It was my freshman year in college, the night Washington State University won the Apple Cup, and a group of friends and I were celebrating the victory at a rowdy house party. Amidst the masses of people that night, I saw this fun-loving girl wandering around. Her name was Phoebe, and she had beautiful flaming curly red hair, a dusting of freckles along her nose, and a laugh that made her blue eyes sparkle.

We seemed to always be near each other, even though the house was packed with people. I wanted to say hi, but for some reason was too shy. She seemed too cool and mature to want to hang out with a freshman like me.

Finally, as we danced to the live band that was playing on the outdoor patio, she pulled me up onto the pool table. As friendly partygoers walked by, our hips swayed to the beat and we moved closer together. Mid-song, she leaned in and kissed me on the lips. Her lips were soft and smooth; they were like nothing I had ever felt before. I knew right then and there I wanted her to kiss me again. But before the next song, she smiled at me with her twinkling eyes, jumped off the pool table, and was gone into the swarm of people, leaving me breathless and in awe. 

— Melissa Johnson

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