I search where the R students are lining up until I spot Joel, his hat doing the hip-hop lean to the side. It’s undecorated. Of course Joel couldn’t be bothered with that. As I stare, I see that he’s changed, too. He’s taller. Slightly broader, his face . . . squarer or something. But even from a distance his eyes are just as light blue. His lips just as shapely and kissable. Looking at him makes my insides dance like the music is on speed.
I head to the rows of M names as the band begins playing. We march outside onto the field to the tune of “Pomp and Circumstance.” Everyone is smiling, all our worries and grudges from the past four years suddenly gone.
We cross the stage.
We throw our caps.
We find our families in a rush of excited chaos. People are all over the stadium, lawn, and parking lot. I agreed to meet my parents by the car. Zeb is two inches taller than me now, a fact he loves to point out at every opportunity. He also has braces and armpit hair. So weird.
Jacquie is at Dad’s side, sporting a tiny diamond on her left hand. Yeah, that happened while I was away, only weeks after my parents’ divorce was finalized. It’s a little awkward between the two of them and Mom, but they’re cordial enough, mostly focusing on me and not looking at one another.
I opted for no graduation party since none of our relatives from afar could afford to come. Tonight I’ll go to Kenzie’s graduation party at her house with the girls. I can’t wait.
“Pictures!” Mom says. I pose with every member of the family, and Zeb finds my three girls and ushers them over so the four of us can get a group photo—both serious and silly. As we’re saying goodbye I spot Señora Hernandez getting in her car.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell my family.
For the past year Señora Hernandez has followed my journey on social media, always commenting on my pictures and supporting me with occasional notes. I will always feel indebted to her. All my life.
I catch her before she climbs in, and her whole face illuminates.
“Ah, Zae! So good to see you!”
She takes me by the face and kisses both my cheeks, and then I hug her.
“I have enjoyed every moment of your journey,” she says. “Thank you for sharing it for me to see.”
“It was the best year of my life,” I tell her honestly. “I feel so lucky.”
She pats my cheek. “I can’t wait to see what you do next. Keep posting.”
“I will. And someday, I want to pay it forward.”
Her eyes fill with tears. We hug again, and I run back to my family.
Dad gives me one last hug before he and Jacquie get in his car to wait in the long line out of the school’s parking lot. I’m going out to eat with Mom and Zebby, but first there’s one more person I need to see.
I look all around until I spot Joel by an oversize pickup truck with his family. His gown is unzipped, showing a fitted T-shirt and long shorts. His grad cap is long gone. His blond hair a mess. The man he’s standing near has a potbelly and scruffy face. The woman is short with her blond-and-gray hair in a braid. I jog over.
His eyes flash with something like surprise, or maybe worry, and he raises his chin in greeting.
“Hey, Joel.” I clasp my hands in front of me, feeling strangely shy.
“Hey.” He looks at his parents. “Mom, Dad, this is Zae Monroe.”
His mom’s face widens in a smile and she looks ten years younger. “The girl who was overseas?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say. She puts out her hand, and I shake it.
Joel’s dad just gives me a grumbly once-over, nods at me, and heads toward the driver’s side of the truck. Joel sort of tenses up at his dad’s rudeness. His mom gives me one last smile before heading to the passenger seat.
“I guess we’re going,” he says, but doesn’t move, just stares at my eyes. “Your hair is longer. Look at these little spirals.” He touches the ends of my hair, and it makes my heart flutter. He opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but his dad hollers.
“Let’s go, boy!”
Joel grits his teeth, his mouth clamped shut.
“I’ll call you,” I say quietly.
He gives me a nod, but I can’t read him as he walks and gets in the truck. He seems . . . sad. I need to find out what’s going on with him. I stare as they drive away.
“It’s not you,” says Sierra from beside me, making me jump. She pushes her hair over her shoulder. “It’s his dad.”
I look at her, surprised. “What about his dad?”
“He’s an asshole.” I watch his father maneuver the truck into the line, using its girth to scare the little cars into submission out of his way. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but fuck it. Our dads used to be partners, and when Mr. Ruddick broke away, he went bankrupt. Like, totally broke. They lost everything. So Joel and his brother, Marcus, started selling pot, then meth and other shit, and giving the money to their dad. Joel was only a freshman.” My stomach plummets and I feel chilled despite the sunshine. He really had been a dealer. “He used their drug money to get them a place and start a new business. But the whole time he treated his sons like they were trash. Like he was ashamed of them. Marcus went to jail and Joel got clean and started working for him, but he still treats him like shit.”
I might be sick. I flash from cold to hot. I can’t believe I didn’t know any of this about him.
Sierra peers over and eyes me up and down. “You look great.”
“Thanks.” I stare at where the Ruddicks’ truck accelerates around the corner, out of sight. “You, too. But you always do.”
She smiles. “Okay, so which country has the hottest guys?”
I can’t bring myself to smile, but I can answer this one honestly. “It’s literally a tie. So much hotness.”
“Lucky.” She bites her lip. “See you around.”
I nod and go back to my family, but I have unfinished business. That was not how things were supposed to go today. I need a do-over ASAP.
At home after lunch, I do some stalking. I call Meeka for Kwami’s number. I call Kwami to find out which house is Joel’s. I only know the neighborhood.
“Your best bet is to find him at work,” he says. “He’s there more than home these days.”
Kwami tells me what time he’ll be there tomorrow, and I mentally prepare. While I’m at it, I research airlines and make a few calls. Then I play video games with Zeb for old time’s sake and can’t help but tease him about his changes.
“Oh my God, and look at your feet!” I point to them. “They’re man-size!”
“Quit being weird,” he says, still laughing.
“He’s also got a girlfriend,” Mom calls from the kitchen, where she’s prepping green-chili chicken enchiladas for tonight.
“Aw, Zebby, stop growing up!” I grab his arm and shake him.
Zeb curls inward and covers his head to ward off the embarrassment.
It’s good to be home.
I pull up in front of Ruddick’s Auto at nine the next morning, armed with a piece of paper in my pocket that I’ve had since Paris. Today, if Joel’s receptive, I’ll give it to him.
I’m light-headed with nerves as I approach the doorway. I clasp my fingers and let them go, smoothing my shirt. With a heavy inhale and exhale, I pull open the door and cringe when it dings. My eyes go straight to the counter, where Joel stands in his navy-blue button-down shirt. He’s wearing his matching hat the proper way, instead of backward, and it makes me almost laugh.
Joel looks up from where he’s having a man sign something, and his eyes go comically wide. He checks himself super quick and focuses on the customer. I look around at the small room that smells like rubber and oil. There’s a seating area with two old love seats and a dingy coffee maker. In the middle of the room is a display of tires. Along the walls are car accessories.
“Have a good day, sir,” he says. The guy walks out, and it’s just us. I approach with caution, and he looks toward the door that leads to the m
echanic area. Joel pales when that door bursts open and Mr. Ruddick comes in, wiping his hands on a rag. He stops and looks back and forth between Joel and me. My heart drops.
He frowns at Joel. “You socializing on the clock?”
“No, sir. She . . .”
I swallow to wet my throat. “I need, uh, windshield wipers.”
Mr. Ruddick looks at Joel. “Well, get the girl some wipers!” he shouts, making me jump. He glowers at Joel and turns to go back into the mechanic area. Another guy comes in, a young mechanic, and he shuffles through some papers on the counter.
Joel sighs, looking ashamed or embarrassed or maybe both. “Can I call you when I get off?”
“Okay,” I whisper, shaken to see how his dad treats him. “Do you get a lunch break?”
“Not really,” he says tightly.
“Hey,” says the guy next to him, “my next car’s not for another half hour. Go outside and talk. I’ll cover you.”
Joel hesitates, glancing toward where his dad went.
“Yeah, okay.”
Joel turns his hat around backward and comes out. We walk around the side of the building, and my heart starts jumping like I did a bunch of burpees. He shoves his hands in his pockets as I cross my arms. I almost laugh. Are we strangers now? How do I bridge the gap that this year apart has caused?
“You gave me freedom,” I say. “Thank you. It was an amazing year.”
His jaw tightens as he nods. He won’t look straight at me. He’s nervous.
“But you know what the best part was?” I ask.
“No drinking age?”
“No.” I poke his taut tummy and he reluctantly grins. “Your poems.”
Again, he looks away, and it makes my stomach tighten. I’m starting to get nervous.
“Are you done with me, Joel?”
His hands go deeper in his pockets and his elbows lock. He looks guarded, vulnerable even. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel when you got back. About us.”
I tone down my frustration and move even closer, inches away, talking softly, taking his uniform shirt gently between my fingers.
“If you could go anywhere in the world, Joel Ruddick, where would you go?”
His lip quirks up like I’m crazy. I tilt my head, waiting.
“Zae. Come on. I gotta get back in there.”
“Just answer, and then I’ll leave you alone.”
He huffs out a breath and stares off at the building next to us. “I don’t know. A big city, I guess. Somewhere I can get lost in the shuffle. Somewhere musicians camp out on corners playing and you can just stop to listen. Like New Orleans or New York. London, Dublin, Amsterdam, shit, anywhere but here.”
I can’t help but smile. It’s such a Joel answer.
“Let me take you.”
“Stop.” He shakes his head. I reach for his hands and he stiffens a little, but lets me hold them.
“I did a phone interview yesterday,” I tell him, “to be a flight attendant. They’re flying me to Houston tomorrow for a second interview. The airline’s second hub is in DC, so I’ll most likely be stationed here.” I start talking faster as I see his lips press together. “I would do international flights, like four days away, then two or three days off at a time. Latin America and Canada to start. Then Europe. We can hang out on my days off, and a few times a year we can go where we want! We’ll have to stay in hostels and stuff until we save some money, but we can get away from here together.”
His grip on my hand tightens as his gaze drops to the side, downward.
“Dream with me, Joel, please. Dream big.” I move in, my legs pressing against his, clutching his shirt tighter. His hands go automatically to my waist, but he still won’t look at me. I pull back and slide the folded paper from my back pocket. My heartbeat gains momentum, because this is the last trick up my sleeve.
“Remember my so-called kiss list?” I ask. “The one up here?” I touch my head.
His eyes darken, and he looks down at the paper in my hand, frowning.
“I burned it,” I say. Now he looks at me, his eyes searching. “Metaphorically speaking. And then I made a new one—a wish list.”
I hand him the paper, and he eyes it nervously.
“Go ahead,” I say.
He opens it slowly, and I swear his hands are trembling. I can’t see the writing, but his entire body freezes as his eyes scour it. I imagine what he’s seeing. His name. Written a thousand times in different ways. Curly letters, blocky letters. Tiny lowercases, huge caps.
“I’m here to collect,” I whisper.
I’ve never been as nervous as I am when his eyes roam from the paper to me. Slowly, so slowly, he folds the paper and tucks it into his back pocket. Then, without a word, he reaches for my neck, sliding his hand around it as his other splays out on my lower back. Instead of kissing me though, his forehead presses to mine and he shuts his eyes. My heart explodes into a glittery mess.
“Is it stupid that I’m scared to dream? That I feel stuck here forever?”
“No,” I whisper. “I was scared, too, until someone helped me. I can dream for both of us until you get your feet wet. It’s easier than you think. You just have to say yes and jump.”
He grins and opens his eyes. “You’ll hold my hand?”
“The whole time.”
His face moves down, and I gasp as his mouth lands on my neck again, just like at Quinton’s party. I grasp the back of his neck as that same shooting sense of need rages through me.
“Joel,” I breathe, pressing closer.
He answers by pulling the strap of my tank top down so he can run his hot lips over my shoulder. I’m grabbing on to him like I might fall if I let go. Then a moan slips from my throat that surprises me and makes him laugh low and sultry.
“You’re mean,” I say.
He lifts his head from my shoulder and gives me a stare hot enough to make steam form around us. Then he kisses me in a way that really makes me wish we were alone, somewhere private. When he pulls away, I fight to catch my breath, and he runs his tongue over his bottom lip.
“I gotta get back in there and make some money. My girlfriend wants us to be globe-trotters.”
Girlfriend. Holy gushy feelings. I’m a pile of gelatin with a goofy smile.
“That’s right,” I say, flicking a pretend pile of bills into the air, one by one. “Make it rain, baby.” He laughs and takes my hand, walking me back to the front of the building. We let go and grin at each other as he walks backward to the door and I step to the minivan. I laugh when he bumps the door with his back, then straightens up, turning his hat forward before going in.
I can’t wait to see where the future takes us.
Acknowledgments
Thank you, Alyson Day, my editor, and Jill Corcoran, my agent, for believing in me and supporting me through the telling of my first contemporary novel. You know my struggles with roadblocks along the way, and most important you know my heart. I appreciate you both.
Thank you to all my friends from Potomac for the throwback memories that inspired so much of Zae’s story—especially to my Panther squad: Hilary, Kristy, Holly, Meghan, Carol, Christine, Danielle, and Stacey.
And to my early readers for your feedback and excitement: Nyrae Dawn, Jen Fisher, Valerie Rinta, Hilary Mahalchick, and Katie McGarry. Kisses!
So much of this story parallels the drama my friends and I experienced in high school. The highs and lows many American teens understand. Zae’s story, much like my story, was filled with love, even in the hard times. Not every young adult is so lucky. But you, and your story, are important. Whoever you are and whatever you’re going through, you’re not alone. Ultimately, high school is just one phase in your life, and though it often seems as if it will never end, in retrospect, it’s over in a hazy flash. And then the real fun begins. I wish you the very best.
2 Timothy 1:7
About the Author
Photo by Anastasia’s Photography, LLC
WENDY HIGGINS is
the New York Times bestselling author of the Sweet Evil series (Sweet Evil, Sweet Peril, Sweet Reckoning, and Sweet Temptation), The Great Hunt, The Great Pursuit, and Flirting with Maybe. Born in Alaska as an Army brat, she lived on five different military bases across the US. She attended George Mason University for her undergraduate degree in creative writing and Radford University for a master’s in curriculum and instruction before becoming a high school English teacher. Wendy now lives on the Eastern Shore of Virginia with her husband and children, writing full time. You can visit her online at www.wendyhigginswrites.com.
Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at hc.com.
Books by Wendy Higgins
Sweet Evil
Sweet Peril
Sweet Reckoning
Sweet Evil 3-Book Collection
Sweet Temptation
Flirting with Maybe
The Great Hunt
The Great Pursuit
Kiss Collector
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Copyright
HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.
KISS COLLECTOR. Copyright © 2018 by Wendy Higgins. Emoji icons provided by EmojiOne. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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