Here is a short story I wrote with the help of one of the resources provided in this class. I absolutely love Hemmingway Editor and it has inspired me not just to write more, but to seek out his novels.

She came in through his bedroom window like a wraith in the night. Her skin had a pallor reminiscent of a ghost. Her bright shirt was several sizes too big. She carried a bag that, once dropped, terrified poor Ben with such a fright that he flung himself off the bed.

"What were you doing?" he exclaimed once he had recovered and risen to his feet. "If my mum or dad had seen you out there, they would have gone nuts."

He approached his bedroom door in silence. He listened for any alarming sounds in the house. If his mum found Stacy in his room, he didn't know what she'd do. He knew the answer wouldn't be good. His mother was never scarier than she was at night. When she got tired, she got angry. If she found Stacy here, he'd face a furious reprimand.

Stacy's smile revealed playful mischief. Her eyes sparkled with delight. She flicked her ponytail to the back of her head and posed. "Oh, relax. I doubt they're still awake. In case you didn't notice, it's the middle of the night."

He shut his bedroom window. "I'm not stupid, Stacy. I'm being careful; you know what my mum is like. I'd never hear the end of it. What are you doing here anyway? Isn't it a school night?"

She shrugs and the smile vanishes from her face. "My parents were at each other's throats again. I needed a break. I needed a place to stay."

That did not come as a surprise to Ben. Stacy was very open about her parents' broken marriage. Her father had cheated. Her mother took it out on everyone. As a result, Stacy's home became a battleground of nightly verbal duels. It was one of those things he couldn't relate to her about. His parents always looked after him. They never argued. If they did, it was nothing a day couldn't fix. Even so, he couldn't help but sympathize with her. Whenever something happened at home, Stacy always seemed to tell Ben. She trusted Ben, and in turn, Ben listened. He remembered the time she had come to him crying. She had overheard her parents blaming her birth for their ruined marriage. But he had never expected her to come here, of all places.

"So, you came here?" He shifted, displaying signs of discomfort.

"Sure, we're friends, right?" She looked around his small, empty bedroom. The first thing she noticed was the lack of any personality. No posters on the wall, no cool knickknacks like old toys or models, or even a television. She knew his parents were strict; she did not realize the extent of their restrictions. Then she saw his bed. A single bed, not even king-sized. It had clean white sheets and smelled like the rest of his room: sanitized, as though his mother cleaned it daily. But at least it showed they cared for him; she couldn't say the same about her own parents.

Ben backed up to the curtain that was beside his window. Avoiding eye contact and staring down at his fidgeting fingers, he said, "I don't know, Stace. What if my parents find you here?"

"Oh, please, Ben. I can't go back there." She stepped closer, speaking in a voice that was almost a whisper. He could smell her perfume. Vanilla and lavender. "Not now, not tonight," she gave him her best puppy-dog eyes.

He could hear voices coming from outside. A lady and a man, and it made him wonder about Stacy. The man outside sounded comfortable with the woman. He wondered if he could be the same with Stacy. Ben fidgeted with his fingers. It was easier than resisting his primal urge to accept Stacy's proposition. But he knew he couldn't play with them forever. Ben bit his lip deep in thought. Boys were easy to him; he'd slept in the same room as his mates loads of times, and they'd even shared beds. But he had never slept beside a girl before; it intrigued him more than it worried him. What were girls like to sleep with? Did they move a lot? Would she murmur in her sleep? Did girls fart in the dark like his friends always did? Did girls cuddle with the boys they slept next to?

He scratched the back of his head. "Oh, alright. Keep your voice down and make sure you are outta here by the time my dad wakes up for work," Ben conceited.

"I promise you, I swear I'll be out by then." She walked toward his bed. The dim glow of his bedside lamp cast long shadows on the wall. It created an intimate atmosphere, thick with unspoken tension. "Is this where you sleep?"

"Where else?" he replied, still uncomfortable about having a girl in his room.

"What were you up to in here?" she asked.

"Sleeping," he lied.

"Were you now?" she asks before flipping his phone over on the bed. "Dude, are you serious? You were watching porn."

No one had caught him at such an intimate time. His cheeks flushed crimson, and he stumbled over his words. "No, I was scrolling. It must have come up."

Stacy giggled. "Were you masturbating? Did I interrupt your alone time?"

"No, like I said, I was scrolling."

"But you said you were sleeping. You're lying to me."

"Please don't tell anyone. Don't embarrass me at school."

"I would never." He didn't look so sure. "I promise, I'd never spill your secrets. Now are you going to stand there for the rest of the night, or are you going to come lie down?"

His heart raced. "With you?"

"Duh."

"I don't know. We shouldn't, Stace. You are a girl, and I am a boy. I don't know." Ben looked down at his feet for a while. When he looked back up, Stacy was gazing at him with a fierce intensity characteristic of an angry woman. A face he had seen on his mother enough times, it said that you better listen to me. "Uh, okay. Sure, Stace."

His palms felt slick against the fabric of his pajama bottoms. He moved to his bed. Their eyes wandered over each other's bodies as he came. She was beautiful in the moonlight. Soft, pale cheeks, blonde hair, and ample curves that a boy like Ben found attractive in a girl. This was the first time he had ever shared a bed with a girl; it felt both wrong and right at the same time. Like playing house when you were kids, but they were older now. Not adults, but not kids.

"Is this the first time you've had a girl in your room?"

"You mean, besides my mom?"

Stacy had to hold herself back from chuckling. How inexperienced was he? Of course, she meant girls that weren't his mother. How thick was he? "Yes, besides your mother, am I the first girl you've had in your bed?"

"Yes." He couldn't help but look down at her cleavage. He would blame hormones if he knew what they were. There was a juvenile ecstasy in ogling her breasts, an excitement that ran far and deep. He could hear his heartbeat echoing, sounding like a drummer playing toms in his chest. His palms grew clammy. His boyhood hardened. He had never been so close to a girl before. Not by herself, and not one possessing such beauty.

She noticed him looking and broke into a grin again. "What are you looking at?"

"What?" he now realized she had noticed him looking. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Nothing, I swear."

"It's okay to look. I like seeing you look at me. I like looking at you too. Would you like me to take my shirt off?"

Ben couldn't believe his ears. Did she say that? "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, why not? I look good without a shirt. I want a second opinion." She giggled again.

"No. You can't, Stace. You are a girl and..."

"And you are a boy. So what?"

"My friends told me what boys do when girls take their shirts off." That was another lie. He hadn't needed to wait for his friends to tell him; he had seen plenty of videos about it.

"And what if I want you to do that to me?"

"No. We can't," Ben replied, shifting from foot to foot.

"Why not?"

"I want to. But I don't know. I'm a little nervous; I've never done anything like this before." His voice now was a faint whisper.

"Are you telling me that you are a prude, Ben? Why? You have no reason to feel ashamed."

Ben couldn't believe what she had said. A prude? He might not be as experienced as other boys his age, but he wasn't completely unaware of the goings-on. He was too nervous to do any of it with her. She was his friend. Or at least she had been. Are you still friends with a girl who offered to take her shirt off? "What? No, I'm not."

"Fine. If that is the case. Kiss me a little, then we can go to sleep."

"What? I told you I'm nervous." Ben couldn't believe the words coming out of her mouth. Stacy leaned closer, and a whirlwind of thoughts flooded Ben's mind. Kissing her? Could he do that? What would it be like? He wanted to know how it felt to kiss a girl as much as he wanted to get closer to her, smell her, touch her. But he hesitated, which made him angry at himself. Why does he hesitate? How many times in his life has a girl sat on his bed waiting for him to kiss her? Not once before tonight, and likely never again.

"I hear you. But you don't have to worry about me. I don't kiss and tell." Stacy could see that Ben was still unsure of himself. She shrugged. To hell with it. She grabbed Ben's shoulders, pulled him toward her, and landed her soft, wet, hungry lips on his.

It was pure bliss. For Ben, it was his first kiss. The sensation that came with it made him giddy with excitement and a need for more. For Stacy, the kiss was more than a brief rush of adrenaline. It was a goal she had set for herself, finally achieved. She liked Ben. More than she had made it known, and kissing him only furthered her affections.

"Wow," he exclaimed, once she had pulled away. "Can we do that again?"

She giggled one last time before planting her lips on his again. Ben tugged her closer. Embracing her deeper than he had embraced anyone before. This wasn't him giving his mother a hug after school; he was cuddling a girl as they kissed. He felt that the night couldn't get any better than this. He was in bliss, and his thoughts wandered to their relationship. He wondered if they would be friends tomorrow or if they would be something more. He had never thought of Stacy in that manner before tonight. Would they go on dates? Would she come for dinner? Would he have to meet her family? He would ask her in the morning and would hold his breath as he waited for her answer. His tummy swelled; he could feel himself smile.