Candy Colored Sky

by Ginger Scott

  “Show you what?” she spits back.

  “The dance. The one that isn’t even very good. Show me,” I insist. I raise my arms up so they’re folded over my chest, and do my best to hold my mouth in a smug line.

  She laughs out once, then looks to her right, toward the locker rooms that are now emptied. The last car is about to pull through the gates. Nobody but me here to see anything.

  “Don’t be stupid,” she utters, getting to her feet and bending down to brush any remaining gravel from her legs. “Where’s my phone? Or what’s left of it.”

  She approaches me with an open palm and I shift, shoving my hands in my pockets to keep her phone pieces safe and out of reach.

  “I have your phone. It’s fine. Show me.” I lift my chin as if I hold some sort of authority.

  She stops a few feet shy of me and shakes her head, her palms out at her sides.

  “What are you doing, Jonah?” She looks to her sides again, always checking to see who is watching.

  “Nobody is judging you, Eleanor. Everyone is gone. There’s nobody here to see.”

  “I know!” she fires back.

  There she is.

  “Okay, then what are you waiting for?”

  I hold her gaze, my head cocked to one side a tick, hers to the other. Her nostrils flare with the fire I lit, a different fire than the kind that gives up.

  “Get in the car, Jonah. I want to go home.” She’s lying. I can read it in her eyes. Her focus wavers, darting from me to the things around me. Her hands ball into fists at her sides and rap against the sides of her thighs.

  “You go. You can leave me here and I’ll walk. It’s fine.” I shrug, my gut telling me she won’t do that.

  “Fine,” she utters, stomping to her driver’s side door, still open from when she threw her things inside. I step away to make room for her as she pulls the door shut and shoves her key in the ignition, over-cranking it so it makes a grinding sound while the motor roars to life.

  For a moment, I think maybe my gut is wrong because in a matter of seconds Eleanor shifts into reverse and peels backward from the parking spot, fishtailing her tiny car forward at Jake-level speed. My hands still in my pockets, I shuffle my feet as I turn to watch her leave. Before she makes the turn, though, she skids to a hard stop. Her car sits idle, the tail lights indicating that she hasn’t yet shifted into park.

  Don’t go, Elle.

  Long seconds pass with her tailpipe spewing fog into the cold winter air. It smells like rain outside, but the chill on my neck and face makes me think it might be snow coming instead. I could freeze to death waiting her out. She’s heartbroken, scared, and stubborn. And she is every bit the girl I would die for.

  Her door flies open and a few more seconds pass before she steps outside. She doesn’t move and she’s too far for me to hear anything other than serious shouting. Her breath fogs at a regular pace, and the rings of smoke in the air match the deep thumps in my chest. I start toward her, my feet picking up the pace along with my beating heart. I head to the passenger door, but stop at the back of her vehicle when she opens her mouth to speak.

  “What are we doing, Jonah?”

  I hang my head and stare at the toes of my shoes, the sharp edges of her broken phone pushing into the tips of my fingers in my pocket. I move back a step so there’s nothing between us.

  “I don’t know, Eleanor.” My eyes shift from the bright lights at the back of her car to her face, holding the view until my sight adjusts to see her perfectly. “You tell me. What are we doing?”

  In half a breath, she abandons her open door and rushes me, her hands hitting my chest hard enough to move me back a step before her fingers grasp at my shirt and pull it into her fists. My hands fly to her face, cradling it as my eyes close and lips part in anticipation. Her lips find mine just as she whimpers, her mouth fitting perfectly with mine in a kiss that is rushed and desperate and hungry. My thumbs slide along her cheeks, sweeping away leftover tears as she lifts herself up on her toes. Her hands move along my chest and over my shoulders until she’s grabbing the back of my shirt with one hand and pushing off my hat with the other.

  Right and wrong have their debate somewhere deep in my head, but my heart mutes them. I have imagined kissing this girl so many ways, but never in a million years did I expect her to be the one initiating it. Wanting to take her pain away, to leave her brave and loved, I kiss her harder, supporting her back as I arch her toward her car until her shoulder blades rest against the side panel.

  Both of her hands push into my hair—the stupid dad hat lost somewhere in the parking lot—as I dip my mouth into the curve of her neck and nip my way up her cold, soft skin until my lips finds her ear.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, not knowing why but feeling as if I should apologize for taking advantage of this moment, for giving in, and for letting her give in, too. My teeth graze along her earlobe while she lifts her legs and wraps them around my waist.

  I grab under her thighs to support her weight, lifting her so she’s above me, holding my face and kissing my mouth as if I’m her dream, too. I kiss her until my lips are raw. I kiss her until the football field lights shut off. And I kiss her until the maintenance crew’s pickup truck echoes on the other side of the lot, threatening to lock us inside. We leave before they can. I drive us home in her car. And when we get there, I kiss her more, in case I never get to again.

  Seventeen

  I can’t stop smiling.

  I smile through Grandpa’s eggs, and I never smile through Grandpa’s eggs. I’ve also been downright chipper while Dale barks at me and calls me a half-dozen unflattering things as we work our way through the new wiring harness for the Bronco. Apparently, the work I did on my own has to be redone, which a different version of me would feel is a massive waste of time. Today’s Jonah, though? He thinks mistakes like this are opportunities for learning. When I say that, I think Dale wants to punch me. The happier I am about everything, the more irritated he becomes.

  “We’re going to need more connectors. I don’t know how you got things so jacked up, but we’re basically back to square one on this stuff.” Dale pulls his hat off and runs a hand towel over his sweaty head.

  Okay, I’m starting to feel a little bad. I’m still really freaking happy, but there’s a tinge of guilt that I’ve ruined Dale’s Saturday.

  “Show me what to get and I’ll make a run.” I step up to peer under the hood while Dale shows me exactly what he needs, being a little more precise than necessary—and maybe a little condescending—but who cares, because last night I spent a good three hours making out with Eleanor Trombley.

  “Did I hear you say you’re running out?” Grandpa steps through the open garage door with his morning paper tucked under his arm.

  “Yeah. Dale’s sending me to Toby’s for parts,” I holler.

  “Dale’s not sending the dipshit anywhere,” Dale barks out. “Kid made a mess and now he has to clean it up is all. And I’m not going to the place I work on my day off.” Dale’s testiness amuses my grandpa, who laughs his way forward until the three of us are looking under the hood together.

  “You’re still bitter about poker,” Grandpa ribs his friend.

  Dale only grumbles a response.

  “Think I can hitch a ride with you? We’re out of coffee and I got a coupon for one of those fancy frappe mocha almond creamy hot latte suckers,” Grandpa says.

  “Uh, I don’t think that’s a drink, but yeah. We can swing through the drive-thru.”

  “Got room for one more?” Her voice startles all of us, but I’m the only love-struck idiot who rams his head into the underside of the hood when he stands. I rub my palm over the sore spot but really, I don’t feel much other than the flurry of butterflies that have released inside my chest.

  “Hey, uh, hi.” I trip when I step from the small stool I’m on, and I cover my clumsiness by leaning with my palm against the inside of the engine compartment. I’m not on anything solid, though, so when
my thumb snags a set of wires, it pulls them loose from God knows where.

  “Fucking hell,” Dale says, throwing the greasy towel he’s been holding at my new mess.

  I grit my teeth and step back up to get a better look at what I’ve done, but Dale pushes me down with his hand in my chest. He shoves his keys at me with his other hand.

  “No, you don’t touch anything. You go shopping. And take these fools with you. I want some alone time.”

  I nod at Dale’s order, but under the panicked façade, I’m still smiling. I couldn’t erase it if I tried.

  “All right, so let’s hit the road,” Grandpa says, already making his way toward Dale’s car. It’s a pretty nice ride, an actual classic Dodge Challenger, not one of those modern-day copycats. I’m a little surprised he trusts me with the keys considering his opinion of me a minute ago.

  “All right, honey. You’re crawling in the back because we both don’t want to see me get stuck halfway.” Grandpa slides the passenger seat forward and Eleanor glances at me with a coy smile before dipping her head down and working her way into the back seat.

  My grandpa lets the seat fling back into place when she gets settled, but before he gets into the passenger side, he pauses to stare at me over the roof of the car while he gnaws at the inside of his cheek and squints one eye.

  “What?” I ask.

  I know exactly what.

  “You sly dog, you, Jonah Wydner.” He points his finger at me with a small waggle and coughs out one of his cocky laughs. “You sly dog.”

  I exhale through the heat of a blush that crawls around my neck and roll my eyes as he gets into the car. I spend a small second outside by myself before I get into the hot seat. There’s no way he’s stopping there.

  We pull out of the driveway and get moving on the main road before he starts in.

  “So when did you two kiss, huh? The tonsil tango? Lip mashing? Smooches at sunset?”

  “Oh, my God,” I groan, leaning my head forward until it lands on the steering wheel as we crawl to a stop at the light.

  “Oh, Jonah. It’s perfectly natural, kissing girls. I’ve done it lots of times,” he continues.

  “Oh, God!” I lift my head and glare out the window. My eyes dash up to the rearview mirror to check on Eleanor and see how she’s handling this. Our eyes meet, and my stupid grin breaks at the sight of hers. She doesn’t seem fazed in the least.

  “You’d be happy to know that your grandson is a very good kisser, Mr. Wydner,” she says, shifting forward so my grandpa can hear her better.

  I don’t know whether to soar or die. My eyes flutter with my stuttered laugh. All I can do is shake my head and focus on the road.

  “It’s Hank, sweetheart. You call me Hank. And he better be a good kisser. He comes from a long line of excellent kissing genes you know.”

  “Jesus H—” I mumble.

  “Penny Solemanto!” He lifts his index finger into the air as he proclaims her name. He’s going to tell the first kiss story. I’ve heard it. I’ve heard it so many times.

  “Who’s that?” Eleanor feeds into his ego.

  I sigh and rest my arm on the window sill, my fist propping the side of my head as I cruise toward the center of town with one hand on the wheel.

  “She was an ambassador’s daughter, and she was brand new to St. Agatha’s. I was fourteen, and if I do say so myself—”

  “Oh, you will!” I add my color commentary.

  My grandpa turns his head to glare at me, but quickly goes on.

  “I was quite the catch. You see, these legs might not look like much now, but back then? I was silk on the ice. Fastest skater on the South Side.”

  “Fastest skater on the South Side.” I join him in his favorite line of this tale.

  “That’s right,” he says, slapping my arm and taking the compliment. What I wouldn’t give to have his ability to power through insults and turn them into positives.

  “Oh, you were a figure skater, Hank?” I catch the wink Eleanor gives me in the mirror when she teases him, and I laugh out loud.

  “No. No, no. I’m talking about hockey. God’s gift to ice and sport. I captained our three-time state championship team. A defensive wonder, I was!” Grandpa drifts off with the memory as he talks, and I can tell he’s reliving good times, so I ease up my jests.

  “One look at him in his uniform, and Penny was done,” I say, urging the story on.

  “Oh, I bet,” Eleanor adds.

  “Ah, she was a beautiful girl. We were a steady thing until spring came and her family was shipped off to some other place. But my God, those lips—like honey.” He chuckles at the thought, and I catch him touch his fingertips to his upper lip under his mustache.

  We pull into Toby’s before he has a chance to delve into more of his conquests. He never shares these kinds of stories about my grandmother, but I don’t think it’s because he doesn’t have them. They were married for more than forty years, and from what I have gleaned, he holds her on a very precious, very high pedestal. Those intimate stories are kept close to the vest, right where I will keep mine.

  “I can just run in,” I say, pushing open the driver’s door.

  “No, I want to come,” Eleanor insists, pushing my seat forward as I get out.

  “I’m no third wheel. You two go on in and I’ll keep the heater company,” Grandpa says, unfurling his paper to read it in the car.

  Eleanor takes away my insecurities about whether or not to hold her hand the second I shut the door, sliding her fingers through mine and giving me a tender squeeze. She practically skips at my side as we enter the shop, and I smile as she moves ahead of me, noting my flannel shirt tied around her waist.

  Dale must have called ahead, because his coworker, an even bigger guy named Ron, flags me down before I have a chance to delve too deeply into the store. He holds up the package of clips I need as well as a few other things Dale must have discovered after I left. I pay for the parts with my poker winnings and glance around the store for Eleanor.

  “Elle?” I call out, my chest fluttering with anxious nerves. For whatever reason, I immediately think of Addy, which injects my body with a rush of adrenaline that fuels my footsteps until I’m nearly running along the back aisles. I’m starting to let my mind go to a bad place when a pair of cold hands wrap around my wrist and jerk me into a small alcove between a tire display and a precarious stack of air filters.

  “Shit, Elle!” I whisper-shout, smiling mostly from relief.

  She giggles, and mouths I’m sorry against me as she lifts up on her toes and parts her lips over mine. She tastes like maple, and her lips are smooth and soft. I breathe a quiet laugh against them while nipping at her plump bottom lip with my teeth. My hands cup both sides of her face, my right one still holding the bag of parts. The plastic smacks against her cheek, which makes both of us laugh. I run my thumb along the spot and press a soft kiss on her jawline.

  “We should get back to Hank. He can’t be left alone for long. He could have turned that car into a strip club by now,” I joke.

  She clutches my arm as I lead her back through the store and try to avoid the scowl Ron’s wearing as we pass.

  “Thanks for your help, Ron,” Eleanor says, clearly not giving a damn.

  “Uh huh,” he grumbles, running a dust rag over the counter as we push through the door.

  We climb into the car in a fit of laughter, which my grandpa pokes fun of all the way through the coffee shop drive-thru and back home to where Dale is impatiently pacing my driveway.

  “Better not be a scratch on her,” he says, practically opening the driver’s side door for me.

  “Just the big gash in the back end,” I retort. With pursed lips, Dale holds out an open palm for his keys, which I deliver joke-free.

  Eleanor joins my grandpa inside while I work with Dale to understand what I got so wrong the first time I did the wiring. He’s a little nicer now that I can give him my full focus. I think he’s also glad that his car is back
in his sightline. We work for almost two hours and manage to get things a little further along than I thought they were yesterday.

  I see Dale off and close up the garage, heading in to rescue Eleanor from my grandfather’s charms. She’s curled up on the couch under one of my mom’s afghans, fully engaged in the highlights from last night’s games across the league. My grandpa is giving her details that only a hockey purist would care about, and she’s letting him. I almost believe she’s enjoying it, but I think it’s less the hockey and more the company. Hank has always had a gift for making life seem normal. I think it’s the biggest reason my mom welcomed him moving in with us. He brought calm and consistency to our wrecked little world.

  I cough to get Eleanor’s attention, staying tucked in the kitchen so I don’t get drawn into the hockey world of Hank Wydner. I actually enjoy watching games with him, but all I can focus on right now is how I want to be alone with her.

  “You all done?” She stretches her way out of the blanket, folding it on the sofa next to where she’s sitting.

  I nod.

  “Dale get that stick out of his ass?” Grandpa yells over his shoulder.

  “Not yet,” I say through a smile.

  “Well, some things never change,” he says.

  Eleanor stands and rounds the coffee table, stopping at my grandfather’s side and touching his shoulder with her hand.

  “Thank you for the company,” she says. He pats her hand with his own and glances up with a certain fondness in his eyes. Grandpa definitely approves of my affinity for the “pretty blonde girl across the street,” as he always calls her.

  I glance up the stairs as she nears me and she nods with a smile. I lead her up to my room, my hands growing sweatier with each step I scale. By the time we reach my door, my heart is thumping loudly and I’m convinced if I took my shirt off she’d be able to see it.

  I hold the door as she passes inside, and push it closed after her, almost stopping at a crack but going for the bold move and shutting it all the way. The air grows thin the moment the latch clicks in place.