Melt With You

by Addison Moore

  “I need to get in on this.” Kelly runs a line up my neck with her moist finger. “You going to be around when I’m done?”

  “Of course. I’ll kick back with the boys.”

  “Just one dance—then I’m dancing with you, beneath the sheets!” She sways her way over to her buddies.

  I lean into Frankie. “Be right back.”

  “Dude”—he pulls me in with a remorseful look on his face—“where you going? You said you were hanging out with the boys.”

  “I am hanging out with you. I just want to bring a few beers to that chick I thrashed and her friend. It’s the right thing to do, man.” I take off and scoop up two ready-and-waiting Solo cups brimming with the foaming refreshment and trek across the lawn.

  “There he is.” Melissa hops over with a huge grin blooming on her face. “Those aren’t for us, are they?” Her eyes widen and retract as she looks to the amber liquid.

  “Nah, I just thought I’d water the grass,” I tease as I hand one to her friend Jennifer, and Melissa takes one as well.

  “Oh, wow. We don’t really drink.” She puts her lips to the cup, and her expression sours. “But thank you. I think.”

  I give a little laugh. “It’s an acquired taste. I used to think it tasted like skunk juice when I was a kid.”

  “You were a smart kid.” Melissa squares out her smile. “So what happened?” She bubbles with a laugh. Melissa doesn’t need the beer to loosen her up. Once you get to know her, she’s super easygoing.

  “You’re lucky I get you.” I pull her into a partial hug. “Thanks for coming. I’m just glad to see you out and not cooped up inside your room.”

  “Oh, she wouldn’t mind.” Her friend gives Melissa the side eye as if she’s aiming to embarrass her. “She’s got lots of stuffed animals to keep her company.”

  I grimace at her buddy for a second before looking back to her. “You’re lucky. I happen to be a very big fan of stuffed animals.” I gently tuck my elbow in Melissa’s rib. “You should come up to my room sometime. We’ll compare collections. I’ll catch you two later!” I jog back. My heart pumps with twice the adrenaline than when I claimed that win.

  I spot Kelly on the dance floor, sloppy drunk, with her ass hanging out of her skirt, her hair rumpled into one giant tumbleweed on top of her head. Too bad Kelly and I can’t have the same conversation, the same witty banter that I get with Melissa. Too bad Kelly’s too wasted to have any conversation.

  Frankie and Russell nod me over, and I head in that direction.

  “What’s up with you and that chick?” Frankie doesn’t bother hiding the fact he’s staring at Melissa. “It’s been three frickin’ weeks. Dude, she doesn’t need you. She’s got a friend to cart her around.” Frankie smiles through the cigarette dangling from his lips. It’s a clove, and if I smoked, that would be my weapon of choice. I fucking love that smell. He nods, just waiting for me to say something he thinks he wants to hear. “Something going on that we should know about?”

  Russell leans in with morbid curiosity written on his face.

  “Nah, man, it’s not like that. She’s just a friend. I sort of owe her the next few weeks, at least until she’s out of that cast.”

  Russell looks back at her as she and Jennifer make their way to the gate. “She’s pretty cute. Her friend’s hot, too. Maybe I’m the one who should be offering her rides and shit. You think she puts out?”

  I smack him in the chest. “Don’t even talk like that. Consider her taken. She’s sweet. You want a head monster—you know where to find them.”

  Russ and Frankie exchange goofy grins.

  “Dude”—Frankie shakes his head as he flicks his cigarette to the ground before grinding it out with his heel—“you’re into her.”

  “I’m not into her.” My heart thumps once as if calling me out on the lie.

  “It’s not a big deal.” He holds up a hand. “No one’s judging you. She’s fine. She’s got that whole I’m-so-innocent thing going on. Trust me, I get the appeal.” He plucks a tiny bag out of his pocket with a few fat joints proudly displayed and shoves it to me. “Congrats on the win. If you want some fresh ass on the side, I’ll be the last one to blame you—or call you out on it.” He glances to the dance floor where Kelly is bent over a table while Michelle grinds against her from behind. “Just be careful. You are playing with fire, my friend.”

  And oddly, right here, this strange, slightly coital moment is when I know—it’s over. Kelly and I were over long ago. This summer I tried six different times to explain to her that I needed some space, but she effectively roped me right back in. But seeing her like this—feeling like I do anytime I see Melissa—I realize that Kelly was never the one for me. As soon as she sobers up, I’ll make it crystal clear. This ends. Kelly and Joel have run their course. This is where I get off the crazy train I boarded without realizing it well over a year ago.

  A girl comes over and pulls Frankie off into the dark. Russell’s ex comes over, and he, too, falls by the wayside.

  I spot Kelly by the patio, downing the contents of another Solo cup as if it were water. This isn’t going to end well. Her body bucks, and for a second I think she’s choking until she leans over and pukes in the bushes.

  Maybe this will end well after all.

  In less than ten seconds, I head over and insist on driving her home. I strap Kelly into my truck as we head down the twisting, winding roads in the thick of dark while she belts out every show tune known to man. Cats is her current running favorite. Her folks are going to love it when we walk into the living room, and she meows at the top of her lungs. Kelly’s parents are notoriously anti-party, anti-alcohol, anti-fun—which makes total sense since they’re the self-appointed moral compasses of Glen Heights. Her father is the deacon of a small congregation on the Hill, and her mother makes it her business to judge other people’s decisions. Last year, when Tiffany was a senior, she was suspended for three days after getting caught smoking pot in the bathroom. When the Mastersons learned of my sister’s “indiscretion” as they called it, they were quick to deduce our mother was an absentee parent. I haven’t been a big fan of theirs ever since. My mother may not be the head of the PTA, but she’s as hands-on as she needs to be.

  I park out front, leave the engine running for the quick getaway I’m hoping for as I help Kelly out of the truck. She tries to swim out of my arms as I make a big stink getting her up onto the porch, stomping my feet, knocking into a planter or two to get the metal railing rumbling like thunder.

  “Shh!” Kelly’s hand keeps sliding off her face, and she breaks out in a riot of giggles. “Daddy’s gonna kill you!”

  “I’m not really aiming for death in this scenario, but nothing would surprise me.” Personally, I believe she’s the one he’s going to kill, at least figuratively. I’m rooting for some serious house arrest to take place. I can use a little break—a permanent one. In fact, I need to break things off the sooner the better. Before the idea can get too far in my head, I give a few brisk knocks over the door, and the lights flick on in the living room.

  It takes less than five minutes for her mother to snatch Kelly into the safety of their home and for her father to deem me a damn heathen and tell me to get the fuck off his property. Gotta love the deacon.

  * * *

  My truck is still warm when I jump in and head down the Hill without thinking. Before I know it, I’m parked in front of Melissa Malinowski’s house.

  There’s something about this girl I can’t quite put my finger on—she’s like a dude in girl’s skin. No, wait, that’s not right. She’s like a buddy, easy to hang out with, and she smells better than Frankie or Russ.

  The house is dark, save for the windows lining the side of the house. My muscles tense as I step over the dead leaves on the side yard, and a dog starts barking wildly next door.

  Through a crack in the blinds, I spot Melissa sitting on her bed. Something red and familiar lies at her feet. Is that a View-Master? I lean in, and so
n-of-a-bitch, it is. I give a soft laugh. Next to it lies a Rubik’s Cube, and next to that a stack of books.

  She looks sweet sitting there, jotting something down in her notebook. I feel like a pervert for peering at her like this, so I give a gentle knock to her window.

  “It’s just me,” I whisper, and the dog goes wild as if I just set his tail on fire.

  The light goes off in her room as the curtains slowly push to the side. I give a partial wave into the darkened glass, and the light comes on again. This time the window glides up, and before I know it, Melissa’s face is pushed close to the screen.

  “Are you nuts?” She giggles into her words, and just hearing the sound of her voice makes my adrenaline spike once again. Crap. I’m doomed.

  “Nope. Not nuts—bored. Let’s just say the party ended a little abruptly for me. You want to hang out?”

  Her shoulders ride up to her ears a moment. “Only if you promise there’s no pig’s blood involved.”

  My brows knit at the thought. “Definitely none of that.”

  Melissa takes a few minutes to hobble out the back. She holds her finger to her lips.

  “I take it this is a covert operation?”

  She gives a furtive nod. “There’s a park across the street.” She motions down the block, and we make our way in that direction.

  A few houses down, she starts to relax. “So what happened at the party when I left? Did the other team show up and try to even the score?”

  “Funny. That would have been more interesting than watching Kelly barf up a lung. I had to take her home early. She was pretty wasted.”

  “Bummer. Does that mean you don’t get laid? It was made clear to me upon accepting my pompoms that it’s a requirement for a cheerleader to make sure each member of the team has a happy ending on game night.” She bites down on that mischievous smile of hers. “But only when you bring home a victory. So it’s totally understandable that the other team would want to kick your ass. It’s sexual frustration on their part.”

  “Boy, you’re a freaking riot. Is that really what they teach you in cheer camp?”

  “I wouldn’t know. I never had the chance to go.” She whacks me with her crutch. “But I’m starting to think it’s for the better. I’d much rather hang out with you than learn how to efficiently give a blowjob.”

  “Geez. You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

  “I’m just messing with you. I had a weird night. Sarcasm has always sort of been my best defense. And when there’s nothing to defend, I guess it’s still my go-to language. What about you? Anything you rely on as a crutch?” She tries to trip me with one, and I’m starting to think her sense of humor involves evening up the broken leg score. “I’m punny, too, you know.”

  “You are punny and apparently dangerous. Should I go back and get my helmet?”

  “No, I think you’re hard-headed enough for the things I have planned for you.” Her lips twist, and the urge to kiss them burns through me for a second.

  Down, boy. We’re not going there.

  “You’re my crutch.” I tousle her hair. I was right. It’s softer than Kelly’s. I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’ve wanted to do that since the day I landed her in the hospital. It’s weird. I’ll probably have a hair fetish one day or something.

  We head into the park and make a beeline toward the picnic area. She sits on the table, and I hop up next to her, plucking a joint out of my pocket along with a lighter I snatched from my glove box.

  “You mind? It’s a gift from Frankie for winning the game.”

  She looks at it quizzically a moment before her eyes enlarge. “No. Go right ahead. Can you drive after that?”

  “I’m good if I do just one.” I light it up and take a full lung-warming drag, feel the burn, and hold it in a good solid minute. The world relaxes with my next breath, and I’d swear on my mother’s life, the trees are swaying to the newfound rhythm playing in my head. “You want some?”

  “Oh, um—sure.” She leans in and takes a puff, sputtering and coughing for the next few minutes as if she just emerged from the bottom of a lake. “Great.” She fans herself back to life. “Why do I get the feeling my life is about to turn into an after school special?”

  “Sorry.” I hop down and land my legs on either side of the bench so I can face her. It’s obvious she’s never done this before, and for some reason, I find that alarmingly attractive. That’s the thing about weed and me. I’m always hornier than shit after I take a few puffs. I’d better stop while I’m ahead or this isn’t going to end well. “What were you doing just now in your room?” I take another hit as she manages to calm down.

  “Working on my killer essay.” She glares at me. I’m not sure what she’s suddenly pissed about, but I find it cute as hell. “I’ll get the chance to be a recurring Teen contributor if I get in. I figured it’d help out on my college apps.”

  “Tell me about it. What’s the winning topic? Does this have to do with cheer?”

  “Wow.” She rolls her eyes. “You’ve really been around Kelly for too long. You’ll be fascinated to know that the female mind expands far beyond the reaches of field calisthenics. My theme is the hierarchical structure of intermingling social classes. In other words—the social bullshit between the rich and those not well off enough to be deemed middle class.” Her lips twist with that nervous borderline frustrated look she gives on occasion, and I want to smile. All of Melissa’s expressive mannerisms make me want to break out into a huge goofy grin, and for the life of me I can’t figure out why. It’s like she gets me high all on her own—a Melissa high. There goes that goofy grin again.

  “Social acceptance, huh?” I refrain from looping this back to cheerleading. Melissa is smart. Damn smart, and I would be lying if I didn’t say she just impressed the living hell out of me.

  “You know”—she shrugs—“the San Ramos kids versus the Heights. It’s blue-collar kids pitted against rich, preppy snobs—no offense. That’s just my shorthand. It’s class warfare at its finest playing out right in front of us.”

  “That’s cool—I think. I’m not a preppy, so I can’t be offended.” I bump my knee to hers, and she takes in a quick breath as if that small physical gesture excited her—or I suppose, alarmed her, but right now, I’m going with excited. “I’m not much of a writer, but I did get an A in AP English, so if you want a second pair of eyes, just say the word.”

  “Word.” She pinches the joint away from me like she’s suddenly been lighting up her entire life, and that goofy grin takes over my face again. Bottom line, I think Melissa just makes me goofy, period. “But as much as I would love a second pair of eyes, I’m too embarrassed to show anyone what I write. I don’t know—writing is so personal. It’s like cutting open your soul and letting the real you bleed through. It’s kind of like being naked in a crowded room.” She shrugs, putting the joint to her lips. And now the pervert in me can’t help but envision her naked, and my brow rises approvingly.

  “Inhale nice and easy.” I place my hand over her back as if to guide her. “That’s it. Now hold it. Don’t exhale. The longer you hold it in, the better it’s going to be.”

  The whites of her eyes dart to mine, and as soon as we look at one another, we lose it. Melissa exhales, coughs, and sputters as she tries to laugh, and she’s choking to death all over again.

  “I can’t do it.” She wipes the tears from her eyes “Hey, why does it look like that lamppost is melting?”

  I lean in to get a better look just as she bobs my way, and our faces bump. We back up and freeze a moment, her eyes locked on mine, my chest thumping out of control, and it feels hypnotic.

  “That’s because it’s working,” I whisper just over her lips, the heat from her body warming my skin. I clear my throat and back up a few inches. “Maybe you can fit that into your essay—the trials and tribulations of getting stoned in the park with a friend.”

  “Yeah.” The smile glides off her face as she glances down at the table a se
cond. Her tongue glides over her lips, glossing them, and I can’t stop staring. “You’ve been a really great friend.”

  Friend. My insides churn at the thought. Normally, it would have been a compliment, an honor to be Melissa’s friend, but tonight it feels like I’m being marginalized as something less than what I want to be.

  Something about the night, the thick cover of darkness, the ground fog starting to creep in around the edges makes it feel safe enough to say anything.

  “You know”—I swallow hard, my face inching closer to hers again—“sometimes I don’t really think of you as a friend.” The words float through my lips before I can stop them. Not sure I wanted to.

  “Let me guess. You think of me like a sister?” She frowns into what sounds like disappointment.

  A tiny pinhole of hope springs in me. A swell of relief takes over. Maybe Melissa wants this with me?

  “Your deductive logic skills are sharp, but way off, young grasshopper.” My hands run down her arms. Her sweater is soft, softer than anything I’ve ever felt in my life. And she smells so fucking good I’m fighting the urge to bury my face in her neck, her hair. It could be that I’m stoned, or it could be that I am totally gone with this girl—the way that both Frankie and Russ insist I am—the way that deep down I know I am. “I don’t think of you as a sister.” The smile glides off my face as my eyes bear hard into hers. My entire body tenses with excitement as I try to calm myself down. She’s not here for that. Heck, I don’t even know if she thinks of me that way.

  “Good thing.” She leans in, never taking her eyes off mine as if it were a dare. “I’d hate to think you sit around getting high with your sister.” She lets out a breath right over my mouth. “Rumor has it, this stuff is a powerful aphrodisiac that can lead to compromising positions while you stuff your face with Cheetos.”

  “Sounds painful.”

  “It should be.”

  “You nailed it. I’m all about compromising positions and Cheetos.” I take another hit and douse the bud against the table before I decide I need to nail something myself. But I’m feeling it—feeling something that I’ve never known before. I scoot in close until my thigh is pressed up against hers. Melissa twists into me—her eyes wide as lanterns, her breathing dense and heavy. “Do you feel like you’re my sister?”