sapphic crush

Her hair falls in shining waves that are almost curls. Mostly brown, some blonde streaks left over from when she dyed her hair purple.
She sits next to me.
 Too close.
We’re in those tiny plastic high school auditorium seats. Her tan, freckled shoulder presses into my smaller one. She’s warm, too warm for me right after I’ve finished dancing.
But I don’t mind.
I can only hope she doesn’t move.
 I watch her chest rise and fall. I listen to her voice ring out as she corrects someone standing on the stage.
 I lean imperceptibly more into her shoulder.
 She holds her arm in front of my face, gesturing to someone else. She realizes she can annoy me with it.
She does it thrice more. I kiss her arm the last time she does it. Right below the elbow, on the meat of her forearm.
It’s so much softer than I expected.
She laughs at me and I smile. I’m put under a spell, filled with a golden warmth. I made her happy. She doesn’t know that I didn’t mean it as a joke, but that’s okay. It’s better that way.
She can’t know.
 I can’t tell her.