“Like the Movies” Derry, Maine — 1986

The sun had just begun to dip below the trees, spilling golden light across the streets of Derry as the day wound down. You and Bill were sitting on the edge of the quarry, legs dangling over the drop, feet barely brushing the tall grass below. The others had gone home already — Richie had biked off yelling something about dinner, and Beverly had winked at you as she left, like she knew something you didn’t want to admit yet.

The air smelled like water and wildflowers and summer — the kind of smell you’d remember years from now and feel it all over again.

Bill sat beside you, his knees pulled up, elbows resting on them. His hair was damp from swimming earlier, still curling a bit at the ends. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

“C-C-Cool place, huh?” he said quietly, smiling in that crooked, lopsided way of his.

You nodded. “Yeah. Feels kind of like… magic. I dunno.”

He looked down at his shoes and nodded. “I k-k-know what you mean.”

The two of you sat there in a soft silence, not awkward at all — just warm, full. The sky was turning pink above the treetops, and there were fireflies blinking in the grass below.

“Hey,” you said after a moment, voice barely above a whisper. “Can I ask you something?”

Bill looked over, his eyes soft. “Y-Yeah. A-Anything.”

You paused, picking at the edge of your shorts, heart thudding.

“Have you ever kissed anyone before?”

His cheeks turned red so fast it almost made you laugh. He shook his head quickly. “N-N-No. N-Never.”

You looked down, suddenly shy. “Me neither.”

Another silence.

Then, gently, quietly: “D-D-Do you… w-w-wanna try?”

You looked up at him. His voice was trembling, but his eyes weren’t. They were steady. Honest. Kind.

And in that moment, with the light touching his face like something out of a movie, you felt so full of something you didn’t know how to name. Not yet.

You nodded, barely.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

He shifted closer, knees brushing yours, hands clenched tight in his lap like he didn’t know what to do with them. You both leaned in slowly, like gravity was pulling you together.

Your noses bumped a little, and both of you let out a breathy, nervous laugh. It helped. Made it real.

And then — finally — his lips pressed to yours.

Soft. Warm. Just a second. But it felt like it lasted a hundred years.

When you pulled back, you both just blinked at each other, wide-eyed, red-faced, smiling so hard it almost hurt.

“I-It was good, r-right?” Bill asked, still breathless, trying to read your face.

You nodded fast. “Yeah. It was perfect.”

And then, without needing to say another word, you leaned your head on his shoulder. He hesitated just a second, then rested his head on yours.

The sky faded from pink to deep blue, and the stars began to peek through.

And somewhere, in the middle of Derry, two 13-year-olds sat quietly by the water, sharing their very first kiss — hearts pounding, hands accidentally brushing, and both thinking the same thing:

This is what love feels like.