The Truth About Boys: A Stolen Kiss Novel

by Shana Norris

  “Three, please,” Ashton told him, smiling wide. She took the cans, her eyes never leaving the guy’s face. “Thanks. Hey, have you met Hannah?”

  The guy turned his smile toward me. “No, I haven’t. I’m Carter.”

  “Hannah,” I said automatically, before I remembered that Ashton had already said my name.

  “I’m showing her around while she’s here for the summer,” Ashton said.

  Carter’s gaze slid back to Ashton. “I’m sure you’re the best tour guide in town, Ash.”

  Ashton blushed so deeply that she looked like she was practically on fire. Then she said, “Well, thanks. For the beers.” She held up the cans.

  Carter nodded. “No problem. Come see me again if you need a refill.”

  As we walked away, Ashton looked back over her shoulder to where Carter was already talking to someone else.

  “Your boyfriend?” I asked.

  Ashton snorted as a blush crept up her neck again. “No. Just a friend.”

  “A friend you like,” I said, raising my eyebrows.

  Ashton’s face turned even redder in the firelight. “Just a friend,” she said. “A friend who would never go out with me.”

  “Why not?”

  Ashton sighed as we made our way back to where Kate now stood alone. “It’s a long story.”

  “What’s a long story?” Kate asked.

  Ashton handed Kate one of the beers, which was dripping cold water. “Why Carter and I can never go out.”

  Kate rolled her eyes. “Oh, lord, don’t get her started on that.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “She thinks she’s not good enough for him,” Kate told me. “He used to date this one girl named Jennifer, who was like homecoming queen, cheerleader, et cetera, et cetera. And so now Ash has it in her head that those are the only kinds of girls Carter likes, and she of course thinks that she could never live up to that.”

  Ashton popped open her can and took a sip. “Carter and I are friends. That’s all he sees me as, and all he ever will see me as. Why delude myself into thinking there might be something else when I can just face the truth now?”

  “Have you ever told him that you like him?” I asked.

  “No,” Kate and Ashton said at the same time.

  Ashton scowled at Kate before saying, “I don’t want to mess anything up.”

  “You know what my life—” I stopped myself before saying “life coach.” I coughed. “My friend Mark would say?”

  “What?” Ashton asked as she took another sip of beer.

  “The rules you think you should follow aren’t always the right rules for you.”

  Kate raised her eyebrows while Ashton smirked.

  “Is he, like, a philosopher or something?” Kate asked.

  “What if the rules are in place to keep you from making a complete idiot of yourself?” Ashton asked. “If we all abandon our rules, there might be anarchy.”

  “Yeah, like girls asking out guys they actually like,” Kate broke in.

  Ashton shot Kate another scowl, then turned her back on her friend. “Are you going to drink that or just hold it all night?” she asked me.

  I looked down at the can in my hand, which I held by two fingers since it was still dripping. I had tried beer once, but I didn’t like it. And there was Mom’s Rule #11: Ladies never drink from cans.

  I pulled the top open, my thumb falling into the cold liquid as I pressed the metal lip down. I shook beer off my thumb, trying not to wipe it on my shorts. I didn’t want Ashton’s clothes to smell like beer.

  I fought back against the urge to cringe when I took a tiny sip. Beer was still just as terrible as I remembered it.

  Ashton and Kate had already moved on to a new topic of conversation and weren’t watching me. I stood next to them, holding my beer in a way that I hoped made it look like I was actually drinking it. People milled all around us, calling out to each other and dividing into groups. Couples headed off into the trees around us, stumbling and laughing as they disappeared into the shadows. One girl was throwing up five feet away from me while her friend held her hair back, and some guys were seeing who could hold their hands over the fire the longest before pulling away.

  So this was what normal people did on a Friday night, and for once, I was a part of it. Kind of. Tons of people surrounded me on all sides, but that didn’t actually make me part of the party.

  A figure walking alone near the fire caught my attention. The slope of the shoulders and the hair looked familiar. When the figure turned around, I saw the face of the guy who had stopped to change my tire the day before.

  I clutched the beer to my chest with one hand as I watched him. He walked with his hands buried in his pockets, moving through the crowd of people as if they weren’t there.

  A group of guys stepped in front of him, almost blocking my view. They spoke to him, but I couldn’t hear them over the other noises of the party. In the firelight, I saw his expression change, the shadows darkening the lines of his scowl. The guys laughed, but he slammed hard into the shoulder of the tallest one as he passed. The guys watched him walk away, shouting words I still couldn’t make out.

  When he was only a few feet from me, he looked up and his gaze locked with mine.

  I wondered if I should wave or smile or acknowledge the fact that we had met before. But he didn’t wave or nod, and his expression didn’t change at all as he kept walking. I couldn’t tear my gaze away from those gray eyes as he drew closer. Just a few steps more and he would reach me.

  I sucked in a breath, waiting for him to say something.

  He walked right past me, finally breaking our locked gaze. I turned around, watching as he walked toward the hill into the darkness. Had he even recognized me?

  “Hey,” I said to Ashton and Kate. “Who’s that guy over there?” I pointed toward where my mysterious rescuer had climbed the hill.

  “That’s Jude Westmore,” Ashton said. “He lives a couple blocks over from your aunt. Do you know him?”

  I shook my head. “No. I was just wondering what his deal is. Doesn’t look like he’s having much fun.”

  Kate and Ashton exchanged a look. Silence passed between them, then Kate said, “Jude doesn’t really talk much to people these days. Not since his brother died.”

  Great, now I felt like a complete bitch. “Oh,” I said. “How did he die?”

  “He was deployed,” Ashton said. “To Afghanistan. The vehicle he was riding in hit a roadside bomb and . . .” She shrugged. “Jude hasn’t been the same ever since.”

  #

  Two hours later, I pulled out my cell phone and checked the time. It was 9:12. Way too early to call it a night, but the party had long ago lost its appeal.

  At least six different girls had already thrown up in various bushes, two guys nearly broke their necks trying to do drunken back flips, and I had avoided the clumsy passes of so many guys I’d stopped keeping count. I would have gladly taken one Gropy Garrett in their place. Ashton was off somewhere, trying to work up the nerve to talk to Carter, while Kate had disappeared with Syke, the guy she’d spoken to when we first arrived.

  I wandered around the grassy clearing in the valley, clutching the same beer I’d carried all night. Every now and then, I’d pour a little bit out whenever I thought no one was looking. It was now half-empty. Empty enough that I could say I was drinking it, yet full enough that I could decline any offers for another one from the glazed-eyed wannabe frat boys.

  I wondered if I’d stuck around long enough to satisfy Mark on the “expanding my horizons” thing.

  But I knew already what Mark would say. I hadn’t really made an effort. I’d stuck with Ashton and Kate, talking only to them until they’d abandoned me, and then I moped around the outer edge of the party alone.

  “Did you bring it?” A voice nearby caught my attention. I thought at first that the guy was talking to me, but then I saw him just over my shoulder, standing with another guy.

  The
second guy reached into his pocket and pulled out a small orange bottle. “‘Course I did.” He rattled the bottle at his friend and grinned.

  Icy tendrils tickled down my spine as little orange bottles flashed in my memory. Dozens of them, some empty, others still containing a few pills. The shoebox next to my dad’s head, where he lay so still, I thought he was dead. Mom freaking out when she found us, ripping the box out of my hands. Bottles tumbling to the floor, rolling away under my parents’ bed.

  Mom had presented an image of perfection as she announced to everyone downstairs that my father wasn’t feeling well. “Probably just the sushi he had last night,” she said, laughing. Everyone had left, telling Mom they hoped Dad felt better soon. I had watched from the landing at the top of the stairs, frozen in place and unable to say or do anything. Once the last guest was out the door, expressing their concern for my dad’s condition, Mom finally picked up the phone and called 911.

  Now my teeth chattered and I dropped the beer, sending the liquid splashing across my legs and shoes. I felt sick, and I had to get away. Away from the orange medicine bottles. Away from the people. Away from everything.

  Chapter Four

  I stumbled up the hill, slipping on the grass and half-crawling, half-running as I scrambled away from the laughter behind me. I shouldn’t have come to the party. I should have stayed in Willowbrook. I should have gone to Paris with Mom like I had originally planned.

  It didn’t matter anyway. I couldn’t hide, not in Asheville, not in Paris, not anywhere. I needed an entirely different planet to run to.

  Once I crested the hill, I ran down the path, past cars and people, until my lungs felt like they were about to burst. When I couldn’t breathe anymore, I stopped, leaning against a car as I bent over, gasping.

  I had ridden to the party with Ashton, so I didn’t have a car to drive myself back to Aunt Lydia’s. I wasn’t even sure that I knew the way from where we were. The party was off of a very dark, quiet two-lane road somewhere in the mountains outside Asheville. Around me were cars parked along the edge of the trees, all of them dark and empty.

  “Did you need a ride?”

  I jumped at the voice behind me, clutching a hand to my chest. The guy from before—Jude Westmore, the one who had changed my tire—emerged from the shadows of the trees. Once again, the makings of a bad horror film.

  “What are you doing, skulking around like that?” I demanded.

  Jude looked at me, his hands in the pockets of his jeans. He wore a plain white T-shirt again, and I could see his tattoo peeking out from under one shirtsleeve. “I was just standing here. Trying to decide whether or not to go back to the party. I saw you, and you looked like you wanted to get out of here fast.” He shrugged. “So . . . do you need a ride?”

  “N-no,” I stammered. “I’ll wait for my friend.”

  “Ashton?” Jude asked. He shook his head. “Don’t bother. She’ll hang around Carter Hawthorne all night, trying to work up the nerve to ask him out. She’ll finally give up around 1:00 a.m. If you’re lucky.”

  I groaned at the thought of hanging out at the party, alone, until one in the morning.

  Jude started walking down the path. He didn’t look back at me as he said, “If you want a ride, the offer stands for the next two minutes.”

  Dark shapes of mountains and trees rose in the night sky around me, and stars twinkled overhead. I didn’t know which way to go, or how long it would take to walk.

  Sucking in a deep breath, I started after him.

  #

  I seemed to have forgotten how to talk. That had never happened to me before. I was president of the class student council my freshman, sophomore, and junior years. I had been voted freshman, sophomore, and junior class queen, and was vice president of Willowbrook High’s math club. I had run campaigns, delivered speeches, talked to almost everyone in school, and had never once ran out of things to say.

  But that night in the creaky old truck, with a spring digging painfully into my back, I couldn’t think of a single word to say to the guy sitting two feet from me.

  Not that Jude even attempted to start a conversation. He had opened the passenger door for me and then closed it once I was seated on the torn bench seat inside the truck’s cab. Then he’d walked around the front of his truck and climbed in, started the engine, and put it in gear.

  Other than the squeaking of the truck’s shocks whenever we hit a bump in the road, we rode in silence.

  I looked at Jude from the corner of my eye, studying him in the moonlight. He kept his right hand on the steering wheel, his left elbow propped up on the door while he chewed his thumbnail. His long brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, but pieces had fallen out of place, the strands slipping over his ears.

  He must have felt me looking because he turned to me, meeting my gaze for a moment before looking back to the road.

  I cleared my throat. “So,” I said, “I got my tire fixed.”

  Jude made a grunting noise in response.

  “You were right. I ran over something big.” I was babbling, but I needed to fill the silence. “The tire guy said he had to use the biggest plug they had, the ones they use for really big tires.”

  Still, Jude said nothing.

  “Um, I’m Hannah, by the way. Hannah Cohen.”

  “Jude Westmore.”

  “I’m Lydia Montgomery’s niece,” I said. “I’m staying with her.”

  Jude nodded. “I know.”

  I wondered how he knew, but I didn’t ask.

  “So you live near my aunt?” I asked. “That’s what Ashton told me.”

  He nodded again and pulled his thumbnail from his mouth. “A few blocks over.”

  And we were back to awkward silence.

  Was he still mad because I had offered to pay him?

  “Look,” I said, taking a deep breath, “I’m sorry about the other day. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Did you insult me?”

  I gaped at him. “You kind of stormed off when I offered to pay you.”

  He shrugged. “I wasn’t looking for a reward. I was raised to help people when they need it.”

  “I was raised to believe that no one does anything without a reward,” I said. “It’s one of the rules.”

  Jude turned onto a street that looked a little familiar. I figured we must have been getting close to Aunt Lydia’s house. “The rules?” he asked.

  Heat crept up my neck, and I was thankful for the darkness. “Nothing. Just this list of things that my parents have told me over the years that I put together in my head. Advice.”

  “A list of rules,” Jude said. He looked at me with interest, the first actual expression I’d seen on his face all night. “Like what kind of rules?”

  Why had I mentioned the rules? I never told anyone about them, other than Mark.

  “They’re kind of dumb,” I said.

  “Maybe,” Jude said. “Or maybe not. Let me hear them.”

  “There’s a lot of them.”

  He looked over at me again. “How many are we talking about?”

  I thought for a moment. “Last count was thirty-two. I think.”

  “Whoa,” Jude said. “Sounds like a serious list of rules. Come on. Give them to me.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not even supposed to be following them. My li—Mark says I use the rules as a way of keeping myself stuck in this idea of who I think I should be, rather than who I want to be.”

  “So then, you offering to pay me went against the rule of not following the rules.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You got me there.”

  “So why’d you do it? Why not just say thank you and go on?”

  I looked out the window at the lights of houses passing us by. “Old habits are hard to break.”

  I desperately wanted to get off the subject and talk about something that didn’t make me seem like a complete freak. “So why were you at that party? You didn’t look like you were enjoy
ing yourself.”

  Jude cleared his throat, biting at his thumbnail for a moment. “I wasn’t, but I thought I’d give it a try. Being around other people, you know. But . . .” He shook his head. “They’re still the same as they’ve always been. Self-centered, think they’re invincible.” He was quiet for a moment, then he said softly, “Or maybe it’s me who doesn’t fit in.”

  I let out a choked laugh. “It’s not just you,” I muttered.

  Jude glanced over at me, his gray eyes studying me as the moonlight shone into the truck, before turning back to face the road. “You look different,” he told me. “More . . . relaxed.”

  I opened my mouth to take offense at this. Did everyone think I was uptight? But then I realized he was right. I did feel more relaxed. Maybe it was Ashton’s clothes—I had stopped tugging at the shirt, trying to cover my stomach—or maybe it was Asheville, and being miles away from home. Or maybe it was being in Jude’s old truck, just the two of us on a quiet night.

  Jude slowed to a stop in front of Aunt Lydia’s house. The house was dark, and I hoped Aunt Lydia was either asleep or up in her studio. I wasn’t in the mood to talk about my night.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I said, reaching for the door handle.

  “You’re welcome,” Jude said. “And you don’t have to pay me for it either.”

  I thought it was a jab until I saw the smile curling the corners of his lips. My mouth stretched into a smile before I could help it, and I climbed out of the truck.

  “Bye,” I called.

  He waved once before putting the truck into gear and pulling away from the curb, the truck groaning in protest.

  I tiptoed into the house, careful not to wake Aunt Linda, and gingerly made my way to the guest room. It didn’t feel like “my” room yet, but the bedroom I had at home didn’t feel like mine either. Mom had made a big show of asking what colors I wanted for the walls, and even let me pick out fabrics and wallpaper. I had chosen a beautiful red wallpaper with white fleur-de-lis. The bedding would be white, with red piping, and the curtains red silk.

  And then, one day, I came home from school to find that Mom had the room finished while I was gone. All of the red and white I had chosen had been replaced by baby blue and cream. Mom’s colors, not mine.