by Dean, Ali
“I thought you were going to pass out for a minute there. You…you really don’t like snakes, do you?” he says, finally looking up at me, head tilted to the side, one eye closed—yeah, he’s cute. Even so.
I shake my head and laugh.
“It was that obvious, huh?” I grimace.
“I think you choked the popcorn in your fists,” he says.
I breathe out a short laugh, and look down at my hands. I’m twisting them because I’m nervous, because I don’t really want to get kissed, but I can tell he’s thinking about it, and I know I’ll let him. I also know I’ll regret it.
Quiet begins to take over, and it feels like that moment in the scary movie where the thing—whatever that thing is—is about to jump out at you and make you lose your shit. That thing is coming, and with every small movement Michael makes, I brace myself to flinch. His hand runs through his hair. I wince. His hands slide around the wheel, sinking to the bottom. I feel sick. His body shifts so he faces me.
My door swings open!
For a moment, I think perhaps I was the one to unlatch my door, but I would have been prepared if that were the case. It wasn’t me, and my hands grasp at anything they can find in the interior of the car to keep me from crashing backward on my tailbone.
“Dude, Dee…you have to come see this!” Jace says, his eyes lit up with amusement.
That’s the second time he’s called me that in the last twenty-four hours. I’d probably swoon over it, if it weren’t somehow infuriating right now.
I clumsily stumble out of the car, fighting to right myself while Michael crawls from his side, a scowl plastered on his face. Jace has already jogged to the center of the road where he has a bucket resting between the feet of two of his friends.
“Jace,” I begin, but stop, not really sure what I want to do to him. I want to push him, hit him. But I kind of want to thank him, because the mood from the inside of Michael’s car has definitely been extinguished.
“Really, I swear. This is good. Just stand there,” he says, jogging to the opposite sidewalk from the one I’m on.
I feel Michael stepping closer to me, so I cross my arms over my chest to hide my hands, fearing he’ll try to hold one. I know he tried a few times during the movie, but I always found a way to do something else with my palms. Thank God for popcorn.
“Alright, ready?” Jace shouts.
“So ready,” I say in a flat tone, my mouth a dash.
“Three…two…one!”
On his count, he chucks a football in the air, sinking it right in the bucket, and the moment his ball connects with the plastic, hundreds of popping sounds echo and fire off with small sparks between his two friends. I recognize the poppers we bought at the dollar store when we were kids immediately. We had thousands of them because the checkout lady didn’t ring them up right, and instead sold us the case for a buck. Jace lined his driveway with them when we were in sixth grade, and we rolled our skateboard over them for an hour. It was cool as hell then, but right now—fresh home from my first solo date—it’s utterly ridiculous.
“Wow,” I deadpan.
Jace jogs over to me.
“Oh, come on, Dee. You know that was bad-ass.” He laughs. He’s being a complete meat-head right now, and I’m actually embarrassed to be here and know him.
“Yeah, so bad-ass,” Michael says, his own frustration coating his words. “Come on, Dakota,” Michael says, his hand finding my back as he guides me toward my house. That feeling creeps back inside—the one that’s afraid of what comes next—and I hug myself tighter.
“What? Did I interrupt a moment or something?” Jace says.
I close my eyes instantly, but my feet keep moving forward. Michael’s, unfortunately, do not.
“Yeah, you kinda did,” my date says.
I can feel the red taking over one skin cell at a time; the warmth rushing up my neck and chin and cheeks. I may never say yes to a boy again—my father will be thrilled.
“Like you could possibly have a shot in hell at a moment with Dee,” Jace says. And now I’m stopped. My throat closes instantly, and air doesn’t come in or out of me.
“You have no idea what I have a shot at, Jace. I don’t know what your deal is tonight, but I’m pretty sure she doesn’t want you calling her that name any more,” Michael says, as I turn slowly, my hands now flexed at my sides and my heart pulsating with the intensity of a death metal band.
Indulging Jace was a mistake, and I know it the second my eyes meet his. He’s in that zone—that competitive one he goes to when he’s on the field or at the plate for a baseball game. It’s what makes him an amazing athlete, and it’s the reason he’s going to be a star at some big Division I school next year. It’s the same face he made when he hit a wiffle ball over our house to win a game against his brothers six years ago. It’s the I’m Jace-Padgett-and-I-don’t-lose face. And Michael just threw down the gauntlet.
“I think I know what you don’t have a shot at, though,” Jace says, and, within two steps, he’s toe-to-toe with me, his hand in my hair and his mouth on mine with so much authority that I don’t realize my hands are clutched to his back until the need for breath is so strong that I have to push him away. He lets go of me the moment our lips part, and his mouth curves on one side, his dimple a quotation mark wrapped around what I quickly realize was just one big F-U to Michael.
I stumble one step back, and press the back of my hand against my mouth, wishing there was a way to somehow get those last few seconds of my life back, to have a do-over.
“Right,” Michael says, punctuating that one word with a harsh and clipped single laugh. “I had a nice time tonight, Dakota. I’ll give you a call tomorrow, okay?” he says, all of his attention on his rival. I nod, even though I know he can’t see me through his tunnel vision. He walks backward a few paces before turning and getting into his car. He doesn’t say another word, and when he drives off, I wonder what would have been worse—his kiss? Or the one I got instead?
“What an arrogant…” Jace begins, only to have me stop him with a swift smack of my palm to the center of his chest.
“Don’t!” I shout, the tears I’ve held for nearly a minute flowing freely now.
My blow knocks him off balance, and he looks at his feet before his eyes meet mine again. He sighs just as quickly as he shifts his expression into one of remorse, and I think to myself how everything this boy does is an act—one big act to make people let him have his way.
“Dee…” he says, his mouth forging empathy.
“Don’t!” I repeat. “Don’t…Dee me. I’m not Dee, Jace! I haven’t been Dee in years. You don’t call me that. In fact…you don’t call me! And you don’t get to kiss me. Not…ever. Never again!”
“That guy, Dee…” I shoot him a sharp look, and his hands go up. “Dakota. Sorry. But that guy…he’s so stuck up, and he thinks he’s better than everyone.”
“That’s because he is!” I yell, not really meaning it, just wanting to hurt him. It was a low blow, and I see the effects of it immediately in his eyes. His shortcomings attacked with Michael’s GPA, his intellect and his academic drive. I didn’t mean it, but I don’t take it back. I want him to hurt.
His hands dive into his pockets, and I squeeze the bottom of my shirt in my palms, anger and disappointment pumping through my veins. Our eyes dance over the few feet of space between us, and, in the background, I can hear the abrasive laughter of his friends. I bet they think this is all just some funny game—Jace just wanting to get a reaction. But it’s not that at all. It’s my life.
“I have to go,” I whisper finally, my eyes falling to my feet as I hold up a hand to shoo him away.
“Dakota…wait,” he says, his fingertips grazing my shoulder. I ignite in an instant, and I hate that I do. I hate that my body chooses Jace. I hate that I’d choose him now.
I give in and look at him again, his mouth no longer confident, his eyes full of regret—it’s almost genuine.
Almost.
�
�I’m sorry,” he shrugs, eyes closing and opening a bit off from center so he doesn’t have to look me square on.
“Do you know that that…what you just did…was my first real kiss?” I say. My stomach sinks when I speak, but I’m too far gone now to be embarrassed.
“You just made me your goddamned trophy to make yourself feel better about who knows what. I’m sure you’ll forget about it in a week, when you move on to the next big thing in your life, but me…” I pause and purse my lips tightly as I shake my head then exhale. I flit my gaze to his waiting, green and beautiful eyes, and I begin to cry all over again, this time the quiet kind with single hot tears that stop mid-cheek. “I am going to remember that forever. And I’ll never get it back. It’s always going to be nothing more than a hate kiss. Which I guess is about right because—” I swallow hard. “I kinda hate you right now, Jace Padgett.”
“Dee,” he slips, and my breath hitches with the growing need to fall apart. I hold up my hand to stop him and walk away.
“No…I kinda do. I’ll see you tomorrow, Jace.” I manage to say those final scratchy, tear-soaked words, and I pick up my pace, hoping he knows to let me go. My hand meets my front door, and I realize that somewhere along the way, the beating of my heart stopped. I can no longer feel it.
I can no longer feel anything.
Real
I kept it all to myself. Every last bit of it.
My mom was waiting up when I walked in the house from my date, and I sucked myself dry of tears in an instant. She wanted that moment—the one where her and I bond over a boy and a first kiss. I told her it wasn’t that kind of date, but the movie was good.
I lied twice…sort of.
The movie was terrible. And the kiss—it happened. Only…it was the wrong boy. Or was it the right boy?
I blew off Brit and her questions this morning, and, when Michael Fisher both entered and left the class he asked me out in only a day ago, he never looked my direction. It should probably hurt, but it didn’t. I was relieved. Jace was also nowhere to be found—a sick day for which I’m sure he’ll somehow get full credit for attendance.
To everyone else, it was all erased or it never existed at all. To me though, all it took was a brief second alone—silence with my own thoughts—to go right back to that slip in time when the kiss I always dreamed of happened in the worst possible way.
As I pull into my driveway, hair knotted on top of my head from volleyball practice and my kneepads looped around my ankles, my parents are just getting into their car. My dad pauses with his hand on the driver’s side door, smiling at me with an anxious expression, so I step out quickly, leaving my backpack and gym bag inside.
“What’s up?” I ask, lifting up on my toes to kiss his bearded chin.
“Your mom’s boss gave her suite tickets for tonight’s game at the university. I’m so glad we caught you…”
I must have looked excited, too, because my father winces quickly.
“Oh…it’s…just two tickets. We left you a note about dinner, and I was just glad we saw you so I could tell you instead. I’m sorry. If you really want to go, though, I could stay home. In fact, yeah. How about you and your mom go?” He’s already stepping away from the door as I glance to my mom, her smile sweet and gracious. I know they both really want to go together; I don’t think they’ve had a date in years, their record almost as sparse as mine.
“No, I have so much homework, please—you guys go.” I chuckle, stepping over to my mom’s side of the car.
“Are you sure, honey? You can go with your dad if you’d rather,” she says.
I smile at her sweetness, too, and then shake my head before kissing her cheek.
“I’m positive. Go on. And I’ll read the note with dinner directions,” I say.
My parents exchange a glance over the roof of their sedan but don’t dwell long, thanking me and telling me to call if I need anything. Quite honestly, I’m looking forward to the night alone without having to hide my teenaged misery.
I wave goodbye, and slide my tired legs through the garage, closing it and dragging my spent muscles into my room and shower for the next half hour. The pounding water is a good distraction until the hot water runs out. I change into my softest oversized sweatshirt and leggings, then amble down the stairs to the kitchen where I follow the over-explained steps my father wrote out for heating up a frozen lasagna. I watch some couple on TV complain about a house remodel that they end up loving, while I wait for my meal to finish baking, and then I pull it from the oven and pick my way through half. I burnt the edges because, despite my dad’s directions, I didn’t give the dish a quarter turn at thirty minutes.
My mind finally quiet enough to handle studying for my government test, I step into the garage and slap my hand on the button to open the door so I can retrieve my schoolbooks from my car. The sun is long gone, and it’s a moonless night, so the driveway is dark. It takes me a few minutes for my eyes to adjust, and, when I finally reach my car and tug on the driver’s side handle, I remember I locked it and turn to go back inside for my keys. I wouldn’t have seen him if the front porch light weren’t on. He’s laying in our lawn, his knees bent and his face lost to the sky; his old superhero towel spread diagonally underneath him. I don’t startle, and I wonder if it’s because somehow my subconscious knew he was out here.
“You remember when we used to do this, Dee?”
I cringe out of habit, but my belly also warms because this time when he calls me that, it’s different. I walk over to him, stopping a few feet short from where he lays, and look up at the stars myself.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice strained from the stretch of my neck. “How many shooting stars do you think we saw that one summer?”
“A hundred,” he answers quickly. I laugh and look down at him, but his eyes remain on the sky.
“I think it’s more like twenty,” I say.
His mouth quirks on one side, and he squints.
“Maybe you weren’t looking in the right place. I remember a hundred,” he says.
I laugh again. He always has to win—even at watching stars.
I should go inside and forget about him. I should grab my keys and my homework, then shut my doors and lock them, flipping out the lights without a second thought. But I don’t. Instead, I sink to my knees, then swing my feet in front of me and lie back next to him underneath the brightest Big Dipper I’ve seen in years.
“I have a star. Did I ever tell you that?” I say. I can see his head fall to the side from my periphery, and I feel different knowing his eyes are on me.
“Like one of those infomercials or something?” he asks.
I nod and hold my hands in the air above me, forming a diamond that I line up with the dipper’s handle. My star is supposed to be in the place where my thumbs meet.
“Yep,” I say, closing one eye, and focusing on a cluster of stars. “I asked for it from Santa when I was six. I have the certificate still and everything. It cost fifteen bucks.”
It’s quiet for a few seconds, but the cricket chirping is suddenly overtaken with Jace’s laughter.
“Do you know how many people probably own that same star?” he coughs out.
“What? You don’t think you can buy a star for fifteen dollars?” I respond, my hands falling to my chest as I roll my head to the side to settle my eyes on his. They’re crinkled with his laugh and smile.
“Uhm, no. I think that seems a little bit like fraud,” he says.
I shrug and look back to the general area of my little star neighborhood.
“Suit yourself. But, if I ever get a rocket ship that travels there, you can’t come. My star is only for believers,” I say.
He laughs once more, then loses his attention again to the black sky peppered with diamonds. “I guess I can live with that,” he says.
The crickets begin to echo again with our silence, and the breeze picks up enough that I have to tuck my fingers inside my sleeve to warm my hands. I should leave him no
w, let him look out at the sky for answers and forgiveness on his own. But I don’t. I stay. And we both look up in silence for several long minutes before he speaks again.
“So are you and Michael…like…going out?” he asks. My chest is flooded with a warm feeling while my heartbeat begins to drum faster.
“No,” I sigh. I bite my tongue, but only for so long, and, after a few seconds, I continue. “I suppose I can thank you for that.”
I can see his head fall to the side again from the corner of my eye. I suck in my lip, but keep my attention to what I think might be Orion’s Belt. Or maybe it’s just a line of three stars. I’m not very good at astronomy.
“You weren’t at school today,” I say, only because the quiet is too hard and I don’t want to talk about me any longer.
“I had to help my mom with something,” he says, his answer quiet and a little more hesitant than normal. I turn to look at him slowly, finally letting myself stare and scrutinize his expression when I’m certain he’s not looking back. I take in his profile, and his jaw flexes a few times.
“They’re getting divorced,” he says.
“I’m so sorry, Jace,” I say, before pulling in my brow and holding my mouth shut tight. There’s something in his voice and the way he looks right now that suggests I need to just listen for a while.
“Don’t be,” he says. “I’ve prayed for it for years.”
I roll to my side, and fold my hands under my cheek.
“My dad used to hit me pretty good,” he says. My gut twists because, deep down, I think I always knew. Jace was always afraid of his dad, of getting in trouble for things that my father would just chalk up to growing up if they happened to me.
“Used to?” I question, thinking about what I saw the other day in his back yard.
His body turns, and his eyes meet mine, so much of his story told in one single glance. His lips hesitate to speak, but as his eyes fall further into my own, years of secrets begin to escape.
“He still tries. Like the other day—at my house?” He looks at me for confirmation, so I nod. “Yeah. I haven’t filled out any of the forms from the schools interested in me for their football programs. I haven’t done it because I need help, and I can’t ask for help, because he expects me to just figure it out—to just catch up on years of being behind with one night of hard work at my desk in my room.”