“Yeah, it is.” She looks at me plainly.
“You’re—”
“Oh no.” She cuts me off before I can blame her again. “It takes two.” She purses her lips, but then her gaze softens. “Look, I understand that you don’t have anyone else. And as fucked-up as you may think it is, I want someone else to touch you. I want you to know how good that can be. I was just trying to be someone you could explore with until you figured out whatever it is you need to figure out.”
“I didn’t need you to—”
“You did.” She pushes her chair back to stand up. “You do.”
The room feels like it’s full of steam and I’m drowning in dead bugs and foam. Lilith grabs her coat and pushes away her chair.
“If you don’t want to be touched anymore, fine,” she says. “If you think this”—she gestures to the table and my hands—“crossed some kind of line, fine. You just had to say so.”
I stare at her, and this whole conversation feels too loud. It’s too public and exposed. I’m furious at her. Furious that she thinks this is about me. Coffee spills onto my napkin, the brown spreading over the white, bleeding.
“I can’t believe—”
“Don’t,” she interrupts, and I clench my hands into fists. “Just go home and . . .” She clutches her purse to her chest. “I don’t know, just, figure out what you want. And figure out how to ask for it.”
My mouth falls open, and I notice people staring.
“I’ll see you at school,” she says, walking to the exit. The door chimes as she goes, leaving a shrill echo with her disappearing footsteps.
I blot the spilled coffee on my tabletop with the soiled napkin. The effort is fruitless, but it’s the only thing I can do. Everything Lilith has said makes my head spin. I didn’t want her to touch me. Did I? Not like she implies I did. It was just something safe, part of the intimacy of knowing her my whole life. I didn’t want more.
I never want more. I don’t want anyone to touch me.
No one.
I swallow and know that isn’t true. I wanted that kiss with Kurt. I like Lilith’s touch when it’s a comfort and she’s not pushing boundaries. Only that’s not what Lilith does. She likes to cross every boundary she can find, and this is another one of her games, manipulating everything. She didn’t do this for me.
She doesn’t do anything for me.
Marion
It’s Monday in chemistry, and there have been no calls, no contact, no Kurt. A few people looked at me funny in the halls, but I haven’t seen Conner since the party either.
Maybe nobody knows.
Abe drops his notebook on the desk and slides in beside me.
“So, Kurt Medford, huh?”
Or everyone knows.
I tuck my hair behind my ear and shrug.
“Maybe,” I say, but my hands are damp. The look of disapproval on his face makes my skin prickle. “Maybe it’s nothing,” I say, thrown off by how much I want him to believe that. Or maybe I’m trying to convince myself, so I don’t feel so guilty about the way he’s looking at me. Abe stifles a laugh, digging his knuckles into our desk. “Really,” I continue, trying to shake the waver in my voice. “It’s nothing.”
“Oh, I know it’s nothing.” He looks at me hard. “The problem is I don’t think you know it’s nothing.”
The air punches out of me. I look back at Kurt’s empty chair and try to breathe. What does Abe know? He wasn’t there.
“Why do you care?” I shoot back, trying to stay calm, and Abe scoffs. But then the confrontation shakes right out of him. He looks at me seriously and three soft curls fall onto his forehead. I reach out and tuck them behind his ear. I do it without thinking, caressing the dimple behind his ear. It’s not until my fingers are in his hair that I realize how personal it is.
“That’s why,” he says, and my whole body goes hot.
He looks at me and my belly curls tight with realization. I always want to put my hands in Abe’s hair. Always. It’s not just that kiss under the apple tree, and all the other fragile beginnings. It’s so much more than that. It’s all the things that weren’t about kissing. It’s how we used to walk through the forest and make up stories about my mother, or have root-beer-drinking contests at the creamery. It’s theater hopping on Sundays, and debating the evolutionary use of opposable thumbs, or lying in the grass with our legs intertwined, reading books and brushing those curls from his face. It’s all the things that weren’t the heat, that suddenly make the way he looks at me bloom with new fire. I’ve missed him. But it’s more than missing. It’s wanting in a way I was afraid to want him before. A way I wouldn’t allow myself to think about him, and suddenly all I want is for him to unfold me.
And he knows that. He can see that on my face.
“I, uh . . .” My mouth goes dry and my fingertips feel hot on the back of his ear. Is it possible that despite two years of unspoken silence, we’ve both been waiting for a second chance? “Abe, I, I—”
A rush of whispers runs through the room and Kurt walks through the doorway. He heads in our direction and my hand drops from Abe’s ear so fast I can’t control the lack of grace in it. I wish I could hide my panic and not have Abe notice, but Abe notices everything. I wish I hadn’t touched his hair. I wish I had more control over the way my body reacts and I didn’t see that look on Abe’s face, forcing me to admit I have feelings for him.
Only Kurt—
He walks right past us.
And not for a second does he look at me.
Abe lets out a small laugh, like he expected nothing less from Kurt, and I don’t want to believe it. I look away from both of them and stare at the shelves by the window, full of graduated cylinders and flasks. Glass things designed to take specific measurements, to catalog a chemical reaction, and measure the invisible.
Kurt flops down at his station behind me and stares up at the ceiling. Abe scowls at Kurt, who leans back in his chair, lifting the front legs from the ground. Tempting gravity.
Anger flushes through me at the fact that Kurt’s once again ignoring me. Kurt kissed me and that means something. He can’t just hide it under his tongue and forget it. Kisses have effects. They’re reagents. They change the whole body of a solution. I won’t pretend it didn’t happen.
I stand, feeling as uncertain as those legs on which Kurt balances. I feel Abe watching me and I have to push aside whatever I feel about him. The guilt and confusion. I have to face Kurt.
I walk up to him and his gravity shifts.
“Hey,” I say, and a split second of panic flies through him. He falls forward, the legs of his chair slamming down.
“Um, hi.” He rights himself, brushing down his shirt like he’s actually embarrassed. His eyes flick to Abe and something territorial darkens his gaze. Light hangs on his shoulders and my skin remembers the weight of him, against me on that car, and what wakes inside. He’s seen and touched so much of me, yet there’s always this awkwardness between us.
“So . . . ,” I start, hating the quiver in my voice and that this is so public. I hate that Abe is watching, and that there are others, and we’re at school. “Do, um . . .”
Heat flushes my ears and I don’t know why he does this. Stares at me with those quiet eyes and says nothing, like this is a game. Yet at the same time his look is always mixed with softness, like he’s looking for something else. I tuck my hair back with a nervous finger and the bell rings, loudness breaking in, and he clenches his hands like it’s the end of a game and the buzzer has gone off.
“Coffee?” he says quickly, and I don’t know if I want to cry or scream. Because there’s no way I’m going back up to that ridge. I must have been wrong about that kiss, and him sharing his music, and us being—
He grabs my hand.
“No, for real this time,” he says, his thumb rubbing my fingers softly. “No, like actual coffee.”
* * *
Kurt walks out of the gym after practice and his hair is wet from showering. I get up from the cu
rb where I’ve been waiting and smell soap on him. He looks me over, checking me out, only it’s not leering or even sexy. Just a look.
He’s unreadable. But somehow unreadable doesn’t strike me as unsafe.
I want to kiss him. The cold and the smell of soap have me feeling bold, but I don’t know the rules. What does that kiss at Carrie’s party make us?
The gym door clangs open and a group of Kurt’s teammates come out the door. Laughter cuts the quiet and I see Conner and Tommy look in our direction.
“Do you have a car?” Kurt asks, running a hand through his hair, and I’m thankful he’s asking about my car and not his.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding to where it’s parked and leading the way.
Kurt raises a hand to his teammates and their whistles shoot across the parking lot. He flips them off.
“Golden!” The word rings out and I know it’s Conner. I’m certain he said the word “Golden,” but I hear Goldie in the back of my mind. It curls my stomach with the smell of barbecue and beach peas.
I turn. “Are you sure we should—”
But Kurt’s right behind, and we’re so close he smacks right into me.
“Shit!” He twists to the left, but our chests connect. I try to catch my balance, but we trip. There’s a jumble of arms, and—smack!—my elbow cracks against something hard.
I stumble back to see Kurt clutching his chin.
“Oh no! Did I—?”
He grits his teeth together, biting back a surge of pain. I reach out to help, but he steps to the side, holding a hand up that means he needs a minute.
“I’m sorry,” I say, giving him the space, and he turns away to spit blood on the asphalt. “Oh God!”
“It’s fine,” he says, spitting again and wiping his mouth with a sleeve.
“No, it’s—”
“Really, I’m fine,” he repeats, swallowing with what looks like considerable effort. I don’t believe him for a second. “Taylor.” His eyes lock on me and I think he’s going to tell me to forget coffee. Forget all of this. But then he breaks into a smile, and his teeth are laced pink with blood. “I knew you were trouble.”
Kurt
The Firehouse is crowded, packed with people from school. There are a couple guys from the team who nod when I enter, but I pretend not to see them.
The place is like a cage. Brick walls. Fire poles. Too many chairs.
“What do you want?” Marion asks, and I look at the chalkboard covered with eight hundred menu items.
People stare. People definitely saw us at the party. I’ve heard the rumors. And the swimming thing is getting around too.
“Coffee, black,” I say to the girl behind the counter, and Marion orders some fancy soy double who-knows-what. I taste blood in my mouth.
“That’s seven fifty,” the coffee girl says, and I nudge Marion.
“Don’t you think you should pay for this after busting my teeth?” I joke, but she doesn’t get it.
“Sure,” she says, pulling out her wallet.
“I’m kidding,” I say, nodding to her cash, but she stands there with her wallet open. “Put that away. I got this.” I throw a ten on the counter, swallowing back the pink in my mouth. Damn coffee’s expensive.
“Thanks,” she says, fiddling with her purse and grabbing too many napkins from the counter. I move to put my hand on the back of her neck, to get her to relax, but the guys from the team are watching us. My hand stops halfway between her and me, hanging there like a useless slab of meat.
“Sir? Your change?”
I swing my hand to the coffee girl like it’s what I meant to do in the first place, and Marion looks at me funny. I shove the change in my pocket, grab our drinks, and turn to the room.
“Uh . . .” There are no empty tables. “Let’s go outside.”
“In the back.” Marion points to a table crammed in a corner and walks toward it. I pass Hector, from the team, as I follow her, and he gives me a nod. I roll my eyes. He winks with a knowing grin, like he gets it. Coffee first. Fun second. Only that’s not how this is going to work. And I hate that Hector looks at Marion and thinks it is.
The chairs suck. They’re made of cheap metal rods, bent funny and poking in every direction. I sit across from Marion, with everyone behind us, and shift my weight. Only everything’s too close and I elbow the dude at the table beside me.
“Watch it!” He shoots me a dirty look.
“Sorry, man,” I say, trying to give him some space, but there isn’t any to give.
“It’s not normally this crowded,” Marion says, glancing at the guy. Her eyes fall to her coffee like that might be a complete lie. Red flushes over her neck and I think about how I wouldn’t have been able to see that when we were swimming.
“You come here a lot?” I ask, and she hugs her mug close.
“Yeah, with Lilith mostly.”
I nod and sip my drink. It tastes like dirt.
She busies herself by pouring sugar into her cup and I try to ignore the doo-wop fifties music coming out of the speakers. Why doesn’t anyone play good music anymore? At least jump forward a decade or two and play some Emmylou Harris or Leonard Cohen. I catch her stealing a glance over my shoulder, but refuse to look and see how many of them are watching.
I consider leaving, which is stupid. I want to see her. Just not here.
There’s light in her hair and I think about her listening to Mom and me. Really listening. That dimple on her cheek, pinching, and then her lips. I’ve never played that song for anyone. Not even Conner. And the only people who’d remember it are Dad and Josie.
I catch red flushing over Marion’s ears again and I know she’s waiting for me to say something. I’m not trying to make her feel uncomfortable. I just—
I don’t do this.
“So, uh . . .” She picks at the edge of her napkin.
“Yeah?”
She sorta smiles, and maybe I’m too eager for her to say something. Her eyes flick over my shoulder again and I gulp down coffee.
“When’s your next game?” Little bits of napkin cover the table.
“Thursday,” I mumble, and she smiles like that was the most fascinating thing I could have said. Which is exactly why I don’t do this.
“You like soccer?”
“I like to run.”
“Oh . . .” She squints, and I can tell she’s overanalyzing this. “You don’t like the passing and shooting parts?”
“No, I like that too, I just—” A giggle comes from behind us and I look back to see—fuck—everyone is watching us. “I like the air,” I say, trying to ignore them. “The adrenaline. It makes me focus, makes me . . .” I stop. Drops of coffee have fallen from my cup. They pool like brown scabs on the tabletop. Like Josie’s scabs.
“Makes you what?” she prompts, but I don’t know what she wants me to tell her.
Suddenly talking about soccer seems unimportant, and I want my guitar, and real air. I don’t want the coffee machine grinding and everyone staring, and this brick-wall fire-pole bullshit.
I push out my chair.
“Hey, wait, are you—” She stops midsentence as I stand.
Clearly, I am.
“Look, I’ve got—” I start, but I don’t know how to finish that. I could lie to her, but I don’t want to. “I just—”
I look around the room. It’s only people from school. Like at a party. But all I want is the door.
“I get it,” Marion says, but her tone isn’t snarky. Not like how Vanessa would say it if she realized I was going to bail. Marion says it calm, like this is something she understands, and she’s okay with it. She pushes her coffee away and nods to the door, leading the way. I’m so thrown, I just follow her.
Outside, I can breathe again. The air is like an icicle stabbing my lungs. But it makes everything sharper.
“It’s October,” Marion says. “It’s going to be really cold.”
I nod, thinking she means the air, but after a few breaths, I realiz
e that doesn’t make sense.
“What?” I look at her confused.
She walks to her car and the air is so crisp everything is in hypersharp focus. And yet I swear she motions for me to get in and says—
“You can swim, right?”
Marion
My bare feet dig into the sand and a chill crawls up my calves. Kurt and I have both rolled up our jeans to below the knee, and I’m cold just looking at the Atlantic. The sun is setting behind us and the purple of evening has begun to shade the horizon.
The water is calm, but the air is fierce, tossing hair across my face. I know swimming in the lake was cold, but swimming in the ocean will be fire. Even summer water is freezing. We’re north of the Cape, which sends the tropical currents out to sea. Our water comes from the Arctic.
I’m not sure what I was thinking. I only know that I saw Kurt’s face in that coffee shop, ready to bolt, and this all started by running into the water. So perhaps all we need to do is run on in—again.
Kurt pulls off his shirt and goose bumps ripple over him.
“Jesus,” he curses, wrapping his arms over his chest. I take in the skin of him, shivering beside me. “You really want to do this?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “But I’m not taking off my shirt.”
He laughs. “That’s fine.”
I dig my feet into the sand and run, knowing if I don’t do it now I’ll lose my nerve. I head for the ocean, full speed, with wind whooping in my ears. There’s a loud whistle and maybe a cackle of laughter behind me. But as soon as I hear it, Kurt’s running beside me. Fast enough to catch up. Fast enough to pass.
He matches my pace.
Sand kicks up behind us and four seagulls shriek, taking to the air. We pound past their flapping wings and Kurt puts his arms above his head like he’s about to cross a finish line. We both yell as the adrenaline surges up from our feet, and we take our first step into the icy-cold water.
Then our second—
And our third—
And leap.
It’s a shock—the water.
It’s how I imagine dying, with black at my temples and ice in my skin, and the dark current dragging me from the light. Or maybe it’s like being born. The type of thing you can only come into screaming. Where every part of you is suddenly, painfully—
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