She moaned, her body no longer quivering with fear but trembling with desire. When Marsha broke the kiss and pulled away, Amy stared at her, unblinki...g. “You kissed me,” she stammered in a choked whisper. “I certainly did.” “You kissed me. Why?” “To stop you freaking out. Would you rather I’d slapped you?” “You kissed me,” Amy repeated dreamily. “Yes. I did. I think we’ve established that. I-” Flinging her arms around Marsha’s neck, Amy slammed her mouth against hers, kissing her. Everyone has a story that makes up their life. While Ace is driving the bus, it seems to get brushed past and hidden under the wheel. I decided to give it a shot one morning. Luckily for me, Ace accepted my plea for conversation as a sophomore three years ago. That was how I found out his wife of 31 years passed away from stage three breast cancer when I was in 8th grade two years prior. You could see it in his eye and hear the aching in his voice when he talked about Aria: genuine love. Aria. More

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