I Never

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I Never Page 20

by Laura Hopper


  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The last night of spring break, Danielle and Sloan and I have a plan to go bowling. We know the workload is about to get intense, and we figure this is our last chance to have some fun without tests and papers and projects hanging over our heads.

  About an hour before we’re set to meet at the bowling alley, I get a text from Brett:

  What r u doing tonite?

  Bowling with the girls, I respond.

  Can I come? That’s odd. Brett never wants to come out with Danielle, Sloan, and me. He complains that we have too many inside jokes, and he doesn’t like all the yammering on about boys.

  Really? U want to? I text back.

  Nothing else to do, he types. I wonder what this is about. I really hope he’s not going to spend the evening criticizing Luke and reminding me that he thinks I rushed into having sex with him. I have been entirely candid with Brett lately; there’s no sense in keeping secrets, so I told him that Luke and I did it. The conversation went better than I thought it would. Brett was the good, supportive friend I had hoped he would be, and he kept the disapproval and criticism to a minimum. Or maybe he just kept it to himself.

  I also told Brett that Luke and I hit a rough patch before break. I shared with him that it’s clear my romance with Luke is not on the path to happily ever after. Maybe he wants to come tonight because he thinks there’s a window of opportunity to finally convince me that guys like Luke are a waste of time and space. God, I hope not. Brett and I have just gotten back to the place where we’re comfortable enough around each other to speak freely and openly again.

  I fire off a text to Sloan and Danielle to ask if they’re okay with Brett crashing. Within seconds, Sloan responds Sure. Danielle, a few minutes later, weighs in with I don’t care.

  At the bowling alley, we order burgers and fries to the lane, and the four of us are having a really good time. It’s totally relaxed and fun, and the concern I had about Brett seems to have been unwarranted. Sunday night out with these three is the perfect way to spend the eve of the last chapter of our junior year of high school.

  If only I were a better bowler. I pick up my ten-pound ball and approach the line. Danielle sits at the scorer’s table, while Sloan and Brett occupy the bench behind her. When my ball heads directly into the gutter for the tenth time, I spin around and, if I’m not mistaken, I could swear I witness Sloan and Brett moving quickly and awkwardly away from each other. I shake my head like a cartoon cat trying to erase the image of the neighbor’s bulldog.

  “What’s going on?” I ask suspiciously as I approach them.

  “What are you talking about?” Brett asks. But it’s obvious to me he knows exactly what I’m talking about.

  “What are you talking about?” Danielle asks, no clue what I’m referring to.

  I walk back to the bench, focusing on Sloan and Brett. “What’s happening here?” I ask again.

  “Nothing,” Sloan says, but her poker face is the worst ever. I lock my eyes onto hers knowing she’ll cave under the pressure.

  “E.B. . . .” I prod.

  “Nothing,” she says again, and this time her face contorts into that distorted expression people make when they’re trying not to smile. I don’t say a word; I just stare at her, waiting for a confession. As predicted, she caves. She covers her face with her hands and starts laughing hysterically. Brett feigns exasperation at Sloan’s lack of control, but his smile gives him away too.

  I sit down on the bench next to them. “Start talking.”

  Brett and Sloan, practically completing each other’s sentences, explain that they were the only two people home over spring break, and they started hanging out. They use the time-tested clichés: It just happened. We didn’t plan it.

  “Oh my god, you had sex!” Danielle blurts out accusingly.

  “No!” Sloan retorts.

  “We’re going to wait,” Brett says with confidence.

  “Yep,” Sloan says. “We’re going to wait.”

  “What exactly are you waiting for?” Danielle asks.

  “Everyone we know who has done it has had some kind of regret or another,” Brett says. “Either they rushed into it or they ended up breaking up and can’t even look at the person anymore.”

  “Also,” Sloan adds, “we don’t need everyone at school talking about it. So we figured we’ll wait till school ends. That way it’s just about us: no gossip, no school politics, no bullshit.”

  “Well, that’s only two months away,” I say.

  “No,” Sloan says. “We mean till high school ends. Next year.”

  “Wow,” Danielle and I say at the same time.

  Now that the cat’s out of the bag, the public display of affection begins in full force. Brett sidles up close to Sloan, putting one arm around her back and his other hand on her knee. He strokes her leg with his thumb, indicating a certain degree of possessiveness.

  “Tell us more,” Danielle practically begs. “When did you first kiss?”

  “Last Friday,” Sloan says and then turns to Brett. “It was Friday, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, Friday.” Now Brett is talking only to Sloan. “I picked you up at work and we stopped to get gas. You got out of the car to keep me company while the tank was filling up. You were leaning against the car and I just leaned against you and boom!”

  Sloan smiles, riveted, like she’s hearing this thrilling story for the first time. And, as if to recreate the magical memories, Brett tips his face close to hers and kisses her. I’m talking about a full French kiss that goes on longer than what is comfortable to observe. Danielle and I look at each other and share a surprised smile.

  Brett seems different. Confident. He’s lost a little of his edge in exchange for a peaceful happiness. Can it be that Sloan is making him shed his critical smugness? Was Sloan the answer all along?

  Something definitely doesn’t sit right here. Am I jealous? Wow, I think I might be a little bit jealous. Not that I want Brett. I don’t. However, he’s my best friend. I was the one who connected Sloan to Brett. I was the common denominator. And now, in seven short days, they have reached a degree of intimacy I could never share. And somehow their choice to wait to have sex makes their relationship seem even more real, more mature, more serious. I’ve been demoted.

  I can say with one hundred percent honesty that I want the best for Sloan and Brett. I definitely want them both to be happy. And if they can make each other happy, even better. It’s just going to take some getting used to. I guess getting used to things is becoming a regular practice for me.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  It’s prom night. Danielle and Sloan are at my house while I get ready. I feel like Cinderella with two fairy godmothers. Sloan is really good at make-up and I am not. She brought over her make-up bag—​a huge black satchel with various compartments, zippers, and pockets. As she unpacks her products onto my bathroom counter, I can’t discern the difference between the powders, creams, concealers, bronzers, blushes, and shadows. Sloan tells me I don’t need to know and she’d like me to shut up and sit down.

  Danielle is documenting the step-by-step process by taking photos on her phone. She also is the master DJ, picking the perfect music to set the tone for the evening.

  “I want to look like me,” I warn Sloan, afraid she’s going to overdo it with the make-up.

  “Please stop talking and do this,” Sloan says, making a bizarre face where she pulls her chin and mouth down in an effort to expose her lower lashes.

  “I don’t want to look anything like that,” I say, joking.

  “Would you like me to stop? Because I can stop right now,” Sloan threatens teasingly.

  “You better be nice,” Danielle cautions me, “or she’ll turn you into a clown.”

  “Sorry,” I say to Sloan. “Thank you for doing this. I love you so much.”

  “That’s more like it,” Sloan says.

  Her final step is a shimmery pink lip gloss. Before deciding, she holds five di
fferent lip glosses and lipsticks up to my dress to select the perfect companion. Without letting me look in the mirror, Danielle and Sloan help me step into my dress and shoes. The only piece of jewelry I wear is the gold heart bracelet Luke gave me for Valentine’s Day. Danielle releases my hair from the clip that has been holding the loose curls Sloan magically created with a curling iron.

  At long last, my friends turn me to face the mirror, and I must say, I am thrilled with the end result. It’s exactly how I wanted to look tonight. The significance of this evening is not just that it’s Luke’s prom. It seems that tonight is the final piece of our story. Next week is Senior Week, when the graduating class has parties, commencement rehearsals, and grad night. Meanwhile, I will be studying my butt off for final exams; junior-year report cards are hugely important for college applications. Luke and I will barely see each other next week, and then he will get on a plane for Boston. Tonight, with all its splendor, is in effect our farewell.

  I have to pretend that Luke’s leaving isn’t absolute torture for me. I am determined to have fun tonight even though the truth of our impending goodbye rips my heart open every time I think of it, which is practically all the time. Luke and I barely discuss it. What’s there to talk about? He’s leaving and I love him. Those are the facts. The facts make me want to cry every day.

  Most of Luke’s friends have plans for overnight adventures to keep the prom going until the break of dawn. Some are having a giant sleepover, with both boys and girls, at a house in Coronado. Luke and I just want to be together as long as possible. My dad has a two-day trip to Chicago and St. Louis, and he won’t be home until late Sunday night. That perfect little apartment with glorious views of the Pacific Ocean is empty.

  I talked to Dad about my staying there after prom. He didn’t even ask if that included Luke. He just said I’d have to discuss it with Mom. I treaded carefully.

  “You know, a lot of people stay out all night,” I said to my mother when the subject of the prom came up.

  “I remember prom, Janey; it wasn’t that long ago,” she said. “Is there someplace you’d like to go?”

  “There are after-parties and stuff,” I said. “I’d actually like to stay at Dad’s.”

  “That’s fine,” she said.

  “Dad will be away.” I felt the need to clarify.

  “Oh,” she paused. Like my dad, she didn’t ask if Luke was part of the plan. I think she’s also taken on the don’t ask, don’t tell philosophy. “Let me think about it.”

  A couple of days later, she poked her head into my room.

  “Hey,” she said, trying to sound casual, “Dad and I talked about it, and it’s fine if you want to spend the night there after the prom.” The you could have meant just me, or me and Luke. I choose to assume it’s fine for Luke to stay over. I also choose to keep my assumption to myself.

  “Okay, thanks,” I said, attempting to mimic her relaxed tone. Meanwhile, I was dying inside. Luke and I will have the chance to spend the whole night alone. I am definitely more excited about that part than I am for the prom itself.

  Before Danielle and Sloan came over to help me get ready, I went over to Dad’s and dropped off my stuff. I stopped at the market and bought some chocolate-chip cookies and vanilla-bean ice cream for tonight, as well as strawberries, croissants, and orange juice for tomorrow morning.

  I am meeting Luke, Emily, and Zach at Luke’s house for photos before the limousine picks us up. Luke’s parents graciously invited my mom to share in the pre-prom festivities. My mom and I walk into the Hallstrom house as Luke comes down the stairs. I have always thought Luke was handsome. He’s handsome in his track uniform and in blue jeans and a T-shirt. And I didn’t think anything could be better than Luke naked. But Luke in a tuxedo is like nothing I have ever seen before. He is a dream.

  His reaction to seeing me is what I hoped it would be. He stands at the foot of the stairs and just looks at me with an admiring grin. I think every girl in the world would want her boyfriend to look at her exactly that way.

  “Peachy Keen, you look amazing,” he says.

  “So do you,” I say back.

  He escorts my mom and me to the backyard, where Luke’s parents have set up a table with flutes of champagne and sparkling cider, and platters of appetizers. We all sip our drinks, take photos, exchange corsages and boutonnieres, and stand around with awkward smiles and already-sore feet until Luke finally announces that our limo has arrived.

  The rest of the night is a blur as I hold Luke’s hand though the pre-party, the prom, and an after-party at his friend Miles’s house. We dance and kiss and take zillions of photos.

  At about two in the morning, we find our way into my dad’s apartment. I pull Luke back to my room and we kick off our shoes and collapse next to each other on the bed.

  “That was so fun,” he says.

  “Best night ever,” I agree.

  “And the real fun hasn’t even started yet,” he says. He leans over me and puts his hand on my leg where the hem of my dress hits my thigh. “I love you in this dress,” he says.

  “You do?” I ask.

  “I also love you out of this dress,” he says.

  I sit up and turn my back to Luke so he can unzip me. He takes his time lowering the zipper, revealing my braless back and pink underwear. He lifts my dress up and over my head and then lays me down on my stomach. Luke lies above me, resting on his elbows, and kisses me. He kisses the back of my neck, my shoulders, and my back. He works his way down, kissing every inch of my spine. He kisses across the waistband of my underwear, covering the entire span from hip to hip. Continuing to slowly lower himself, he covers my butt with tiny, soft kisses.

  The feeling is astounding, like being brushed with velvety flower petals. With every kiss, I grow more relaxed and more turned on. I want him so bad, but waiting for it and knowing it’s coming is exhilarating.

  As he moves down my legs, kissing as he goes, he pulls my thong down with him. Slowly, slowly he goes, caressing the backs of my thighs and calves with his luscious lips. When he gets to my feet, he is at the bottom of the bed. He removes my underwear completely, then stands up and takes off his tuxedo, shirt, socks, and underwear. I stay in position, keeping my head on my pillow, but I recognize the sounds of the clothes being discarded and the condom wrapper opening.

  Luke comes back to lie on top of me, his naked front to my back. I can feel him, hard and warm, between my legs. He rocks gently against me and I respond instinctively, meeting his movements. The rhythm, the tempo, the pace all perfectly in time. He lowers himself so his breathless voice is right in my ear.

  “You’re the sexiest girl out there.” The words have an immediate effect on my body as I turn over and open my legs, making room for him to enter me. He starts slowly, moving ever so gently. But as the pleasure mounts, we move with more intensity. My hands clutch the pillows tightly and the sensations build inside my entire core.

  Luke reaches under me with one hand on my butt and manages to flip us both over so that he’s lying on his back with his head against the pillows and me on top of him. I straddle him and squeeze him tight with my legs while I hold on to his shoulders. I find the rhythm with my body to match Luke’s breathing. I love having control of the movements, and I love knowing that the way I sway on top of him is causing the sounds of pleasure I hear escaping his lips. I want to feel our bodies pressed together, I want us to be entirely connected, so I lower my chest to his while I keep rocking my hips.

  His face is above my shoulder, his warm sweet mouth at my ear. I hear his breathing get heavier, and my breaths quicken to match his. The feeling between my legs becomes almost too much to bear as his heart beats against my chest, pounding harder and harder. The heat, the rhythm, and the gasps between us escalate and I am about to shatter into an orgasm when I hear the faintest of whispers.

  “Oh god.”

  A few minutes later, I walk naked into the kitchen and return with cookies, a carton of ice cream, and tw
o spoons. Luke and I sit up in bed eating dessert and reliving prom night. We talk about Zach and Emily’s absurd fight in the limo after he sat on her dress. We laugh about the terrible food served in the hotel ballroom. We realize that we both noticed Miles’s parents trying lamely to spy on all the kids at the after-party.

  Shortly after four in the morning, Luke and I drift off to sleep, holding each other tight, clutching each other with the knowledge that we can hold on tonight, but in the morning, we are going to have to let go. Let go for real. Maybe forever.

  Despite my wishes, the sun does come up the next day and, in the harsh light of the morning, Luke and I look at each other with both satisfaction and sadness. We know we made the most of our time together. We were kind and respectful and honest. I learned so much from Luke—​about myself, about sex, about growing up and falling in love. Luke taught me how to be adored and how to be vulnerable.

  We sit at the little table in my dad’s kitchen and sip orange juice. My croissant sits in front of me, but I can’t stomach the idea of swallowing a single bite. I’m trying very hard to be upbeat, but I’m sad. I’m so very sad. I love him and I have to say goodbye. Maybe it’s good to end on a high note. We won’t have any memories of things going stale the way Danielle and Charlie’s relationship did. We won’t try to sustain a long-distance romance and suffer insecurity, jealousy, and paranoia. I will always love him like crazy.

  Luke gets up and grabs a knife from the wooden block on my dad’s kitchen counter. He brings the knife to the table and I assume he’s going to cut his croissant, but instead he cuts the braided bracelet off his wrist. He scoots his chair next to mine, grabs my hand, and wraps the smooth brown leather around my wrist. He ties the ends into a tiny knot and grips one end with his teeth, pulling it tight.

  “This thing has always been about you,” he says.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “I bought this on the beach the morning we were leaving Cabo. A few hours later, I saw you on the plane. For the two-hour flight, as I tried to get up the nerve to turn around and talk to you, I fiddled with this thing, tugging on the ends, ensuring its place on my arm. I stared at the leather braid, the whole time thinking about you sitting right there behind me.”

 

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