The First Kiss Hypothesis

by Mandelski, Christina

  I won’t turn and look at them again. I can’t. There’s this tingle in my throat, like you get when you’re about to puke. I have this feeling that it just happened. They kissed. Lightning struck. I swear I can almost smell the scorched earth. Hypothesis proven.

  My blood is running hot through my body, it’s all going to my head which is about to explode.

  Not that I believe in her damn theory. It’s bullshit. But maybe if you want something bad enough, you can delude yourself into thinking that it’s actually happened. All she needs to do is tell herself it was magic—and that’s it.

  I lose.

  Like they’ve just thrown gasoline on my anger, I feel myself go up in flames. I need to leave.

  I move down the sidelines carefully on my crutches.

  “Coach, my knee’s killing me,” I tell him.

  “Go home, Costas,” he says. “Knee takes priority.”

  I don’t look back. You know what? He can have her. I hope they live happily ever fuckin’ after.

  I high-five Samir as he passes me on the sidelines, and then I head for the parking lot. I’m done. Done with my plan to change her mind. Done with whatever feelings I’ve had for her all these years. Time to shut that down.

  I’m done trying to protect her from heartbreak, and a future as a lonely little medical-researching cat lady.

  I’m done with worrying about her. I’m done loving her.

  I’m done with Nora Reid.

  We are done.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Nora

  I didn’t know that Eli was going to be there, limping up and down the sidelines on those crutches.

  I don’t think he saw me and honestly, I didn’t want him to. Not with Caleb. The thing is, Caleb’s sweet and funny. He’s not all about sports. He’s smart, and wants to be an architect, and he doesn’t just say that’s what he wants to do—he’s passionate about it.

  Still, in spite of all that, our good conversation, and the fact he’s super handsome, I had an impossible time keeping my mind on him and off of Eli.

  Then something weird happened. Someone made a goal, or did something good, because the crowd went wild and I turned to Caleb. He was watching me. Not in a creepy way, but in an “I want to kiss you—now” way. Which was my cue, right? Put on my scientist hat, time to conduct my experiment. Kiss the boy. Wait for the reaction.

  He seemed to be tuned in to what I was thinking, because right then he lowered his face to mine, and…I pulled away! Completely out of kissing range.

  Wait, wait, I almost said, let’s try this again. Except I didn’t want to say it. I didn’t want to kiss him. It wasn’t a choice. It was like a reflex—it wasn’t up to me.

  So I faced forward and cheered, because that’s what everyone else was doing. It was a little awkward. Or maybe a lot awkward.

  Now the game’s over, and I am seriously having an out-of-body experience. Looking down on myself, I’m not sure who I am. I’m unrecognizable…and still scanning the crowd for Eli as we descend the bleachers. What’s wrong with me?

  Caleb and I make our way to the parking lot and I’m on the lookout for Michael Jordan. Caleb reaches out to take my hand. I freeze, stop in my tracks, and pull my hand out of his.

  “Sorry.” He’s surprised and maybe disappointed. “I should have asked.”

  I stop looking for Eli, and remember who I’m on a date with. Oh my God, he’s such a good guy. My inner Marie Curie (the actual woman, not the cat) is raging. Kiss him, at the very least kiss him, she says, in a thick French accent. What if he is the one? The chemical reactant you’ve been searching for? The human you’re made to be with? Don’t be foolish!

  But I don’t want to, Marie!

  We reach his truck, giant and white and shiny, the total opposite of Eli’s. He holds the passenger door open and peers down at me. “I’m glad you came,” he says in that slow and sexy drawl, like he has no idea what’s going on in my brain—which is total anarchy.

  I laugh a crazy, machine-gun laugh. “Thanks for asking me.”

  “You know,” he says, “you’re not like the other girls I’ve met here.”

  “No?”

  “No.” His mouth curves up on one side. “You’re not like any girl I’ve ever met anywhere.”

  I offer a weak smile. “Oh?”

  “You’re tough, and cute, and smart, and funny, and when I’m with you…” He rubs the fuzz of his buzz cut. “When I’m with you I feel weird.”

  “Weird?”

  “Yeah, but in a very good way.” He holds onto the door and leans close, so that I have no doubt what he plans to do next.

  So what do I do? I jump into the cab of the truck, out of his trajectory. Again!

  “Ready to go?” I chirp. Seriously, I sound demented. His confused face tells me that maybe he’s rethinking the whole cute and smart and funny statement.

  The ride home is a series of uncomfortable silences while I’m stuck in my head trying to figure out what’s happening to me. Why I didn’t kiss him. By the time he pulls into my driveway, I’ve come to no conclusions, and the first thing I think is MJ isn’t here. Oh my God, I’m so relieved. In the worst way, for reasons I’m afraid to admit, I don’t want Eli to know I went out with Caleb.

  He turns off the engine and we sit in silence, another awkward slice of time between us. I’m fidgety, confused, and I want to get out.

  “Should we maybe try this another time?” His voice is so smooth, like a less stoned Matthew McConaughey. He sounds totally relaxed, which I envy. “I get the feeling you’re kinda distracted tonight.”

  I’m so distracted my brain can barely focus on his words. I want him gone before Eli gets home. I clamp my fingers together to still my hands. I don’t know what to say. My brain is split in two, right side and left, debating each other. “Caleb…”

  “Are you interested in me at all?” He says this so matter-of-factly that I know this isn’t his first rodeo when it comes to rejection.

  I’m desperate to organize my thoughts, put them into some sort of rational order before I speak. “No, it’s not that,” I say.

  Of course it’s that, it’s exactly that. I am not interested, and I know what I have to do.

  I tuck my hair behind my ears, and turn to him. “Caleb. You are amazing. All the good things. But…I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

  He sighs. “You can’t.”

  All of a sudden, I feel lighter, like something heavy has been lifted off of me. “I know it doesn’t make sense, and you might think I’m a bad person. I mean, ask anyone. Cold. Harsh. Think I’m better than everyone else.”

  Caleb never loses eye contact with me, never stops smiling. “All right, now. That’s bull. I think you’re sweet.”

  “Me?” I say.

  “Yeah, sweet and smart and opinionated,” he says. “I like you.”

  Am I crazy, turning this guy down? I must be. “Thank you, Caleb.”

  “You sure you don’t want to give it a little more time? I mean, we only just met.”

  I don’t want to hurt him, I really don’t—I’ve just never been surer of anything in my life. “I’m sorry. I can’t explain it. It’s just something I know.”

  Something I know that’s changing everything.

  He taps my arm. “I hope we’re still gonna be friends. I could use a few.”

  I like this guy. This is a good guy. “I hope so, too, and so could I.”

  It would be decent of me to talk to him for a few more minutes, but I can’t. Something big has happened, and I need to get out of here. I open the door, lower myself down to the ground, and watch as Caleb drives away.

  I don’t know how I just did that—rejected the last age-appropriate male in Edinburgh I haven’t kissed.

  I only know I want to see Eli. Even if it’s not right, or safe, or scientific. I need to talk to him, to somehow tell him what’s happened to me and I have no idea what comes next. For now, though, I need to be near him. Hopefully I’ll figure out the
rest.

  I glance over my shoulder at our house. I can’t go in there and see the picture of Gigi and Harold when I might have just blown my whole hypothesis. So I go around the back, drop off my backpack, and sweep Marie Curie up into my arms. I know I can kill time with Ari and Mrs. Costas until he gets home. They’ll keep me company so I don’t obsess over the fact that I might have just made the biggest mistake of my life. Or done the best thing I’ll ever do.

  They’ll distract me from the fact I’ve officially lost control.

  I knock next door, and Ari answers, a cracker sandwich in his hand. Ari has a thing for crackers. He doesn’t like bread at all, so everything is on crackers if he can help it.

  “Hello,” I say, holding Marie up in my hands. “Brought a visitor.”

  Eli and Ari have the same smile, the same dimple. Ari’s goes just maybe a little bit deeper, especially when the cat is involved. He takes her from me as their dog, Chester, walks into the room, sniffs the air, and then plops down on the rug.

  Mrs. Costas comes into the living room. “Oh, Nora, there you are. Do you know where Eli is?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  She pets Marie in Ari’s arms. “He’s not answering my texts.”

  “I saw him at the game, but he left before the end I think.”

  “You went to a lacrosse game?” she says. “Wow, how many pies did he promise to bake you?”

  I don’t get the joke. “Oh no, no pies. I just need to talk to him.”

  Ari giggles when Marie starts to scratch their sofa.

  “Uh, no way, I don’t think so little miss,” Mrs. Costas picks Marie up and nuzzles the kitten against her cheek. “Well, why don’t you come in and have a visit until he gets home? And speaking of pie…” She winks, hands the cat to Ari, and we all three walk through to the kitchen, where Mr. Costas stands, in his boxers.

  “Michael, dammit, put some pants on!” she scolds him.

  Ari inhales sharply. “Ooh, Mom, you said dammit.”

  “Sometimes it’s the only word that works,” she says.

  “What? It’s not like I’m hanging out of them,” Mr. Costas mumbles. “Nora, I’ll have you know I always wear tighty-whities under my boxers, for occasions such as this.”

  That makes me cringe. “Okay, thanks,” I say, “that’s probably more than I need to know.”

  “Don’t pay any attention to him,” Mrs. Costas says as she pulls a cream pie out of the refrigerator.

  I gasp. That is not a Mermaid Diner pie.

  Mr. Costas sits down with a mug and his phone. “Never let it be said I was indecent in front of the neighbors.”

  “Never, hon, now drop it, please,” she says as she cuts a slice and passes it to me.

  I love this family. I love Ari. I love their dog. Their home.

  And their son? I can’t believe this. Where has the real Nora gone? The rational thinker, the experimenter, the scientist, the believer in a universe that operates on strict laws and rules?

  I dig my fork into this pie and realize that this is it: chaos theory, just like Eli said. The idea that some things are unpredictable. Like maybe love.

  I don’t believe that, or I didn’t believe that, but these last two weeks I’ve spent with him, on all these driving lessons, in an attempt to GET OVER HIM—have changed me.

  I taste the pie. Holy cow. It’s the black bottom pie—like the Tick Tock, but not exactly. It’s amazing. “Where did you get this?”

  “Eli made it,” she says, like he makes them every day.

  I choke down my bite of pie. “Eli? Your son?”

  She chuckles. “Didn’t he tell you? He’s taught himself how to make pies.”

  I swallow a forkful of the chocolatly, rich, deliciousness. “No, he didn’t.”

  “He always loved helping your grandmother. I think he even went and talked to her, asked her for advice. I thought for sure he’d tell you.”

  “It was a surprise,” Ari says, scooping up the chocolate from his pie onto a cracker, Marie mewing at his feet.

  “Oh?” Mrs. Costas’s eyes grow wide. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that. Well, I blew that one.”

  I stare at Ari. “Surprise? For who? Why?”

  Ari chews, and with his mouth open, revealing half-eaten chocolate pie, he manages to get out four words. “Because he loves you.”

  I freeze. No one moves. Marie meows.

  “Ari,” Mrs. Costas says, her voice calm. “Of course Eli loves Nora. We all love Nora.”

  He picks up another cracker. “He wants to kiss her,” he says like he’s giving us the weather forecast.

  “All right, Aristotle,” Mr. Costas stands up. “That’s enough of that.”

  “That’s enough of that?” Ari repeats.

  “Yes, that’s enough of that.” Mr. Costas takes another slice of pie. “But not enough of this.”

  “Michael,” Mrs. Costas says. “Sweetie, don’t you think one slice is enough?” She ignores what Ari just said, even though it’s all I can think about. Ari doesn’t lie.

  “No, ma’am, I don’t think one slice is enough.” He walks to where she leans against the sink. “We have a son who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about school, but he can make a damn good pie. Life is short, woman. I’m going with the pie.”

  “Well.” She pats his belly, which bulges more than it used to underneath his Def Leppard T-shirt. “We need you around for a few more years, so don’t get carried away.”

  He leans forward and kisses her. “No way, I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Good.” Mrs. Costas takes my plate and winks at me.

  But I’m still stuck back on what Ari said. Eli made pie. For me.

  There are butterflies doing cardio in my belly. My mind is like spinning like a ceiling fan on high. I can’t think straight. I don’t want to think straight.

  I want him.

  I want Eli.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Eli

  I couldn’t stay there, knowing they were up in the stands, knowing she was about to kiss him. So I limped my way off the field, threw my duffel in the back of MJ, and drove.

  My knee, it’s really hurting today, which makes everything else worse. As I drive I wish I could go away somewhere to college next year.

  Where would I go to school if I could?

  I’ve never been to any of the campuses Mr. Chaffee talked about, though some of them have good lacrosse programs like he said. I just can’t imagine any coach will want an injured player. Plus my grades suck. It’s too late. I’m stuck here.

  My knee throbs like a bass line and I drive and drive. The more miles I can put between me and Nora, the better. I won’t have to worry about her much longer anyway. She’s getting her license tomorrow. I have surgery on Monday. I won’t be driving her around anymore. I can spend the week recovering in more ways than one.

  Thinking of her sends a flash of pain through my chest, like I might have ripped a muscle in my heart. But I know about injuries—they hurt the worst when they’re fresh. I’ll get over it.

  Just a few weeks ago, I was fine knowing we’d only ever be friends. Then I saw that Emory email. That’s what sent me off on this dumb quest. Then it just kinda went off the rails.

  I don’t even realize I’m getting off on the exit until the Tick Tock is in front of me. I’ve been here before without her. The day I had off from school, I went to the center and visited Gigi and asked her about pie making. She had Claudia look in a drawer and give me a small metal box. Inside were all her recipes. Then I stopped in here and talked the waitress, Fran, into sharing the black bottom pie recipe with me. I told her it was for a girl.

  She winked. “The young lady who wasn’t your date?”

  I didn’t answer, but she knew. I didn’t care that she was right, because I had a solid plan to take her to Silver Springs and to make her pie, and the rest was supposed to have been history.

  What an idiot I am.

  I park and make my way inside. It’s not crowde
d, so I take a seat at the bar and lean my crutches against it. I don’t turn around to look at the booth where I sat with Nora and lectured her about my scientific theories. She didn’t buy them then, and she doesn’t today. It was just a desperate ploy to change her mind.

  I tap a rhythm on the counter while I wait for a server. I don’t see Fran anywhere. Fine. I don’t need her asking me how the pie went over with Nora.

  A waitress pushes through the swinging door to the kitchen—Charisse, according to uniform. She brings me the slice of blueberry I order and a cup of coffee. I did not order blueberry pie because I’m feeling sentimental about Nora. I ordered it because I like blueberry. Period. And I shouldn’t have to justify that to anyone.

  I douse the coffee with sugar and so much cream that it’s barely recognizable, just like my pride.

  I wish I didn’t remember the first day we met so clearly. The details, like how the breeze blew her copper hair. She was like the Little Mermaid in real life, only with purple teeth.

  I’m not sure I can eat any more. I push away the plate and consult the big clock that’s been ticking since 1949. It’s almost nine? I didn’t realize how long I’d been driving aimlessly.

  I pull the plate back. There’s still plenty of time to wallow in pie.

  “Want anything else?” Charisse asks when I’m done.

  Yes, I want to say. I want to not feel like total shit. Is that on the menu?

  “No, thanks.” I pay the bill, leave a decent tip, grab my crutches, and take off.

  Back inside MJ, I open my duffel bag, check my phone, which is overloaded with texts from Mom of the “where are you?” and “please check in” variety.

  I dial home and Dad answers Mom’s phone. “Where the hell are you?”

  The muscles in my jaw clench. It’s always this way with him. “Dad, I’m sorry, I threw my phone in my bag and forgot about it.”

  “Who are you with?” he barks in his gruff cop voice.

  Shit, not tonight, Dad. “No one.”

  “You’re alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sober?”

  I put the keys in the ignition. I don’t need this right now. “Yeah, I’m a hundred percent stone-cold sober.”