by Dean, Ali
I catch the tear forming in the corner of my eye before he sees it, wiping the corner of my sleeve against the right side of my face.
“I’m so sorry, Jace,” I croak out. My response is nowhere near the weight of his confession, but I don’t even know how to relate to what he’s saying. I grew up with so much love, and I’m starting to piece together all of the things I know from moments in Jace’s life. The sum total I arrive at is, he was mostly afraid and almost always alone.
“My mom has tried to leave him before, but he always guilts her into giving them one more shot. It’s always the same—he’ll change, or they’ll go to counseling that never really happens. That’s why she works nights. She never has to see him, except on days off, which she also tries to avoid with extra shifts and overtime.”
I take in his face, so young, but becoming a man. Who has he had to learn from?
“Is that why you’ve never been able to catch up in school?” I ask.
His right shoulder shrugs while his hand crawls forward to land on the grass between us, his fingers plucking blades out one at a time.
“Nobody was ever home to teach me,” he says. “But the expectation to get good grades was still high.”
I watch his eyes zero in on a slender, green stalk between us, and he pulls it out by the root, turning it over a few times in his hand until his focus falls from his fingers to my eyes.
“Why is she leaving him now?” I ask, wanting to know more, wanting to understand.
“He broke Zack’s nose the other day. My brother didn’t put something away where it was supposed to go in the garage, so our dad hit him with a wrench.”
I cup my mouth to hide my gasp as best as I can, but the “Oh, God,” escapes me too quickly to be held back. I know the moment it happened—I saw his brother, his eye. There wasn’t a fight at all.
“He hasn’t done anything like that in a while, but I guess she just finally realized that he was really never going to get better, and this is never going to stop,” he says, pushing himself up to a sitting position. I follow his lead and do the same. “I went with her to file, and she got an order of protection.”
I don’t answer him right away, instead focusing on the way his eyes look only at his hands, one finger working to wrap a green piece of grass around another. My attention moves from one tiny movement to the next—his forearm muscles moving in tiny, controlled waves, his jaw reflexing with the grinding of his teeth, his nostrils flaring from his pulsing breath. Without any more pause, my fingers slide slowly along the cool ground between us until my hand finds his. He flinches at first, but his joints and muscles give in quickly, and I thread my fingers through his and run my thumb along the edge of his palm hoping to soothe a pain I can’t even comprehend.
“I’m so sorry, Jace,” I say, willing his eyes to mine. They come to me slowly, and, when our gazes meet, his hand squeezes back.
“Don’t be sorry, Dee. You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says, his voice soft and sweet and still lost in something.
We lie like this for several minutes, my hand in his, our fingers taking small, sweet strokes—our palms speaking instead of our mouths. The intensity of his stare eventually becomes too much, and I’m not sure if it’s my nerves our how much my heart hurts for him that makes me turn my attention back to the stars, but eventually I do. I don’t take away my hand, though. He gets to keep that. I want him to have it.
“What were you supposed to do tonight?” he asks, his voice surprising me after long minutes of silence.
I bunch my lips, think about the school bag I haven’t unzipped, and the test I’m going to hope I’m ready for enough.
“Nothing really,” I say, a sort of half truth because studying wasn’t my first choice. Jace was my first choice—even after everything. I choose him now.
“I’m glad I came out here,” he sighs, his thumb now doing the stroking on the back of my hand, mine growing more still.
“Me, too,” I confess.
More time passes, and I begin to track a satellite moving slowly across the sky, keeping its pace against the few spotty clouds that have moved in above us. It disappears for small gaps behind the gray, but I always find it again in the clear.
“I’m sorry I was such a jerk,” Jace says, igniting a smile on my face that I can’t seem to help. I glance to the side then back up to the sky, and chuckle.
“You were a pretty big jerk,” I say, not willing to tell him I forgive him or that it’s okay. My chest hurts still from the fresh memory, but he’s still holding my hand, tethering me to him no matter how right I would be to punish him for what he did.
His breath comes out in a stutter eventually, so I let my teeth saw at my lip and consider letting him off the hook with forgiveness. My lips part to tell him it’s okay.
“Was that really your first kiss?” he says, speaking instead.
My mouth closes promptly, and my lips feel tingly and numb—as unromantic as his kiss was, my body still reacted from feeling his mouth on mine. That kiss—it left a mark. I nod slowly before speaking, my eyes flitting to his, but never staying long.
“Yes,” I say. My voice is gravelly, so I clear my throat and attempt to swallow down my nerves.
Seconds pass but, in my heart and head, time feels as if it’s on pause. My pulse has grown to a steady rhythm that is sending blood pumping vigorously through my fingers, arms, chest, ears—I’m alive with anxiety in every inch of my being, and, as chilly as the evening air is, a light sweat hits my brow. I’m grateful when Jace lets go of my hand, and I run my arm over my head, partly to shield myself from his view, but also to check my vitals and stave off the desire to lose consciousness.
Jace, unfortunately, is not going to let me hide. He’s on his feet and standing above me, his hand held back out to help me to stand. My eyes blink twice, the first time snapping to his open palm and the second on his crooked smile.
“You look terrified,” he says through a soft laugh.
“Probably because I am,” I say, my eyes now wide on his.
“Don’t be,” he smirks, bending down slightly and nodding toward my hand which is clutching the edge of the towel beneath me. I squeeze it tightly, as if I’m saying goodbye to everything careful and safe—I kind of think I am—then lift my arm until my fingers lock back into that warm place with his. He lifts me to my feet easily, but doesn’t let go.
“I messed that first one up,” he says, as he slowly untangles our grasp on one another. His hands move up my arms, gliding over my shoulders and neck to my face, a touch that’s nervous and barely there. This is all so completely opposite of everything else Jace Padgett does in life. He’s hit hard by linemen on the field. He slaps hands with a sting in celebration with his friends. He throws his body on the wrestling mat without regard for what might happen to him on impact. But not now—not out here with me, on this stupid tattered towel, under the same sky I fell in love with him under when we were twelve. This touch, it’s so wonderfully contradictory, and when his eyes sweep from my lips and along my cheek until our stares sync with one another again, all that is left of my breath escapes in a tiny puff that tugs my bottom lip loose from my teeth.
“I never should have thrown away the chance to be your first kiss like that, Dee,” he says, his eyes roaming to my forehead where he sweeps away strands of my hair. I close my eyes, and hold on to every second and every feel; for fear that this—none of this—is real.
“I always wanted it to be you,” I say, blinking my lids open with my heartfelt honesty.
His expression is arresting, yet I find courage in it and bring my own hands to the center of his chest, grasping at the cotton of his shirt. I don’t know if it’s his heartbeat I feel under my knuckles or my own from the rapid flow coursing through my veins, but the beat is hard and fast, as if seconds are counting down quickly for something wonderful and amazing.
“If it’s alright with you,” he says, hand sliding down my face, warming me everywhere with his touc
h. “I would like a mulligan.”
My lips curl without warning, and my eyes move away from his mouth briefly, just long enough to show him the amusement in my own.
“You are always breaking rules, aren’t you? There are no mulligans in anything, Jace. Only nice opponents who are willing to let you take second shots because they feel bad for you,” I say.
His head falls to mine, and his chest shakes with a chuckle.
“So, that’s a yes?” he asks, his lips grazing mine with his words. I wanted to make this a challenge for him. I didn’t want to give in so easily, but that touch—however slight—robbed me of my remaining will.
“It’s always a yes from me,” I say, my words barely audible, but loud enough for Jace to hear the permission he wanted.
What was a tickle one second turns into a gentle tug on my bottom lip, his teeth scratching along my skin, as he at first slips away but quickly comes back for more. His hands are firm, cradling my head, and his mouth takes sweet and careful time to taste mine, starting with the bottom lip then moving to the top.
My hands are unsure, so I leave them clutched to the front of his shirt, and, for nearly half an hour, I let Jace guide me through these uncharted waters, filling pauses with expressions of adoration, and overcoming silence with more of his mouth on mine. Sweeps of his tongue against my upper lip send shivers down my bare arms, and I feel the tingles caused by his caressing all the way in my toes.
It’s a second kiss. Technically…yes. But it’s also a better kiss. A far superior kiss. The best kiss. The kind that erases first attempts and stupidity. A kiss that comes with a promise. I think it now, and I lock it away to work through later. Jace Padgett is no longer a distant dream. He’s mine. And we will never be able to go back to a before.
Which is fine because I…don’t…want to.
Luck
As much as I believed in that promise when Jace’s mouth was on mine, old insecurities are old for a reason. Mine came flooding back the moment my head hit my pillow—they pushed my eyes wide, and drove my heart to worry.
And Jace didn’t do anything to stop them.
I held on to that small sliver of hope that I would arrive at school to his open arms, to more kisses and public displays declaring me his. Instead, we went back to acquaintances, and even though these heavy secrets lived in our shared universe, they weren’t spoken of in words or glances. In fact, Jace never looked at me at all. It was almost as if we’d drifted further apart. And that love I had from the past that his kiss rekindled started to harden again into hate.
By the fourth day, I told Brit about the kiss. She was cold about it at first because I had kept it from her, but, by the evening, she had forgiven me and leant me her shoulder to cry on—quite literally. I don’t like the idea of crying over a boy, and I hate how long I was able to keep my walls in place with Jace before, but can’t seem to rebuild now. It may be his secrets that are keeping me from it—his parents’ divorce and the abuse are things I’ve kept locked away. But I also think I’m just not ready to give up, and I hate how weak that makes me feel even more.
I’ve busied myself with my writing instead, filling my notebook with new poems and ideas for stories. The universe rewarded my renewed dedication with a letter from Saunders when I returned home from school this afternoon. It isn’t the full acceptance, but it’s an invitation to an interview—an open door all of my own. I’ve read it so many times in the last hour that the envelope is already wearing away. I quit putting it back in, which is probably for the best, because my father has read it almost as many times.
We’re celebrating tonight with dinner at my favorite restaurant, and I’m sure my parents are wondering what’s keeping me so long. My appearance doesn’t explain the delay—I’m still wearing the same jeans I wore to school, and I’ve changed from one long-sleeved T-shirt into another. The transformation hardly warrants the time I’ve taken in my room while they wait downstairs. But I’m still not ready to leave my room, and ride in a car with my parents to some place miles away from where I know Jace is right now.
It’s the night of district readings. They’re happening at Auburn Community College, a town away. I’ve been staring at my clock, my insides swaying with guilt and curiosity because I know I still have time to make it there, but I’m not so sure I want to see Jace fail.
We never finished working on the poem together, so I have no idea what he walked into that crowded auditorium with tonight. But I know he’s there. My best friend went, and she’s been texting me, telling me I should come to “see it all go down.”
I don’t hear the soft knock at my door, so when my mom settles onto the bed beside me, I startle, gripping my phone in my fist to catch it before it falls to the floor.
“Sorry, honey. I thought you heard me,” she says.
I let out a nervous laugh, more because my phone is buzzing with Brit’s texts, which scare me more than my mom’s sniper approach into my room.
“It’s okay. I was just sort of lost in thought…trying to remember what I was doing. You ever have that happen?” I string my words together, hoping somehow my lie makes sense and she buys it. She only smirks at me, though, so I decide to stand and move toward my closet.
“You have a guest,” she says, and I pause with my right shoe halfway off of my foot, as I pretend that changing shoes was what I was really doing. I glance down at my phone, knowing my friend is still miles away at the school. The only reason I don’t throw up is because I know Jace is there, too.
“Alright,” I answer my mom, shoving my foot back into my Chucks, and moving to my door, a little uneasy at the mystery waiting for me.
I see Zack’s nervous feet shuffling around the tile of our entryway, as I reach the last few stairs. The bruising around his eye is faded, but it’s still raw. I turn to look at my mom, and hold up a finger for her to give me a minute. She smiles, but watches with caution in her eyes as she passes and continues on to our family room. I’m sure she’s wondering if he’s been in a fight, just like I did.
“Hey, Zack. What’s going on?” I ask, hugging my arms around my body, my feet now matching the nervous pattern of his.
“Hey, Dakota. I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to interrupt, but I just…” He glances up, but back down, eye contact making him nervous.
“It’s fine. Really, we were just going to head out to dinner, but…”
“Oh, then…it’s okay. Never mind,” he says, interrupting me, his hand already on the door to leave.
“No, Zack. It’s fine…really,” I say, touching his shoulder. He sucks in a sharp breath, and looks at my hand, so I let go. I wonder how many scars these boys are left with from the years of abuse that remained hidden behind closed doors.
“I was just going to see if you were going to that award thing that Jace is at? I got home late from my practice, and Jace and my mom already went,” he says with a slight shrug. Zack is only fourteen, so his modes of transportation are limited to passenger seats or his skateboard.
“I didn’t really plan on it,” I gulp. I look up, and am surprised to see his eyes waiting for me.
“Right,” he says, nodding once and pursing his lips as if he has something more to add. His expression makes me pause, and, when he opens his mouth but promptly closes it, I suddenly want to know what he’s fighting against saying to me.
“Are you okay, Zack?” I say in a hushed tone. His gaze drifts down to my hands, still gripping the sides of my shirt, and he stares at them for a few hard seconds while his teeth saw at his lower lip. Eventually, his eyes flutter and a small but sad laugh escapes him.
“Not really,” he says, his eyes once again finding mine. The sadness behind them is devastating. My breath held, I hover in the in-between until his attention falls back to our front door again, and the sound of the handle twisting wakes me from my limbo.
“I’ll take you,” I say. His head turns to mine quickly, and his eyes are wide. But his mouth—it’s happy. The smile is incredibly faint,
but the twitch at the corners of his lips is a sign that I chose right. “I just have to let my parents know. Wait here.”
As I suspected, my mom wasn’t far around the corner. I tell her that he’s missing his brother’s speech, and I also elude to the fact that his dad won’t be around to take him. My mom puts enough together to understand, and both of my parents promise a make-up dinner to celebrate with me tomorrow.
Within minutes, Zack and I are in my car, my foot heavier on the gas than it should be. He’s quiet for most of the ride, and his attention seems to be taken up with his thoughts and the sporadic passing of streetlights and business fronts outside his window. He doesn’t say a word until we round the corner to enter the congested parking lot where the competition is being held.
“Thank you for bringing me,” he says, his shoulders relaxing as he exhales a heavy breath.
“Of course,” I smile, pulling into the last spot on the farthest row from the auditorium.
We both exit my car, and I press the lock button on the key fob, honking my horn. I check my watch to see that the readings are just now beginning, and I pull my phone from my back pocket to send a text to Brit, letting her know I decided to come. She sends me a quick note to alert me that she’ll move and save me a seat, but it has to be on the side near the front. As long as it isn’t really within anyone’s view, I’m good with it.
When we walk into the auditorium, Zack finds his mom standing near the back, and offers to let me watch with them. I give Mrs. Padgett a small wave, but whisper that my friend is saving me a seat, and I move to the far wall and down toward the front where I see Brit’s face looking out for me.
My seat is on the very end of a row, but enough to the side that our view of the stage is of the contestants’ profiles. This is good, because it means I will only be in Jace’s periphery—a fitting place for me to be, it seems.