Kiss and Repeat

by Heather Truett

  We hung out at her house in the evenings, so she could be home if her dad called. He didn’t call. He’d checked himself into rehab and wouldn’t be allowed to use the phone for a while. Her mom was nice to me and even invited me to dinner some nights.

  There were other things that weren’t great in those days though. Mainly, my conscience, so I went looking for Erin.

  I found her leaving a classroom on the second floor, walking with Joan. We hadn’t spoken since I got grounded over the whole drunk party thing, so I wasn’t surprised when she ducked her head and turned away.

  “Wait, can we talk? For just a minute?” I followed her past a few lockers.

  She paused, glanced toward Joan, and then nodded. “Yeah, we should talk, I guess. I’m sorry about ratting on you. I wasn’t trying to get you in trouble. I didn’t know Kelly would call your mom.”

  Joan stepped closer to me and took my hand. She smiled at Erin, tipping her head in acknowledgment.

  “I get it, mostly, but why didn’t you just talk to me?”

  Erin shrugged, which didn’t help at all.

  “Did I do something, before this, to make you think you couldn’t tell me what was bothering you?”

  “Not really, Stephen. Some things aren’t about you. I had to talk to someone, about more than just that party with you. Kelly was there.”

  I nodded.

  “And I did try to talk to you, but it turned into a fight. I’d had enough fighting with boys.”

  “Okay,” I said. “You’re right. I wasn’t helpful.”

  “Erin!” Someone called her name from down the hall.

  Erin shot a relieved look over her shoulder. “That’s my lab partner. I need to get to Chemistry.” She turned to Joan. “Thanks, for what you said.”

  Joan shrugged. “It’s only true.”

  “Yeah, but thanks for saying it.”

  And then Erin disappeared into the crowd of students, and I put my arm around Joan’s waist as we walked the other way. “What did you say to her?”

  “Nothing much,” Joan said. “Just that she’s too smart to let a guy control her emotions. You know, the kind of thing Sylvie said to me for months before I finally let Wade go.”

  We were standing outside of her History class when one of Wade’s friends walked by. He paused at the sight of us and turned to holler over the crowd.

  “Hey, Luckie, be careful. I hear she still lets Wade visit the penguins.”

  Before I could figure out what he was talking about, he laughed and ducked into a classroom.

  I turned to Joan, and she was quivering. Her whole body shook.

  “What is it?” I asked. “What was he talking about?”

  “Wade’s such a bastard,” she said, but she was sobbing so hard it sounded more like, “Wabe is”—gasp—“sush a”—gasp—“bastard.” The last word was clear, and that was all I needed. I took her hand and dragged her down the hall and out the door.

  It was the first time I ever cut school. I took Joan’s keys and drove her home. She texted her mom that she wasn’t feeling well, and I sat with her on her bed while she cried.

  “He lied,” she said when the tears reached an end. “He said he never told anyone, but he lied.”

  “Wade?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  I brushed a stray tear from her eyelashes. She tucked her head underneath my chin.

  “The first time Wade and I had sex, I was wearing a bra with stupid little cartoon penguins on it. I was embarrassed, and he teased me. I mean, if I’d planned to have sex that night, I would’ve worn a different bra, right? After, whenever he wanted to have sex, he’d ask if he could visit the penguins.”

  “If I were about to have sex with you,” I said, “I wouldn’t care if there were penguins or ostriches or flying pink flamingos on your bra.”

  She laughed. “There are no birds on any of my bras anymore.”

  I made a playful tug on her shirt hem. “Can I check?”

  “Not yet,” she said. But she looked at me and smiled, and making her smile was the best thing I’d ever done. It was even better than kissing her.

  Okay, never mind, nothing was better than kissing her.

  So I kissed her. I kissed her for a long time, and by the time she drove me back to the school to pick up my bike, I knew she’d told the truth. There were no birds on her bra, only little white polka dots on the red cotton.

  * * *

  The next day, I was nervous. Sylvie brought Joan’s birthday gift to school. She got her a necklace with an ice cream cone pendant. Joan said it was an inside joke, or not a joke exactly, but there was a story and she’d tell me sometime. She put it on immediately.

  I’d shown up empty-handed. It’s not like I could bring the bike with me. How would I ride two bikes to school, and what would Joan do with it all day? It sure wasn’t going to fit in a locker or her little pink Beetle. It would have to be a later gift. I enlisted Ballard’s help to get it where I wanted it when I needed it to be there. We’d only talked a little since he showed up at my house and I punched Nick, but I was feeling too happy to hold my grudge.

  We were standing near the library, Sylvie and Ballard talking about Ballard’s party coming up over the weekend. She was helping him plan it, and she promised to “class it up” a notch.

  Joan and I were holding hands, listening to our friends argue about the need for cocktail napkins and floating lanterns. I loved how Sylvie brought out an almost romantic side of Ballard, and Joan said it was great to see Sylvie acting more like a teenager. They fit together. It was weird.

  Someone tapped Joan on the shoulder and she turned around.

  Wade.

  “Happy birthday,” he told her, holding out a bouquet of semi-wilted pink carnations.

  Joan stared at the flowers, her lips set in a hard straight line. She looked to be debating her next move. It would either be spit in his face or knee him in the balls.

  I took the flowers from his hands.

  He glared at me.

  “Hey, moron, those aren’t for you.”

  I took a step past Joan and dropped the ugly flowers into a big navy-blue trash can. No one said a word as I rejoined the group. Joan covered her mouth, suppressing a giggle. Wade’s face swirled like a lava lamp as various shades of blue and red and purple took turns shadowing his features.

  A teacher opened the library door, almost knocking Wade in the face. He tripped backward, righted himself, and came toward me.

  “Mr. Bond, you were supposed to be here ten minutes ago. You will never pass if you don’t show up to tutoring.”

  The teacher crossed his arms, and Joan lost her battle, letting the laughter escape. Wade’s head snapped toward her.

  “You’re an asshole, Wade,” Joan said, but her anger was mixed with happiness now. I’d made her smile again.

  “Joan, are you…” He paused and looked me over before finishing. “Are you seriously dating this dork?”

  Joan took my hand and squeezed it. “I am.”

  “What a waste.”

  “Mr. Bond, the only thing currently being wasted is my time. Let’s go.” The teacher walked back into the library and Wade turned to follow, head down.

  “Hey, Wade,” Joan called.

  He looked over his shoulder. “What?”

  “I’m going to let Stephen visit the penguins. I bet they’ll like him better.”

  Probably, antagonizing Thor isn’t a good idea. My guess is that thunder gods hold grudges. But we could deal with that later.

  * * *

  After school, Ballard met me at the house, cover off his Jeep, and we loaded Gwinn the Schwinn and the refurbished pink bicycle. Ballard pulled away and I went inside. Nick Dane was leaning against my bedroom door.

  “Hey, bro,” he said.

  “Hi, Nick.” I crossed my arms.

  “Look, man, I’m sorry I gave you the wrong idea. You know, about Joan and me. I didn’t know, you know?”

  “Didn’t know wh
at?” I raised an eyebrow.

  “That you, you know, were into her.”

  How many times could this guy say “you know” in a five-second span?

  “Joan’s cool. And she likes you, man. Be good to her, okay?” Nick eyed me like a possible danger, like he was Joan’s stand-in father, sizing me up and cleaning his shotgun.

  “Of course.” My fingers flexed in my pocket. My tics had been pretty calm over the last week or so, like sheer happiness was all it took to relax my nerves. I know that isn’t the case. When I’m stressed, it’s true, my tics get worse, but not being stressed doesn’t mean they go entirely away.

  “Can I get into my room now, please?”

  “Yeah, man, sure. We’re almost done back here. Dad’s painting now.”

  They weren’t done enough for me to use the new bathroom though. I grabbed my shower stuff and slipped into the old one, shaving despite little need for it, and putting on a dark green shirt. It was long-sleeved. The temp was dropping a touch, which is about the extent of fall in Alabama.

  When Joan rang the doorbell, Mom was home. She’d come in through the garage door and shot me a questioning look.

  “I know it’s a school night,” I answered her unasked question. “But it’s Joan’s birthday. I’m giving her the bike down by the trail.”

  She’d watched me work on the bike in our garage. Once she spotted the pink paint, I had no choice but to explain. She nodded. “Have fun, and don’t be out too late.”

  When I opened the door, Joan kissed my cheek and waved at my mother. “Hey, Reverend Luckie.”

  “Please, call me Renee.” Mom smiled at Joan.

  Joan and I got into her car.

  “So, what’s the surprise?” Joan asked.

  “You’ll see,” I told her. “Drive to Lost Bridge Park.”

  Joan was good at surprises. She didn’t ask any more questions.

  When we reached the bridge across the Tallapoosa, I watched her whole body change. Her knuckles went white on the steering wheel. Her breathing sped up and she stared hard, straight ahead. I reached across the console and put a hand lightly on her knee. Her muscles relaxed, but barely.

  When we exited the bridge, she took a deep breath. “That is so embarrassing.”

  “Why do bridges scare you so bad?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I never had any traumatic experience on one. But I have nightmares about them collapsing.”

  “That would be terrifying,” I admitted.

  “It is,” she said. “And I don’t know if the nightmares are because I’m scared of bridges, or if bridges scare me because of the nightmares.”

  It wasn’t far from the Tallapoosa to Lost Bridge Park. We passed Ballard leaving the lot, but Joan didn’t notice the Jeep. We parked, and I held her hand as we walked toward the trailhead, where the bikes were locked to a tree.

  Gwinn looked the same as always, green paint a little in need of cleaning. The pink bike glistened brand new, and there was a yellow ribbon tied in a bow on the handlebars. Mom tied the bow after my fifth attempt failed.

  “Happy birthday,” I said, suddenly nervous she would hate it.

  She looked from the bike to my face. “That’s for me?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I found it in the thrift store, and I fixed it up, painted it to match your car—”

  “Oh, Stephen!” She grinned wide, cheeks pink and dark eyes sparking like flint. She threw her arms around me, and I laughed.

  Once I’d unlocked both bikes and stashed the chains in her car, we pedaled off into the woods. As we rode, we talked about Ballard’s party and whether or not we should do one of those cheesy couple costumes. I was relieved she didn’t want to, because I didn’t either, but if she’d said she wanted to, I would’ve done it. I wouldn’t tell Joan no. I wanted to say yes to her, over and over and over, give her anything she wanted.

  Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

  A mile into the ride, we topped a small hill and there it was, Lost Bridge.

  Joan braked, and I stopped beside her.

  “We can turn back,” I offered.

  She shook her head. “I don’t let fear win. Ever.”

  “Okay, then, if you’re serious, we can’t ride over it fast either.”

  “What do you mean?” Her head tilted, eyes locked on the wooden slats. It had rained the day before, so the creek was full and rushing.

  I leaned my bike against a tree and motioned for her to do the same. She did, and when I took her hand it was trembling.

  “Over water is the worst.” She tightened her grip the closer we got. “Bridges on the interstate aren’t so bad, but when there’s water…”

  “Shh…,” I said. “Don’t think. Just walk.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You aren’t scared of anything.”

  I stopped and looked at her. “Are you kidding?”

  She shook her head.

  “I’m scared of everything. All the time. Hell, Joan, until recently, I was scared of you.”

  She tore her eyes from the bridge two feet away and met my eyes. “Me?”

  I walked forward, holding her attention the best I could. “Yes, you. You are gorgeous and strong and wild and free, and I am, well, me. You can be pretty intimidating.”

  She smiled again, and I stopped walking. “Look.”

  She glanced around and froze. “Shit.”

  I took her other hand and pulled her facing me. We were dead center of Lost Bridge. If we looked down, we would see Lost Creek stampeding beneath our feet. We didn’t look down though. We looked at each other.

  “Are you scared?” I asked.

  She nodded.

  “I’m right here,” I whispered in her ear, my arms locked around her waist. “I won’t let go.”

  She tugged at my shirt, her fingers tangled in the fabric, and I held on tighter.

  “Stephen,” she said into my chest.

  “Yeah?”

  “What if my dad doesn’t get better?”

  I ran my fingers along her spine, pressing into each knot of bone, the pieces that held her together, made her stand tall. I was holding Joan’s pride in my hands, and I had to be careful not to break it.

  “I believe he will,” I told her. “But if he doesn’t, you’ll be okay. Better than okay, because you’re strong.”

  “I don’t feel strong.” She pulled her head back, our bodies tight together and eyes locked.

  “You are.” I pressed my palm against her spine. “Feel that?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was so low, so quiet, I barely heard it.

  “That’s you, Joan. When you fall down, you always get back up, and nothing your dad does can change that. Nothing Wade says about you can be true so long as you stand up straight. He doesn’t get to win.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  I smiled. “Nope. He doesn’t. We win, Joan. We win.”

  And I kissed her there, in the middle of her worst fears, her body going soft and easy in my arms. The sound of the creek disappeared. Wade and her father disappeared. Pilar and Erin and Ballard and Nick. Everyone was gone but me and her.

  As we walked to our bikes, Joan put her hand on my back and I paused. She ran her fingers slowly up my spine, tingles shooting over every inch of me. “Feel that?”

  “Yes,” I answered.

  “You’re strong too, Stephen. You’re strong enough to keep me from breaking, and I didn’t think anyone was strong enough for that.”

  We got back on the bikes, and when we rode across Lost Bridge, Joan Pearson was grinning at me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Halloween party fell on a cool night, rain threatening but not quite leaving the clouds. Joan wore black jeans, a black sweater, and a headband with cat ears. I picked her up in Mom’s car and drove us to Lake Martin while she scrolled through radio stations. Our being together had become comfortable without ever losing the spark that made me grin anytime she looked my way.

  As we walked toward the front door, I s
potted Wade by the water’s edge and shuddered with a sense of déjà vu. He didn’t trip me though, didn’t even notice Joan and me darting past.

  Once inside, I grabbed us a couple of sodas, neither Joan nor me wanting to repeat the drunken shenanigans we’d indulged in at our last party. As usual, the front room was full of people playing Call of Duty on the giant screen TV. Joan found Sylvie, and the two of them flitted off to the bathroom.

  Left on my own, I wandered into the dining room and was surprised to find Pilar and her cousin from Moorhen, Luz, watching some guys set up beer pong. Luz glared when she spotted me, but Pilar only looked wary.

  My fingers flexed against my Coke can. I didn’t know what to say but needed to say something. My ability to talk to girls should’ve improved after the last month, but it hadn’t. I mumbled something incoherent, and Pilar raised her eyebrows.

  “Sorry,” I said, more clearly. “Could I maybe talk to you a minute?”

  “I’m listening.” She didn’t move toward the door. She wasn’t going to make this easy.

  The beer pong boys went on arranging tiny red cups, and Luz watched me squirm.

  “So, um, we didn’t part on the best of terms.” I tried to suppress a jerk of my left shoulder.

  Pilar harrumphed and Luz rolled her eyes.

  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I was a clueless douche, and I should’ve respected you enough to be honest from the very beginning.”

  “Yeah, you should have,” Pilar said.

  As though on cue, Joan appeared beside me in the doorway. She grabbed my hand and wove our fingers together, squeezing.

  Pilar’s eyes trailed down my arm, paused at Joan’s hand gripping mine, and then traveled back to my face. “Yeah, well, it’s over now. Whatever. I’m not sitting around pining for you or anything.”

  “I hope you can forgive me,” I told her.

  Pilar shrugged. “You were right that we weren’t officially together to begin with. But we weren’t not together either, Stephen. Relationships aren’t black and white, and I can’t just snap my fingers and forgive you.”

  “I know,” I said, fingers flexing against Joan’s hand. I did know. People were always thinking I should be able to decide to change and then change, just like that, and I was never able to please them. The brain and the heart were not electronics with on-and-off switches. “I know, Pilar. I just…”