Kissing and Kissing SENIOR YEAR Cross Sugarman came back to me in the fifth week of our senior year. It was a Saturday, and Martha was staying with a cousin up at Dartmouth, trying to figure out if she wanted to apply there early. It was nearly three when the door to our room opened; I had gone to bed hours before. I think Cross must have just stood there for a minute, his eyes adjusting from the light of the hallway to the darkness of the room. This is when I woke up. Seeing a tall male figure in the threshold made my heart quicken—of course it did—but I knew by then that the weird things that happen at boarding school usually happen at night. Plus, since none of the dorm rooms had locks, I’d become accustomed to people barging in. I must have stirred, because Cross said, “Hey.” He said it in that hoarse tone that’s half whisper and half real-voice, different from actual talking, less in volume than in meaning. “Hey,” I said back. I still wasn’t sure of his identity.
