Kiss Collector

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Kiss Collector Page 18

by Wendy Higgins


  I push to my feet with the others, covering my heart and reciting the pledge. Then we sit again.

  “Here are your top three nominations for junior-class prom princess and prince. Quinton Green. Kyle Fairchild. Dean Prescott.” The class cheers. I glance back at Dean, who doesn’t even crack a smile. “Monica Sanchez.” My insides squeeze with pride for her. “Meeka Washington. And Zae Monroe. Now for your top three senior nominees . . .” What?! The announcements are lost in an array of excited voices congratulating me and my own blood pounding in my ears. People pat my shoulders. I cannot believe they just said my name. I do not want to go to prom. And now Monica and Dean need to go more than ever.

  I glance back at Dean again, but he’s not wearing his trademark smile. He’s staring off into space. Then my eyes shift to Joel, whose eyes are cracked open at me. When he sees me looking, he closes his eyes and keeps them shut. Fine.

  I catch Taro looking at me with his one revealed eye, reflecting kindness and concern. It makes me emotional and I have to turn away.

  I’m a wreck until the bell rings. Monica is all the way upstairs in science. It’ll be difficult to get to her without being late, but I have to. I run. I nearly bowl her over outside the smelly science hall that reeks of sulfur. I grab her arm and she looks at me with surprise, a hint of red around her eyes.

  “Monica!” I’m panting.

  “What?” She gently pulls away, looking down.

  “Why didn’t you say yes? You should say yes!”

  Her jaw clenches with surprise. “I didn’t tell anyone that yet.”

  “He told me.” Her eyes widen, and I go on. “He’s really sad, Monica.”

  Guilt shrouds her face and makes her shoulders hunch. “He’ll be fine. It’s not worth it.” I was right. She said no because of me.

  “Look, Monica, I’m sorry.” I’m still trying to catch my breath. “I never should have—”

  “No, I’m sorry.” She chokes up. “I’ve been feeling like crap since Saturday. It’s not worth it if you’re not going to talk to me anymore.”

  Me not talk to her? “Monica, I’m over it, okay? You should go with him. He’s . . . a good guy.”

  “I don’t want you to be mad at me. Or sad.”

  “The only thing I was mad or sad about today was that I wasn’t by your side to support you when you saw that message.” I swallow hard. “It was so perfect, and you deserve it.” My voice cracks.

  Monica wipes under her eyes. “But if I go with him, who would you go with?”

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “You have to! You’re up for prom princess!”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Miss Sanchez,” calls her science teacher from the doorway.

  Monica gives me one last look before dashing into her class. I run down the hall as the bell rings. I will happily take the tardy.

  The three of us are together at lunch again. The atmosphere at our table is strained, and we’re all quiet, but we’re together. Nobody mentions prom. Nobody mentions Dean. Nobody mentions anything that could be a trigger.

  “Lin is visiting Virginia Tech this weekend,” Monica says. Lin hasn’t apologized to me, but I haven’t said sorry to her either. I think we both know we equally screwed up.

  “I can see her as a Hokie.” Kenzie smiles and takes a nibble of her yogurt. “My mom is taking me dress shopping today.” Her cheeks darken, probably realizing she just brought up prom in a roundabout way, but nobody reacts.

  “Send us pics,” I say. That seems to make her happy.

  “Wait, aren’t you grounded from your phone?” she asks.

  “I’m grounded from going out the next two weeks, but I get to keep my phone, thank God.”

  We eat quietly together.

  During Spanish, my stomach does a flip when Joel shows at the door with a pass for me to go to guidance. He doesn’t talk or acknowledge me as we walk. After about two seconds I can’t take it anymore.

  “Are you mad at me?” I ask.

  “For what?” He keeps his eyes straight ahead.

  “I don’t know. Anything?”

  “Nope.”

  “Because I thought we were cool, but you’re acting weird.”

  “Weird?” He doesn’t pause in his walk. “You hardly know me.”

  Ouch.

  I’m still confused and kind of hurt when he drops me at Mrs. Crowley’s office. He leaves her door open a few inches, and I’m betting he’s totally eavesdropping from the office area. For some reason, I don’t mind.

  “Miss Monroe,” she says with a smile. “I’ve done a bit of research, and I hope you’re doing the same.” Whoops. “Being bilingual or multilingual will be an amazing addition to your résumé for any job. Do you feel that you are bilingual?”

  I shake my hand in the air to say so-so. She nods.

  “Well, I came across this and thought of you.” She hands me a pamphlet. Study Abroad!

  “Is this a college program?” I ask, confused.

  She twines her fingers on the desk in front of her. “No. This would be for your senior year. Like a foreign exchange program, but different. You would have a choice of going to one country for the entire year, or splitting it up and doing one country for the first semester and another country for the second. For you, I would recommend Argentina and France.”

  My heart jumps. “Wait, you mean I’d be gone the whole year? How would I graduate?”

  “I’ve looked at your credits. The study abroad program would give you credits, and you would need one more math and one more English class, both of which you could take online or at the community college this summer.”

  I stare at her, still so confused. This kind of thing cannot possibly be an option for me. It’s huge.

  “Who . . . how much . . . ?”

  “It is pricey, but the price drops if you agree to stay with a host family.” She opens the pamphlet to the price page and all I see are thousands. Every tiny hope that had just danced to life is crushed under an ugly bulldozer.

  “I can’t. My family can’t afford it.”

  She presses her lips together. “I understand. I still think you should take it home and show them. You’d be surprised how parents are able to make things work when they put their minds to it.”

  I want to yell at her that my parents have zero savings and cannot afford a loan payment. Maybe in her perfect world people can “make things work,” but not in mine.

  “Thanks.” I start to stand when she pushes a list toward me.

  “Here are some respectable jobs you can think about in the meantime.” I look it over: banking, social services, secretarial work, yada yada yada, and then the last one catches my attention. Flight attendant.

  I stare at those two words as I exit her room and stop in the office area.

  Flight attendant. Huh.

  I look at Joel, who’s sitting with his head leaned back against the wall, his arms crossed, looking back at me. He says nothing, so I don’t either. But it feels wrong. When I get to the door, I stop and turn.

  “Whatever I did to upset you, I’m sorry.”

  Joel raises his chin to examine me for a second before responding. “And I’m sorry I’ve given you the impression I’m upset with you.” He stands and walks toward me. Without permission, he takes the pamphlet, looks it over with a nod, then hands it back.

  “I can’t do it,” I say, feeling irrationally peeved that she gave it to me as an option.

  He says nothing, just shoves his hands in his pockets.

  “What are you doing after graduation?” I ask him.

  “Working for my dad at the shop. Maybe taking community college classes to pass the extra time.” He sounds totally unworried and unhurried. I envy him.

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit. The words make me feel so anxious. Like I’m on pause and everyone else is still going forward full speed. I’ll never catch up.

  “You’ll figure it out,” he says softly. “You’re a sm
art girl.”

  Pfft. Right. My chin drops, and he lifts it back up with a finger. My heart trembles.

  “You’re too hard on yourself.” I try to look away, but he touches my chin again. “Look, with or without something like this”—he flicks the pamphlet—“you’ll do great. Stop letting society tell you that you have to do a certain thing. You don’t gotta do what everyone else is doing.”

  I know he’s talking about the college path. His words hit me, and I take a shuddering breath. All I can do is nod and turn away, because I’m feeling overly emotional.

  “Thanks” is all I can say. I can’t look at him as I go.

  I take my pamphlet and list of jobs back to Spanish, where everyone’s doing silent work. Mrs. Hernandez peers up at me inquisitively through her glasses, so I show her the pamphlet and whisper, “She wants me to study abroad next year.”

  Her eyes twinkle, and she whispers back, “¡Maravilloso! How perfect for you!”

  “Sí.” I feel stupid saying the next part. “We don’t have the money, though.” I try to smile so she won’t feel bad for me. It doesn’t work. She tilts her head and her face scrunches with pity. I shouldn’t have shown her.

  “That’s really too bad, Zae. You are the textbook candidate for it.”

  “It’s okay.” I smile again to show my gratitude for her compliment.

  “By the way, congratulations on making prom court.”

  “Thank you,” I say before I take my seat.

  While I’m flattered that my fellow juniors like me enough to elect me for the court, I really wish I could give it to someone who wants to go—someone who will appreciate the honor.

  It’s hard to concentrate on my classwork. I really wish Mrs. Crowley had never shown me that pamphlet. Everyone always tells you to “dream big,” but when you’re stuck, you’re stuck. Not everyone has the means to reach higher. It’s unfair and that’s just how it is.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I fly under the radar for the next few weeks, even after my grounding is over. No parties. No kissing. No hanging out with my girls. I learn about their lives via text.

  Monica makes it official with Dean.

  Lin continues to get kisses from Parker the gymnast and for days I get texts like: Parkerrrrr!

  I think she likes him.

  Then we get a group message from Kenzie. She and Vin had their first fight. It was over food, of all things.

  He’s mad cuz I don’t want to eat around him.

  Why don’t you want to eat around him? Monica asks.

  IDK . . . I just feel like a pig or something.

  Oh, Kenzie. He just wants to know ur comfortable with him.

  Y’all know I don’t eat a lot.

  Lin writes: B— eat the damn food! U don’t have to stuff urself but it sounds like ur not eating anything around him. He’s probably worried, too.

  It takes Kenzie a long time to answer, and I know she’s upset, probably crying. It breaks my heart for her. I hate that she deals with this.

  She finally writes: I don’t need a guy policing what I eat or don’t eat. I deal with enough comments from everyone else in my life.

  Sigh.

  Vincent has grown on me, and I don’t want this issue to be the thing that does them in.

  I tell her: How about a compromise? Just let him see you eating a little.

  She fires back: Then he’ll be like, “That’s all ur gonna eat??” It won’t be enough!

  Baby steps. Lin’s text is the last one for a while.

  I make the decision to do something dangerous. I pull Vincent aside at school when Kenz leaves for a dentist appointment. I make him swear not to tell Kenzie about our conversation. I know he cares about her, and he needs to know about her struggle and to be patient with her. I love him even more after we talk, because he seems to get it, and he’s thankful that it’s not just him who worries. I give him some pointers on dealing with her gently. That was days ago, and nothing more has been said. I can only hope that means the baby steps are working.

  On a Sunday afternoon in late April, when prom is on the horizon, Kenz texts us and it’s apparent that things with her and Vincent are good again. Better than good: V’s brother is getting us a hotel room for prom. His parents think he’s staying at Kyle’s. Zae, can I tell mine I’m staying with u?

  Ummm . . . first things first. Yes, OK, but r u going to have sex?????

  Lin: OMG.

  Monica: ?? Are u??

  Kenzie: Maybe? IDK, guys.

  Me: Aaaaahhhhh!!!!

  Lin: Tell him he has to buy condoms.

  Me: Love gloves!

  Lin: Willie hats!

  Me: Don’t be a ding-dong, cover your shling-shlong.

  Kenzie: Ew, lol!

  Monica: Bawhaha! We want details.

  Kenzie: Rae says it’s going 2 b awkward.

  Her big sister. She’s probably right. Nothing’s like it is in the movies.

  Me: I can’t believe our lil’ K-bae won’t see unicorns anymore!

  Kenzie: Stop it! Don’t make me cry.

  Lin: Have u n him talked about it?

  Me: Wait, does V talk?

  Kenzie: I do most of the talking and he smiles at me.

  Monica: ROFL!!

  The conversation makes me laugh, but for some reason it also leaves me feeling sad. Things are changing. We’re growing up, and there’s no going back. And in a weird way I constantly feel like I’m being left behind. Maybe because they all have guys. And futures. I don’t know. I’m just thankful for my job, which keeps me busy and makes me feel mature. Mrs. McOllie has started trusting me with closing duties on Wednesday nights, which means I get to count the drawer, put the earnings in the money bag, and lock up the store. A security guy comes to walk me to my car since I’m underage. I feel very official.

  After a week of rain, and not being able to practice my tumbling outside, I’m excited for a sunny afternoon. Plus, Kenzie’s news about prom has left me needing to run and jump and possibly land on my head.

  I’m determined to get this dang thing, and I hope it happens soon because I’m getting tired of buying Zeb Slurpees. The man at the register definitely thinks I’m a Slurpee junkie.

  As luck would have it, I cannot land it. I cannot get past the barrier of fear. Every single time I come out here, I’m filled with hope that this is the day, only to remember very quickly that I can’t do it. It’s useless.

  “You’re not even trying,” Zeb gripes.

  “Shut up.”

  “I’m not going to help you if you just yell at me!”

  It’s hard to take him seriously with blue Slurpee lips. Or to be mad at him.

  “Sorry,” I say, letting out a giant, frustrated sigh. I’m never going to get this. What will I do if I don’t cheer next year? The thought seizes me with panic, and the feeling of being left behind is stronger than ever.

  “Kids, time to come up,” Mom calls.

  I trudge up the steps behind Zeb’s bouncy strides, my legs heavy.

  In the living room, Mom looks nervous. “I just talked to Daddy, and he’d like you to both come over to see his place today.

  “Yes!” Zeb jumps and punches the air. “Finally!”

  My stomach has flattened and flipped like a rotten pancake. “I don’t feel good.”

  Zeb glares at me. “Seriously, Zae? I want to go!”

  “Then go. I’m not stopping you.”

  Mom’s lips purse tightly. She points to my room. Great. I go and she follows, closing us in. I sit heavily on the bed with my arms crossed.

  “You’ve avoided him long enough. You will take a shower and get dressed. Your dad will be here in an hour, and—”

  “No way!” I leap from the bed. “I don’t want to see them!”

  Mom closes her eyes as if gathering patience. “She won’t be there. Lower your voice.”

  “I don’t want to see him either! I hate him!” It’s the first time I’ve said it out loud and I nearly choke on the filthy
words. I have to cover my mouth.

  “Please don’t hate him, Zae.” It comes out a desperate whisper.

  Her face . . . why does she look so hurt on his behalf?

  “Please,” I beg. “Send Zeb, but don’t make me go. And stop sticking up for him!”

  Mom faces me straight on. “He is not a bad man. He loves you.”

  “He abandoned us for a waitress!” I remind her.

  Mom sits on the edge of the bed and puts her face in her hands. She sits there long enough for me to catch my breath and lose steam. I almost don’t hear her when she speaks.

  “Sit down.”

  “Mom—”

  “Sit down.”

  My jaw rocks and I sit, crossing my arms, my knee bouncing.

  “I have something I need to tell you. Something I’d rather Zeb not know at this point in time.”

  “What?” I ask, though by the sound of her voice I really don’t want to hear.

  “As you know, your father was pretty young when we met. I was a twenty-six-year-old bartender, and he was a twenty-year-old fry cook.” I know the story, and I love it.

  “Yeah. He was persistent and won you over after a year.”

  She nods, staring off in nostalgia. “I was twenty-seven when we married. At that point I’d been living on my own almost eight years. I was independent, not used to answering to anyone but me. Our first year of marriage was . . . hard.” That pained look tightens her face again. “I wasn’t used to having to explain what money I was spending and if I wanted to go out with my friends. Your father was always more financially conscious than me, and I felt like he was trying to control me. I know now that wasn’t the case, but back then . . .”

  Foreboding fills me. I rub my arms as she goes on.

  “I . . .” She clenches her jaw as if gathering strength. “That year I had an affair. I almost left Daddy.” Now she is choking up, and my guts are in a grinder. I stare at her, and she suddenly morphs into a stranger, someone I thought I knew but really didn’t.

  “I didn’t tell him. I’m not sure what kept us together—a miracle, probably. But I broke things off with the other man, a marine, and he was restationed. Everything made itself very clear to me during that time. I knew I didn’t want to lose your dad. I knew the problem was me and not him. I knew I made a horrible mistake and I was lucky to have a second chance. I worked hard to be a good wife after that, to be worthy of his love. Well . . .” She wipes her eyes. “Fast forward to last year. Seventeen years later, that man found me again. He contacted me. I told him I was in a happy place and wanted nothing to do with him. But he started stalking me. I was scared.” She wipes her face again. “It got so bad that I had to get a restraining order, and I had to tell Daddy.”

 

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