by Michelle Ray
He pulled the door to the gym and held it open. I hesitated and waited for him to go through. He gestured for me to go first, but I stood my ground.
“B, just go through the damn door.”
I was about to argue about how foolish it was for me to go first just because I was a girl, and how the feminist movement had been going for quite a few decades rendering such old-fashioned chivalrous behavior unnecessary. But it sounded kind of self-righteous, and more than anything, I wanted to wash the pig juice off my hair, so I went in.
“Well, Berkeley and UCLA for in-state,” he answered as he followed me.
I thought for sure after the door thing he would have given up on conversation. In the past, he would have bolted past me in a huff, but he didn’t. He just kept walking and talking. Interesting.
He continued, “But I really want to go away. Tufts as a back up. And Harvard is a bit of a reach given my science grades, but I have a near-perfect average otherwise and my SATs are almost as high as yours, so I have a chance.”
“That’d be fun to end up in school together,” I said without thinking. A wave of unease crashed over me, so I picked up my pace, taking the steps double-time. He kept up with me, so I continued nervously, “I mean, fun to know someone from home. Since it’s so far away.”
To my relief, we’d arrived at the locker rooms and I could retreat into my own space to gather myself. What was my problem? Nothing between us had changed. Nothing. Except that he wasn’t being a jerk and I wanted him to like me. Gah. Why did I want that?
Ben
Things were going well. I didn’t flip out too bad when she wouldn’t go through the door, I kept the conversation going, and I had yet to puke about the pig thing.
She was kind of twitchy and nervous, which could have been a good sign. Or a bad one. I really didn’t know. But I hoped it was good.
We were at the locker rooms, so I asked, “I’ll meet you back out here?”
“Why?” she said.
Unnecessarily harsh and not what I was expecting at all. Involuntarily, I stepped back, and I might have even looked hurt. I don’t know.
Just when I was about to give up on the whole thing again, she gave a sheepish look and said, “I mean, I could take a while in there.”
Here’s what a loser I was: that little crumb of her not being rude totally brightened my mood. If I were a cartoon, flippin’ cupids would have been soaring around my dang head. I said, “That’s okay. I’ve got time. And I have to shower, too.” To demonstrate my point, I sniffed my formaldehyde hands and started to gag. Very smooth, right? I tried to play it off by pretending I was kidding and added, “That was so nasty.” I shook my head at myself as much as the memory, and disappeared into the boys’ locker room.
Beatriz Rojas Garcia ???
Beatriz
I had to sit for a minute before I opened my locker. Everyone loved to watch me—cool and collected Beatriz — freak out at the mention of Ben, so I was starting to wonder if they were just messing with me. But maybe not. Then what? Would I put myself in a position to let him hurt me again? And more than anything, I was worried that the source of our original problems hadn’t changed. Could I keep things between us from going too far? He just wasn’t able to keep his hands off me, and, though I protested, part of me didn’t mind want him to stop. If we got back together, would I be able to stay strong, and be the “good” girl my parents expected me to be?
God, I was so sick of everyone’s expectations. In just a few months I would be at college, and what my parents didn’t see wouldn’t hurt them. But while I was still in their house, it wouldn’t be so easy.
There was just one thing to do: resist the temptation named Ben Richardson.
Ben Richardson !!!
Ben
Standing in the shower, I tried to sort everything out. I didn’t want to like her. I didn’t. But when she was nice, she was so cool. And then I had the chance to notice how amazing her legs were in her too-short skirt, and how shiny her hair was as it hung down her back, and how white her teeth were, and how nice her smile was when she stopped being defensive and laughed.
I was in trouble.
I was pretty sure it was physically impossible for B to be nice to me for long. We’d always argued, even when we were dating. And that had ended badly. I hadn’t meant for it to go that way, but last year . . . I don’t know. I guess you could say my hormones were out of control, and when she kept pushing me away — well, there’s no excuse. I was an idiot and I really felt bad about it. I still do. But the damage was done before a logical thought had worked its way through my stupid, lust-clouded head. I hooked up with Bexley Sambadi in the back of her parents’ minivan — on school grounds, no less—without thinking of the consequences. I wouldn’t do that again to B if she and I got back together. Never.
If we did. Which we shouldn’t.
I shut off the water and knocked my head against the tile wall. What was I thinking? There was no way we could date again. No. Way. It took us over a year to even be civil to each other. Why would I want to mess that up by kissing her perfect lips or running my fingers through her wavy coal-colored hair or touching her —
Crap. I was definitely in trouble.
Beatriz Garcia Rojas Unexpected.
Ben Richardson No joke.
Beatriz
I pulled on the sweatpants with “Messina” running up one leg and “swim” across the butt. It occurred to me that we should have gotten a note from Dr. Deutsche to explain our lack of proper uniform, but teachers trusted me, so if they asked I would just tell them . . . that a pig flew at my head. It sounded dumb, but who would make that up? Coming from Ben it would have sounded like a lie, but we had Spanish together, so I could explain for the both of us. “For both of us.” How quaint. How sickening.
I slammed my locker shut and threw my backpack over my shoulder. When I grabbed the handle of the door, I stopped. Would he be there waiting like he said?
I hoped he would be there.
He wasn’t. I was disappointed. And annoyed that I was disappointed.
Then he walked out of the locker room and stopped short when he saw me. “Took me longer than I thought,” he said. His face was flushed, and his wet hair was dripping on the hood of his gray sweatshirt. For some reason, this struck me as incredibly sexy.
He looked at me with squinted eyes and twisted lips, and I opened my mouth to say something but found I couldn’t. His damp hair and baby blues rendered me speechless. His eyes narrowed further and he fiddled with a rip in his hoodie pocket. My heart was beating quickly and I wished it would stop. Not completely. Just stop beating so fast. Ugh. I was being such a girl!
We started to walk down the hall and our fingers bumped. Casually. Accidentally? Just a bump. Innocent. Maybe. My mind was spinning. Then, after a few more steps, he reached for my hand and without hesitating I took it. The thrill of his hand on mine made me forget I was walking. I was dizzy and excited and confused.
Then he turned, slipped his arm around my back, and leaned in to kiss me. I was shocked into the moment and for the briefest second I enjoyed it. But then my hands were pushing him away.
Ben
My eyes flew open and my face went hot.
Just when I was ready to die, or at least transfer schools, B said, “I’m so sorry, Ben. I just got nervous for a second.” She reached for the strings of my sweatshirt and touched them with her fingertips. There was something extraordinarily intimate and sexy about that little gesture. “I’m so bad at this.”
I breathed out the tiniest puff of relief.
With a quaking voice, she said, “It’s like . . . I put up a wall to separate us, and I’ve spent months and months building gun towers and painting hate graffiti on it. I’ve spent so much time convincing myself that I can’t stand you. I’m not so sure I can go back.”
I enclosed her fingers in the palm of my hand, wanting to be gentle with her as she figured this out, too, and said, “Well, Ms. Rojas, I t
hink it’s time to tear down this wall.”
I held my breath.
Beatriz
I looked at my sneakers but didn’t pull my hand back. He was so close I could feel his breath moving the stray hairs on my forehead. But he didn’t throw his arms around me. He didn’t take me under the chin and pull it up so our eyes would meet. He didn’t make any snide remark. He waited. And that’s what convinced me that he had changed, that this might be all right.
I lifted my face and the smell of Spring Rain shampoo mixed with his musky deodorant made me a little light-headed. The trace of a smile in the corners of his lips put me over the edge and I lifted up on my toes and leaned in to kiss him. It was a darn good kiss — like all the things I remembered loving about kissing him plus some things I’d forgotten or that hadn’t been there before. His lips could never have been that soft and full. His hand pressing on my back could never have been so tender. His closed eyes could never have been so content. If it had been, why the hell did I let him go the first time?
He pulled back, his eyes widening. “God, B.”
“What?” I asked, worried. Maybe my kissing had gotten worse. How embarrassing.
“That was . . . wow. Did you always kiss like that?”
Ben
When she looked down, I had a flash of panic. I had offended her. God, what was wrong with me? How could I already have messed things up? But then she looked up and I could see worry in her eyes and the smile she was afraid to let crack across her face. And I wanted to kiss her again. And. And.
No. Not this time. I would take it slow. I was not going to make the same mistake twice.
The bell rang. “Damn,” she said, and I couldn’t have agreed more.
I held the door open and she walked through without arguing, but then she turned and pulled me back in. We could hear kids pouring out of the interior gym doors and storming the stairs. She spoke quickly. “Don’t tell anyone about this yet. I need time to adjust, okay?”
I agreed. I kind of needed a second, too.
But then, with the pounding of approaching students growing louder, she smiled the tiniest of smiles and reached out to touch my wet hair. A shock ran through my whole body and I wanted her to stop. And I didn’t. I couldn’t breathe. She let go of my hair and gently pressed her fingertips to the back of my head, pulling me gently, so gently to her. Our lips touched again and I thought I might explode. Jesus.
She stepped away, eyes wide, breathing hard, and said, “We’re gonna be late.”
A guy from PE class, still fixing his tie, charged past us and did a double take. I might have nodded at him or just stared blankly. Who knows? He smirked and kept running. I don’t know if B saw.
She hurried ahead of me out of the gym, but without thinking, we sat together in Spanish class. To make matters worse, Ms. Scott strolled over and said, “Interesante, Señor Richardson y Señorita Rojas. Donde están sus uniformes? Qué pasó?”
“Our uniforms? Uh . . . biology accident,” I answered.
Everyone laughed at my humiliating word choice, and I slumped in my chair.
“En español,” insisted Ms. Scott.
My face darkened and I looked out the window, totally unable to speak. B explained why we weren’t in uniform. My eyes drifted back to see what Ms. Scott’s reaction would be. She did not even attempt to mask her amusement, and walked to the board to write down the homework assignment, snickering.
B’s eyes met mine and we both tried not to smile. Then I looked around the room. Sula looked like she could barely contain her glee. Were we that obvious? When I turned my head and saw Bexley Sambadi, who always sat next to me — creepy and annoying, given that I hadn’t really spoken to her since the unfortunate hook up — glared at us before going back to furiously doodling in her textbook.
I saw Bryce pull out his cell phone.
Bryce Krunk The plot thickens.
Beatriz
After class, we walked to the yearbook room, but not together. As if that was going to stop rumors from flying. When I got there, it was bustling with other students, which was not surprising given it was the electives block, but still totally disappointing. I don’t know about Ben, but I spent all my energy trying not to think about how much I wished we were alone and about those kisses. The period dragged by and when the bell rang, we had to go in different directions.
When we got into the hall, he asked, “Will you come to the game? It’s on campus today.”
I looked over my shoulder and lowered my voice. “I . . . I could, but I’m not really sure how that’d look. I rarely go to games, so what excuse would I have?”
Ben stepped closer — close enough that I got the chills. “I think everyone figured it out when we sat together in Spanish today.” My body tensed immediately. “Why do you need an excuse?” he whispered. “Just come. I want you there.”
Knowing it wasn’t the answer he wanted, I still said, “We’ll see.”
Ben
One incredibly dull hour later, I went to get ready for the game. Even though I didn’t want to wonder if B would show up, I did. A week earlier, I not only wasn’t looking for her, I wanted her as far away as possible. Now the idea of being stood up made my stomach hurt. But I thought she might come, and even though it was a weeknight, I wondered if I could get her to go out with me afterwards. Probably not. She would say she had schoolwork, which was true, and she would say we ought to play it cool, which was also true. But I didn’t want to do the right thing. I wanted to do her.
No. No. Keep it clean. I wanted to be with her. Beatriz was too great to mess with. Take it slow.
Peter snapped me out of my head by asking, “Ben, you wanna grab food with me after the game?”
I hesitated. No words came. Where had my wit gone, not to mention my sanity?
Clay offered, “I’ll go.”
“Nah,” said Peter. “It’s Friday night. Hope will want to be taken somewhere. Ben here’s my go-to. Clay, you are officially chained, but no girl weighs Ben down.”
I pulled my jersey over my head. “That might not last forever. I’m not as bad as you think.” The guys stared at me. “All I’m saying is, people can change.”
“I noticed,” said Peter, pulling his tie off and balling it up. “You seem serious today, dude.”
“Maybe he’s in love,” smirked Clay.
Peter laughed. “Ben? No way. If he’s serious he must want to borrow money.”
“Or he’s sick,” Clay added.
I leaned down for my shin guards and shoved them under my socks, wishing they would change the subject.
“It’s love. I’m telling you,” said Clay.
Silence made me look up and Peter was studying me. “He did tuck his shirt in today. And his hair is looking especially cared for.”
I smoothed my hair and said, trying not to sound too defensive, “I had to wash out the dead pig juice.” I leaned down to tie my cleats, wishing I could disappear. I don’t know why their banter bothered me so much. Usually my being with someone was news I wanted shared and discussed if not outright envied.
“You smell pretty fresh, too,” Peter said, leaning in and sniffing my neck. I shoved him away and Peter and Clay laughed, as did other guys from the team. I hadn’t realized they were listening to us. I stood and hurried to the door.
“Sensitive. Another sign of love,” added Clay.
“Ben, don’t go,” said Peter. Then to the team he said, “Can’t take a joke? It’s definitely love.”
Clay said, “And I know with who.”
Kai chimed in from across the locker room, “Must be someone who doesn’t know him.”
“Yeah. No girl who knows Ben could possibly want him,” said Antonio. B’s brother. Great.
“Ben wants to know every girl that moves,” Peter said meaningfully. Because that wasn’t quite painful enough, he added, “Biblically speaking.”
I crossed my arms, ready to argue. Then I glanced at Antonio, more uncomfortable with talking about
the guy’s sister than being ridiculed, and said instead, “I need to talk to Coach before the game.” I pounded out into the hall.
Sometimes I hated my friends.
Beatriz Garcia Rojas Second guessing.
Beatriz
I leaned against a giant oak on the campus green, wondering what to do. I had work to finish and wanted to keep this thing with Ben quiet. There was no reason to rush things, but he had asked me to go to the game. And everyone gathering on the field sounded so excited and happy. I reprimanded myself for thinking that anyone would even notice or care that I was there, and walked under the arches of the administration building and up to the field. Both teams were warming up, and spectators were milling on the sidelines. Good. A crowd. I could blend in.
Our team was warming up. Ben kicked and as he spun away to make room for the next player, he saw me, and half tripped on his own feet. I tucked my lips between me teeth, resisting the urge to laugh.
Hope called out, “B, what are you doing here?”
I stammered, “Well, uh, it’s been so long since I came to a game.”
“Yeah,” said Sula, flipping her braids, “if by that you mean never.”
I swallowed hard. Crap. I had to think quickly. “Someone — can’t remember who — said I never come to support my uncle and Antonio, and that is so true. I ought to be there for him.”
“Yeaaaahh,” said Maggie dramatically, exchanging a look with Sula and Hope. “You look a little sick, though. You’re not actually allergic to sports like you’ve been claiming, are you?”
“I am feeling a little weird,” I said. “I think they just cut the grass or something.” I cleared my throat a few times, and my eyes drifted back to Ben who was kicking to Bryce.