I ring the doorbell and tap my foot impatiently. And rock back and forth shifting my weight between my heel and the balls of my feet. Gritting my teeth I desperately try to rid Prince's perpetual whining (Party like it's 1999 to be precise) from the inner recesses of my brain. A noise which sounds remarkably like a Hanson coming to the door within thirty seconds of my hand connecting with the bell distracts me from my musical turmoil. Thirty seconds, must be a record.

The door swings open, Taylor is grinning at me , droplets of sweat running down his forehead.

"Woah, a sweaty Taylor answering the doorbell. I can see the teenies convulsing already," I smirk.

"Shutup, don't think that you wouldn't cause the same reaction among the single males of Tulsa if you were to answer the door in the same condition," I look down to hide my involuntary "Yeah, right" face which appears everytime he (or anyone else, for that matter) tries to compliment me.

"Nice try, didn't work. I saw it," He grins as he throws his head back in a motion which indicates he wants me to come in. He casually places his arm over my shoulder, "What do you want to do tonight?"

"Usual? Movie? Music? Me kicking your ass in eightball?"

"Delusions of grandeur never did do one any good,"

"You should know," I retort as I take my place on the stool in the kitchen. There is an unfamiliar silence in this house tonight, "Where is everyone?"

"I don't know actually, Isaac said something about something, Zac is somewhere and the rest are somewhere too,"

"Oh, that explains it," I nod. There's a silence, "So...how are you feeling? You know, about everything?" I ask, tentatively. I know he knows what I'm talking about.

"Okay, getting over it, slowly slowly." He smiles,

"But not over it?"

"Nope,"

"I wouldn't expect you to be. A year long relationship, never easy to get over,"

"Not that you'd know,"

"True," I shrug, "But I can imagine. Is it getting any easier?"

"Well, I'm not crying every night!" He brightens,

"That's a start. Is the stabbing feeling becoming any less?"

"Slightly. It's horrible, at least if I were the dumper I'd have upper hand. I have to hold back from ringing her..."

"Why don't you just ring her?" I ask curiously, he looks at me horrified,

"NO!!! I'm not showing her I'm still pining for her,"

"But you are..."

"Yeah. She doesn't have to know that. It's been three weeks already,"

"So? I'm not ringing her. Ever. Again. If she wants she can contact me,"

"Not even for closure?"

"Not even for closure."

"Fine, but it's not like she doesn't know you're not pining for her. And she's pining for you. At least for what you had,"

"If she's so upset why did she break up with me then?"

"Cause she's a bitch?" I suggest, he rubs his chin with his forefinger, his thumb resting on his cheek while he does so, in a thoughtful gesture, his lips pursed. After a momentary musing, he smiles evilly,

"I like that suggestion. I like it a lot," he states dramatically, and follows it by an evil laugh. I can't help but laugh at him too,

"Oh, Taylor, Taylor, Taylor. So tell me, what made you answer the door in your sweaty state?"

"I was uh..." he looks down, embarrassed. Score.

"Yes?" I ask expectantly.

"This is sort of embarrassing,"

"What is it my boy? It's not that bad is it?" He shoots me a look, "What?" I grin, "You were getting yourself off?"

"No. Worse."

"You were getting your brother off?"

"GIA!!!!" he yells and starts hitting me, "Can I just voice my disgust at your suggestion," he spurts whilst simultaneously shuddering. "I was dancing,"

"That is worse."

"Shutup."

"To what?"

"Nothing," he mumbles

"Taylor, you can tell me," I cajole,

"Beat it,"

"Michael Jackson?" I stifle my laughter. Unsuccessfully.

"Hey, he is the undisputed dance legend!"

"You weren't trying the moon walk on the carpet again, were you?" I look down at his sock-clad feet, "In socks, good work," I smirk.

"Eh, whatever,"

"So..." I pick up the phone, "What are we ordering on the pizza?"

"Normal,"

"Anchovies and pineapple?"

"Yeah," he agrees. I dial and place our supreme pizza order with the testosterone-challenged pizza guy. He sounds like my brother, who is currently undergoing the "manly voice" stage of puberty.

The pizza arrives half an hour later, just in time to stop Taylor and I killing each other due to our conflicting views on whether you leave the toilet seat up or down. We sit quietly in the Hanson's kitchen devouring it.

"Wanna dance?" Taylor asks, after having scoffed his sixth piece.

"You sure you can after all that cheese? You might explode,"

"Explode? Man, that was six pieces. That's not even close to half my limitation,"

"Bullshit,"

"I swear, ask Zac. When we were in LA I was so sick of eating out that I pretty much starved myself for four days because I couldn't bear to eat any more non-homemade food. But of course, after four days my stomach was slowly crucifying me so I rammed a pizza and a piece down. Thirteen slices," he sits back in his seat, patting his stomach lightly, complacently.

"You're crazy,"

"Mmmhmm," he affirms, "So about that dancing?" He looks up questioningly, "Zac bought ABBA's greatest hits CD yesterday,"

"Does it have "Waterloo" on it?" I ask cautiously

"Of course,"

"I'm in," We run like idiots down the hallway into his tiny, messy, room. He swoops up the remote control and points it towards the stereo. Stepping into the room you can easily what governs his life. There are guitars propped up against the wall, tambourines lying on the floor, an odd drumstick on the lone bedside table and sheets of paper imprinted with lyrics strewn across the beds, even though they have a studio to put it all in. And of course the focal point : the stereo. It looks like the sort of contraption that would cost a small nation's budget to buy. And it also looks like the sort of contraption which would take nothing short of an engineer to work.

The "sprinkling of chords" suddenly become a "monsoon of chords" as Taylor increases the volume. But "Dancing Queen" comes on and we both start flailing our arms about and singing at the top of our lungs. If you can call it singing. There's no need to point out how much of a hilarity it is seeing Taylor mouth the words to "Dancing Queen" here, is there? We're dancing, and it quickly spirals out of control. Taylor jumps up on his bed, making strange thrusting movements, not unlike those he makes at a concert. And I head-bang. To "Dancing Queen", "Money, money, money" , and it's followed by my favourite , the infamous "Waterloo". Taylor points the remote at the stereo and it quickly flips to "Simply Irresistible" by the ever-suave Robert Palmer. I shake my head ruefully, Taylor grins and takes my hand. We somehow get closer and I start swinging my hips to the lyrics. Taylor pulls my left hand up and manipulates it so that my body turns under his in a not-so neat not-quite pirouette. As I complete the turn I find myself pushed up against his body. And this doesn't bother me in the slightest. Which bothers me.

His blonde hair falls over his forehead as he looks down, concentrating on our synchronised movement. In one fluid move he puts his hand on my right hip as his eyes meet mine. This is disturbing, because at this point in time there is nothing on earth which will break our gaze. Not even his ex-girlfriend barging in naked. His head moves in slightly closer and I continue to stare. As does he. He breathes the lyrics, "simply irresistible," and places his lips on mine.

I've only ever been kissed once before in my life, and Bobby Tremaine in Grade 2 sure as hell does not compare to this. Taylor somehow coaxes my mouth open and as his tongue mixes with mine I open my eyes just a fraction. I can't help it. I peek at his closed his eyes and only then does it truly hit me just how much he's grown from that little thirteen year old brat he'd been at the inception of our friendship at the lake. He is beautiful. His entire being is beautiful, his hair, his body, his mouth, his tongue. His tongue. God help me. As much as I don't want it to end it does. One moment Taylor's tongue is on mine and the next he's pulling away hesitantly. He looks at me and I return the look. We don't know what to do. His face is expressionless. I am numb. Then I see his mouth turning upwards at the corners and it's all I can do to stop the fit of laughter which is threatening to take hold of me. We stand there, two eighteen year olds, giggling at the fact that we've just kissed. There's really nothing else to do.