by Laura Hopper
“So do you,” I say.
He rolls on top of me, pressing his body against mine, our lips still locked together, our tongues still intertwined. He tastes like a combination of mint and cherry. I love the feeling of his chest against mine. I reach up and put my hands on his back. He’s a little sweaty, which I find surprisingly sexy. My natural instincts take over and I lift up his shirt and feel the warm, smooth skin on his back.
“You have soft hands,” he says between kisses. He positions his hands under my body and flips me over so that now he’s lying on his back and I’m on top of him. His hands start exploring my back, under my shirt, over my jog bra. He skillfully lifts my shirt over my head, removing it completely. I gasp. He looks at me.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say.
“You sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” I’ve never been more certain of anything.
He wraps his hands around me, pulling me into him. It’s as though I’m fully enveloped in him. The entire world consists of Luke and me and this blue squishy mat. His hands on my body don’t feel scary or threatening or uninvited. They feel warm, protective, comforting, and supremely sensual.
“You’re a really good kisser,” I try to say without breaking my lips away from his. The words end up muddled and muted.
“What was that?” he asks as he pulls away. I can’t help but think he’s trying not to laugh at me for attempting to kiss and talk at the same time.
“You’re a really good kisser,” I say, hoping he can’t see how awkward I feel.
“It’s because I’m kissing you.”
He grabs me even tighter and rolls us over again so that he’s lying on me, his legs between mine. I open my eyes for an instant and see the stars emerging in the darkening evening sky. I feel his whole body pushing against me. I can tell how much he wants me. I wonder if I should pull back, call it a night, but it’s almost impossible to stop something that feels so good.
A faint and familiar clicking noise can be heard in the distance. I don’t pay much attention, because right now there’s only one thing on my mind, and that thing is on top of me, kissing me passionately and pressing his hips into me. The clicking seems to be getting closer, harder to ignore. Before I realize where the sound is coming from, Luke and I are being sprayed with freezing-cold water.
“The sprinklers!” I yell.
“Who cares?” Luke asks, apparently perfectly happy to stay right where he is.
“You’re crazy,” I say, laughing, gently pushing him off me. I run across the field through the storm of spraying water. He grabs my shirt and runs after me.
Fifteen minutes later, I walk into my house and my mom calls from the kitchen.
“Janey?”
“Yes.”
“Come in here,” she says.
I walk into the kitchen and drop my backpack and track bag. Mom is standing over the stove, stirring something in a big pot. Probably pasta. She looks up at me.
“Hi,” I say.
“What happened to you?”
I suddenly remember my sopping-wet ponytail.
“I stayed late at the track and the sprinklers went on.”
“You stayed late and didn’t tell me where you were.” She’s giving me the firm mom voice. “Have you looked at your phone? I’ve texted and called you. I was worried.”
“Sorry,” I say sheepishly.
“Are you?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“I mean, you walk in late and wet. It’s dark. I tried to reach you and you don’t seem to be thinking about anybody but yourself.”
“Wow, Mom, that’s pretty harsh. I was a little late one night. Give me a break. I made a mistake. I should have checked my phone. I should have let you know. I was at school and then I came home. That’s it. It won’t happen again.”
“Were you with Luke?” she asks pointedly.
“I was.”
“I hope that having a boyfriend isn’t causing you to make bad choices.” It’s like she’s already making Luke into a villain—as though he’s going to pull me to the dark side.
“First, Mom, he’s not my boyfriend. Second, I lost track of time. I hardly call that a bad choice.”
“Just make sure you’re responsible and smart. Like you always have been.”
“What’s with the overreaction?” I ask.
Mom takes a breath and gives the big wooden spoon another turn.
“I don’t know. I guess I’m not used to the fact that you and I live here alone. It feels strange, and a little scary.”
“Makes sense. I get it. I’ll be more considerate. Anything else?” I ask.
Mom walks closer to me. She twirls my wet ponytail.
“I’m going out Thursday night.”
Does my mother have a date? For some reason it’s much easier to digest the notion of my dad going on a date. I just can’t imagine my mom out with a man other than my dad. She must see the uneasy look on my face.
“I’m just going to dinner with Suzanne and Dana,” she says quickly, as though she can read my mind.
I feel myself breathe a huge sigh of relief.
“Then why do you seem so freaked out about it?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Every other time I’ve gone out with the girls, Dad was home with you.”
“Mom, that’s so untrue. This may be the first time you’ve gone out since the separation, but there were plenty of times you had dinner with friends while Dad was on trips. I’m seventeen. I can handle an evening at home alone. I have two quizzes and a chemistry lab due Friday. I’ll be studying. It’s fine. You need to relax.”
“You’re right. I want to make sure I’m doing this right. That we’re communicating and watching out for each other.”
“We’re fine, Mom. Don’t worry so much.”
Chapter Fourteen
Brett and I walk out of debate class and down the school hallway. We just mock debated another team in our class, and we kicked their butts. I was definitely in the zone, and it helped that I stayed up until midnight preparing my arguments. We continue walking through the throng of people moving from one class to another as we rehash our coach’s comments.
“We need to strengthen our closing—” I barely get the words out before someone grabs me by the hand and pulls me into the empty art room.
Next thing I know, Luke has me up against the Smart Board. I drop my binder on the floor and wrap my arms around his neck. He kisses me hard and fast, as if he wants to get as much in as he can before we both have to get to our next class.
“You smell good,” he whispers into my ear. I feel his hands in my hair and his warm breath working its way down my neck, sending goose bumps up my spine.
I press my lips against his, pushing my tongue into his mouth. He opens his eyes wide, surprised by my assertiveness. I am even surprising myself. It feels so good to have his warm, strong body against me. I can’t get enough of him.
The doorknob turns and we quickly pull away from each other. I attempt to fix my hair while he grabs my binder off the floor and hands it to me. Art students are filing in for class. No one I really know, but of course several people say hi to Luke.
Before we exit, Luke grabs an oil pastel. He stops me and draws a bright red smiley face on the inside of my forearm.
“See you later, Peachy Keen,” he says, and then he walks out the door, leaving me standing there with a goofy grin and messy hair. As soon as I start down the hallway, barely recovering from the most romantic moment (who am I kidding—the only romantic moment) I have ever experienced in the academic building in my school, Brett gets in my face.
“What the hell?” he demands.
“What’s the matter?” I ask lamely. If I weren’t so rattled, I would have certainly come up with a better, more thoughtful response. At least something that makes sense.
“What’s the matter?” he asks. “Hmm. Let’s see. You’ve been distracted and a lot busier than usual
the last week or so. I have asked you repeatedly what’s going on, giving you several chances to come clean. You have lied to my face over and over, telling me nothing is up other than the crap with your parents. You completely flubbed our debate and I let it go because I felt bad for you. But the truth is you used your parents’ separation as a pathetic excuse. And the whole time you were—”
“Brett, I’m sorry,” I interrupt.
“It’s too late, Janey. I thought we were friends. You don’t even tell me you’re hooking up with someone. And it’s Luke Hallstrom, of all people. That’s bullshit.”
“It wasn’t my intention to keep it a secret from you. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything. I think I was worried that you’d be . . . I don’t know . . . mad or something.”
“Mad? Like maybe jealous?”
“No. I don’t know.” Everything I think to say sounds inane and accusatory. He looks at me with eyes full of disappointment. “I guess I was worried you wouldn’t be happy about it,” I say lamely.
“I’m not jealous. You’re not my type.”
“I know. I didn’t think you liked me that way, I just—”
“Maybe you didn’t tell me because you’re embarrassed that you’re wasting your time with a worthless, arrogant guy who’s going to treat you like shit.” He storms off down the hall. I am paralyzed. My feet feel bolted to the floor. The hallway empties out as students find their way to class. I can’t move. Why does adding Luke to my life make me feel like I’m losing other people who matter? Is it some kind of sign that this thing with Luke isn’t good for me? Maybe I’m not ready for all of this. Maybe I can’t handle it. I look down at the bright red happy face on my arm. I wish I felt happy.
That afternoon at track workout, I run hurdles. I see Luke in my peripheral vision, but I force myself to remain focused. I will not let his presence slow me down or distract me. Coach Chow is timing me, and I feel determined not to let Luke cost me seconds on my time. I sense my teammates close behind me, but I will not come in second.
I finish strong and walk over to Coach Chow to get my time. Luke stands with some guys at the Gatorade bins. I’m dying of thirst, but I don’t want to walk up to a group of senior boys. I plop myself down on the track and stretch out my calves. Chow is calling out times as other girls finish their hurdles and wind sprints. A shadow is cast over me; someone is shielding me from the hazy late-afternoon sun. I look up, and Luke is standing there with a cup of water.
“Thirsty?” Since the episode in the hallway with Brett, I have felt conflicted, but when I look up and see this gorgeous boy standing here, holding a cup of water, his hair adorably messy and his teeth gleaming white, I go weak. How can he be bad for me?
“Dying.” He hands me the water and I gulp it down. “Thanks.”
“Nice tat,” he says, gesturing at the slightly faded red drawing on my arm.
I look down at the smiley face. “Yeah, it’s how girls from my ’hood roll.”
He reaches for my hand and pulls me up so I’m standing right in front of him, practically nose to nose, chest to chest. “Let’s hang out.”
“I can’t. My mom is going out tonight and I told her I’d be home to see her before she leaves.”
“Wait a second. Your mom’s going out?”
“Yes,” I say.
“So you’ll be home alone?” he asks.
I see where he’s going with this. Any fool would.
“Yes again,” I say, barely able to meet his eyes.
“Want some company?”
Thoughts of a chemistry lab, a math quiz, and an English quiz race through my mind.
“Yes again.”
Chapter Fifteen
My mom is acting so weird about going out tonight. It’s not like I’ve never been home alone before. She and Dad used to go out to dinner, sometimes just the two of them, sometimes with friends. I think she feels guilty, like she’s supposed to be available twenty-four/seven because of the separation. I try to ease her mind without revealing my urgency to rush her out the door. Am I supposed to tell her that Luke is coming over? Ask for permission? I know if I tell her, she’ll ask all kinds of annoying questions, circling the subject of safe sex. I am absolutely not ready to have that conversation. There is also the chance that she’ll just flat out say that I’m not allowed to be alone in my house with a guy. What do I do in that scenario? Call Luke and say, Sorry, my mommy won’t let me play alone in the sandbox with a boy? I figure the best plan at this juncture is to keep it quiet.
“I’ll be at Ocean View Bar and Grill in Del Mar if you need anything.”
“Mom, it’s fine.”
“I made you a Caesar salad and some chicken skewers.”
“Okay, Mom.” I want her to hurry up and leave so Luke can come over. The rush of both excitement and fear is flooding my body. I’m going to be alone with a boy in my house. I am terrified. And I can’t wait.
Mom kisses me twice on the forehead.
“Love you,” Mom says.
“Love you back. Have fun. And don’t worry.”
“I’ll be home by ten. At the very latest.”
“Mom. Chill.”
And she’s gone. I go back to my room and grab my phone to let Luke know my mom is gone. I’m not sure how to word it. She’s gone? Coast is clear? That sounds so sneaky. Come on over? Too desperate. As I struggle with what to say, my phone lights up.
I’m five minutes away. Okay to come over?
All good. My heart is pounding. Am I ready? Do I look okay? I showered and washed my hair when I got home from track practice. I chose my clothes carefully—it didn’t make sense to get dressed up only to stay home, but I didn’t want to look frumpy in my sweats, so I put on a pair of skinny jeans and a pink Cabo San Lucas tank top. Now that he’s almost here, I’m second-guessing myself. Maybe I should make more of an effort to look pretty or, dare I say it, sexy. Maybe I should have blown my hair dry. Too late now. I pull my wet hair into a knot on the top of my head and drag light pink gloss across my lips. Doorbell. Here we go.
Even though I know very well who is at my door, I look out the front window, as I have been trained to do since I was little. Luke, fresh and clean in jeans and a hoodie, is standing on my doorstep holding a pizza box like the cutest delivery boy in the whole world. I open the door.
“I hope you like pepperoni,” he says.
“My favorite,” I say.
“How’d I guess?”
“Come on in,” I say.
We sit at the kitchen table, eating pizza and talking about movies. Luke has seen all the classic movies from the seventies and eighties. He makes me promise that we’ll watch The Godfather together, a promise I’m more than happy to make. It’s surreal to be sitting here eating pizza with Luke Hallstrom at the white Formica table where I’ve had my breakfast nearly every morning since I was six years old. My nerves have settled and now I’m just happy and comfortable sitting across from him, staring into his beautiful brown eyes.
“Will you show me your room?”
I spoke too soon. My pounding heart is up to its old tricks.
“Sure.”
We walk down the hallway to my room. I turn on the light and look at my room as though I’m seeing it for the first time. I see my fluffy white bed piled with pillows and the few stuffed animals I can’t part with—the gorilla my dad and I won throwing quarters into jars at the Del Mar Fair and the bear holding a heart reading HUG ME that Danielle bought me for Valentine’s Day last year. Neither of us had boyfriends, so we were each other’s Valentines. Above my desk hangs a giant corkboard loaded with photos of friends, ribbons from track meets, certificates from debates, ticket stubs, and birthday cards from years past. My running shoes sit in the corner of my room next to a pile of books I’ve already read but don’t want to give away.
I wonder if my room should be somehow more sophisticated. Instead of a bulletin board with souvenirs, perhaps I should have an interesting piece of art hanging above my desk. Or
maybe my furniture should look more adult.
“Your room is so you,” he says, as though he’s delivering the highest of compliments.
“It is?”
“Yeah,” he says. “I like it.” He sits on the edge of my bed.
“Different from all the other girls’ bedrooms?” I say teasingly as I walk over to him.
“Very funny,” he says, wrapping his hands around my waist. I’m pretty impressed at how artfully he dodges the subject of his experiences in other girls’ rooms. Every time I’m with Luke, either kissing him or looking at his flawlessness, I can’t help but wonder what he wants with me. In moments like this, when I am reminded that he’s far more experienced than I am, I feel my insecurities rise to the surface. Maybe he has spent a lot of time tangled in the frilly sheets of other girls’ beds. That kills me a little. It’s great that he’s experienced, but I hate feeling like I’m being compared to others—the way I kiss, the way I look, how far I’m willing to go. When I let myself take a turn to negative town, I worry that I’m solely a virgin to conquer.
“I think you’re great,” he says.
“You do?” I ask with genuine disbelief.
“Yes,” he says. “Why is that so hard for you to believe?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I guess I just never thought Luke Hallstrom would be here in my bedroom saying that to someone like me.”
“What do you mean, someone like you?”
“You know,” I say.
“I don’t,” he says.
“I don’t run in the same circles as you. I don’t go to parties and hook up with random guys. That time we kissed in the car was the first time I’ve ever really been kissed.”
“Oh, that’s what you meant,” he says with mock realization, as though he’s having a major aha moment. “I thought you meant someone smart and interesting and totally hot.”
I can’t help but laugh.
He takes my hand and has me sit down beside him. “Can I kiss you?”
“I was hoping you would.”
First he kisses my cheek, then my nose, and then he plants a soft kiss on my forehead. I close my eyes and enjoy the mystery of wondering where the next kiss will land. There it is. Right on my lips. He opens his lips and his tongue finds its way into my mouth. As we sit there kissing I practically inhale him, enjoying the smells of soap and fabric softener. He lies back and gently pulls me so that I’m lying on top of him, his hands in my hair. As we continue kissing, our tongues twisted together, I reach over and switch off the little yellow lamp on my nightstand.