It will be a Monday morning when I have to go into school and pray that the entire student body doesn't ask about my week in a bubble with a boy. It will be Monday morning when I finally have to see his face again. Do I love this boy, no, did I give my virginity to this boy, no, could I do both those things one day, I think so, will I get the chance, that's all up to the boy.