How to Make Out

by Brianna Shrum

  He pushes me back against the wall lightly, and when I reach out and let my fingers play at the base of his scalp, he breathes out a low sound and pulls me closer. And that’s when I know I have to stop. I don’t want to. But I do, pushing gently at his chest.

  He sits back, and I swallow hard, just staring at him.

  “Not bad for your first time,” he finally says, his mouth smirking, but his eyes looking almost pained.

  “Oh thanks. You sure know how to compliment a girl.”

  “Maybe not, but I know how to kiss one.”

  I laugh, mostly because I have to find some way to release the tension pent up in me, like a spring dying to uncoil.

  “I think we’re done for today,” he says, and he stands up, turning his back to me.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Cold shower.”

  He walks up the stairs without another word, but I just sit there for a while, analyzing it all, feeling it all again. I won’t post on it for a while. I’m not there, not after one make out session. But I’ll be back, asking for another lesson. That’s stupid, I know. But I will, because sometimes, I’m stupid.

  13. How to Get Invited to the Biggest Party of the Semester

  I wake up with the feel of Drew on my lips. Ever since yesterday, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. It’s not that I have real feelings for Drew—it can’t be. Or at least it shouldn’t be. I am seriously stupid. I cannot be feeling anything for Drew, considering he’s probably waking up next to a new half-naked coed again this morning. It’s just probably because he was my first actual kiss. Any girl would be feeling the same way (and with him, probably a hundred girls have).

  Still, I lie in my bed, running my fingers over my lips, rehashing the whole thing over and over, wondering if I should have done things differently, if he thought it sucked, if he liked it. I lie there forever, refusing to drag myself out of bed, till my phone vibrates.

  It’s probably Drew. Maybe April, confirming our plans for tonight. I roll over slowly and grab it off my nightstand, and when the screen lights up, I see it’s Seth. For the second time in just a few days, he’s woken me up with a text. I pinch myself, just to be totally sure I’m not still asleep. I’m not sure what that’s supposed to do; I heard once it’s because you don’t feel pain in dreams, but that’s a load of bullcrap if I ever heard one. Either way, I pinch myself, and come to the conclusion that I’m not dreaming.

  Hey Renley—you free tonight?

  Yeah. Why?

  One of Taylor’s friends is having this huge bonfire. Thought you might want to come.

  I blink dumbly. Since when do I get invited to bonfires not held by the math club?

  What time? I send back, trying to be cool.

  After dark. Down by the lake. You interested?

  I’m in. I don’t have a ride though. :-/

  That’s fine. I’ll come by.

  Sweet. See you then.

  I sit up in bed, totally awake now. I’m going to a bonfire tonight. By the lake. With a bunch of kids everyone knows, but nobody knows. After tonight, though, I will. And that feels kind of awesome.

  I jump out of bed and throw my hair in a messy ponytail, then bound down the stairs to the breakfast table.

  “Oh hey there, Leelee!” Stacey says, giant smile painted on her face. How she’s managed to keep that thing on perpetually for the last five years is beyond me. I’m almost impressed, to tell the truth. “You’re up super early this morning.”

  “Yeah.” It’s not that early; it’s after ten. She’s just not used to actually seeing me before noon, when I’m forced to come out of hiding and socialize.

  “Want me to make you breakfast?”

  What’s she gonna make me? A pop-tart? “Uh, sure. What do we have?”

  She walks over to the pantry, miniscule hips swaying back and forth like a Real Housewife. “Cap’n Crunch, Mini Wheats, and Kix.”

  “Kix,” I say, leaning back in my chair. I’m usually a do-it-yourself kind of person, but when it comes to Stacey, I’ll take pretty much whatever she offers, which is a lot. Other Woman, Sorry I Wrecked Your Family and Forced Your Mom to Abandon You guilt. Fine by me.

  I clasp my hands behind my head and stare off into the distance, bonfire-related dreams filling my mind. Stacey comes over and sets a bowl and spoon in front of me, then grins knowingly (like she’s really old enough to have garnered a wealth of parental wisdom).

  “I know that look,” she says, voice rising and falling like a song.

  “What look?” I coat my Kix with milk and take a bite, crunching obscuring what she says, just slightly. I crunch a little louder.

  “You have a boy.”

  I groan.

  “It’s fine! I mean, it’s great!” she says. “I remember my first real crush. I was in the ninth grade—”

  “Which was, what? Two or three years ago?” I mumble under my breath.

  She freezes and swallows, then carries on like she hasn’t heard what I said. “I was in the ninth grade, and he played on the baseball team. So cute. He kissed me once.”

  She leans on the table, chin resting on her palms, and smiles.

  “That’s awesome,” I say drily, and I shovel the rest of my cereal in my mouth.

  “Anyway, I’m just saying it’s nice.”

  I don’t say another word to her. Sometimes I forget that she’s a morning person and make the mistake of emerging from my room too early. Then there’s not even Dad to act as a buffer between us. It’s torture. I head back upstairs the second my bowl is empty and leave her alone in the kitchen, standing there awkwardly, an empty cereal bowl in her hands.

  When I get to my room, I see a couple missed calls on my phone, both from April.

  I dial her number quickly, and she picks up on the first ring.

  “Hey, love!” she says, too chipper for any hour designated “a.m.”

  “Hey, lady.”

  “So, we on for tonight?”

  “Oh man. We were hanging out tonight? I totally thought it was tomorrow,” I lie.

  There’s a little pause on the other end. Then, “You did? Even though it’s Sunday night and we have tomorrow off school for once? You thought I was spending the night on Monday? Before school the next morning.”

  The sarcasm in her tone makes it exceedingly clear she does not believe me.

  “I seriously did. It’s just … I have this thing tonight.”

  “What kind of thing?”

  “With Seth.”

  She puts this fake excited voice on and says, “Ooooh, Seth again? I don’t blame you. He’s probably a lot more fun to make out with than me.”

  “I’m not making out with him.”

  “Still a mouth virgin?” she says, clicking her tongue at me. I don’t feel like correcting her, for some reason. “You know, if you don’t fix that problem soon, your tongue is gonna shrivel up.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “I’m just telling you what I read.”

  There’s an awkward silence before she asks, “So, maybe I could just come over after?”

  “The thing is, I don’t know how long I’m going to be out.”

  “Oh,” she says. “Okay. Fine. I’ll see you lat—”

  She hangs up before I can hear the end of the last word, and a trickle of guilt makes its way into my stomach. I shouldn’t blow off plans with April to go flirt with some guy who has a girlfriend. But she would totally do the same in my shoes.

  No, she wouldn’t.

  But I can’t think about her all day; it’ll kill the amazing night that’s coming. So I stop and distract myself with the computer and homework and weird hair and makeup until darkness falls.

  Stacey gets to the door before I do, and she opens it for Seth. I hear him introduce himself, his voice muffled through the door as I walk down the stairs.

  “I’m Renley’s mom,” she says, and the hair on my arms stands up. She thinks I didn’t hear her? I stare darkly at the side of her fa
ce until she glances over and sees me, then shoots me a bright, approving look. Clearly, Seth is her type. I continue glaring silently until her face falls and she corrects herself. “Stepmom. Renley’s stepmom.”

  She shakes his hand and I step around the open door and into Seth’s view. He smiles.

  “You ready to go?”

  “Born ready.”

  I grab a light coat from the coat closet and breeze out the door, Seth on my arm.

  “You’ll have to sit in the back, if that’s okay.”

  I nod and glance at his car. His passenger’s seat is very occupied by Taylor, a fact that makes my insides wilt. But I get inside the car anyway and fake a smile.

  “Hey, Renley, you made it!”

  “Hi, Taylor.” Despite desperately wanting to hate her automatically, it gives me a thrill to hear her use my name. It doesn’t really make sense, but the celebrity of it all, it’s cool to know that someone everyone knows knows you. A hint of genuineness enters my smile and I lean back in the seat.

  Seth gets in the driver’s seat and the car glides away toward the lake. He turns up the music the second he gets in, making the silence less uncomfortable. I wonder if that was for my benefit, or for his and Taylor’s. I notice fleetingly that their elbows don’t even touch, though they’re both resting them on the middle console.

  Then I look out the window to distract myself from dumb speculations that’ll lead to nothing but me getting disappointed.

  I don’t live far from the lake, so the drive goes by pretty quickly. I can see the bonfire when we’re still a minute away, and when we get closer, I can hear the bass thrumming through the walls of the car. It clashes heavily with the music Seth’s radio is blasting, which is kind of disorienting.

  I jump out of the car when we get there and find myself surrounded by a throng of people I definitely recognize. Taylor skips off, presumably to find a gaggle of her friends, and Seth watches her leave, then turns to me.

  “Can I get you a beer or something?”

  I look around and see that most of the kids have red plastic cups in their hands. “Thanks, but I’m good. This feels more illegal than sipping a beer in your kitchen.”

  He laughs. “Yeah. I’m DD, so we can be sober together.”

  He takes a couple steps over to the cooler and digs through the ice, pulling out two cans of Dr Pepper. He hands one to me and I smile to myself. He remembered.

  “Come on,” he says. “I’ll introduce you to a couple of my friends.”

  I follow him to a spot close to the fire, where a group of extremely attractive kids is sitting. Seth takes a place on a half-crowded log and I sit next to him, trying to ignore the smoke burning my eyes.

  He leans over and shoulder bumps a girl next to him.

  “What are you guys looking at?”

  “Sweet Life. It’s a blog.”

  “Oh yeah, I’ve heard of that. Taylor’s addicted to it.”

  My eyes widen so hard, I think they might pop out of my head. Taylor Krissick reads my blog. And so does everyone else who matters around here, apparently. This is insane.

  The girl looks up from her smartphone and smiles at me. She’s pretty, like everyone else on the log, with dark hair, dark skin, huge eyes.

  “Who’s your friend?” she asks Seth.

  “This is Renley. She’s basically saving my life in trig.”

  “Hey, I’m Sam,” she says.

  They go down the line, a blonde called Emily, a curvy girl named Sophie, and one who’s super tall named Ash. No one seems to notice that I don’t belong here. I stare around the circle and think about it and maybe it’s because I do belong here for once.

  Lots of girls in waterfall braids and coats, sipping soda from a can. I do fit in. I relax on the log and Seth flips around to talk to a couple guys and I fiddle with the tab on the Dr Pepper can.

  “Do I know you?” someone with a deep voice asks beside me.

  I turn to see who. No, we don’t know each other, but I definitely recognize him. He’s on the football team. “Gary Harding?”

  “Yeah, and you’re …”

  “Renley.”

  “Oh yeah, I’ve seen you around. Enjoying the party?”

  I shrug. “Sure.”

  “It’s kinda lame. But the beer’s good.”

  I take a drink of Dr Pepper and he frowns and takes it from me. That ticks me off right away.

  “What are you doing drinking this? Let me get you a beer.”

  Yeah. I might be learning how to do a lot of things, but this is one thing I already know: taking an open drink from some douchebag at a party is an absolute no. No thank you.

  I make a move to snatch the soda back and he holds it just out of my reach.

  “I’m not a big drinker.”

  “Oh come on. It’s a party.”

  “Seriously, give me back my drink.”

  “Are you for real—”

  Just like that, a hand grabs Gary’s wrist, and Seth has stood up. He’s way skinnier than Gary, but he’s got a good couple inches on him, height-wise.

  “Hey. Dick weed. Hands off.”

  Gary furrows his brow at Seth and, without looking at me, hands me back my drink.

  “This is none of your business, Seth.”

  “Yeah. Yeah it is. I brought her here. She’s my business. Hands. Off.”

  Gary mutters something vulgar under his breath and stalks off, and Seth relaxes.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “The thing most in danger there was my Dr Pepper.”

  “Still though.”

  I sit back on the log and sip my roofie-free beverage, staring at the fire while the girls beside me scroll through my blog on their cells. And Seth hangs pretty close to me for the rest of the night.

  14. How to Really Piss Off Your Best Friend

  I get home after 1 a.m. and, when Seth drops me off, I look over and see Drew sitting on his front porch. He looks up when we pull in, and in the vague light from his stoop, I can see him furrow his brow. He waves, and when Seth and Taylor drive away, I decide to join him on his porch instead of going inside.

  “Hot date?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

  “Not really.”

  I can tell that was not the answer he was expecting, not a firm enough denial.

  “I was at a party,” I explain.

  “Ah. That on your list of things to blog about?”

  “No. Seth just asked me to come, and I thought it would be fun.”

  His expression darkens a little. Not like he’s mad, just … I don’t know. “Seth Levine?”

  “Yeah. I mean, it didn’t mean anything. He’s dating someone, so …”

  He nods, but looks past me. “Yeah. That Taylor girl, right?”

  He’s not really listening when I confirm it.

  “So, what are you doing out here at one o’clock in the morning?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.

  He goes really quiet and points his thumb back toward his mom’s room. When I go still, I can hear a high-pitched, rhythmic voice coming from that direction.

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Super easy to sleep through.”

  I scoot closer to him. “You want to come over to my house?”

  He chuckles and looks at me. “I think I’m pushing it with your dad enough by having nightly sleepovers with you at my own house.”

  “Oh come on. He’s harmless.”

  “I don’t know. It’s the quiet, nice ones you have to watch out for.”

  I smile and bump his shoulder with mine.

  “Well, you can come over if you want.”

  “No,” he says. “It’s cool. They’ll be done in about twenty minutes anyway.”

  I nod. “Well, there’s no sense in sitting in silence listening to it.” I pull out my iPod, hand him an earbud, and turn on a track.

  “Ugh, this is awful, R,” he says, but he’s grinning.

  “You love it.”

  He cocks his head, lis
tening, then says, fake-resigned, “I do.”

  We sit there for a little while like that, leaning against his door, listening to horrible, great music. Two songs in, I feel his pinky twitch against my thumb. Then it slides over until they’re overlapping. He steals a quick glance at me, but looks away when he sees me looking back.

  Slowly, he glides the rest of his fingers over and presses them between mine, rubbing his thumb back and forth across my wrist. I don’t stop him, though him holding my hand is almost more terrifying than when he kissed me.

  We share the earbuds and hand-space for the next twenty minutes, until he pulls his fingers away and stares at me.

  “Well, I’m, uh, gonna go inside. They’re done now. So, yeah. Thanks for staying with me.”

  He’s being weird. Because of Seth, maybe?

  “Sure.”

  Drew goes in and shuts the door, and I go home, because he didn’t invite me to stay.

  I wake up to this: Did you have fun last night?

  I stare at the message from April, my heart rate rising, and respond, fingers shaking.

  Ya.

  Good. Nice party?

  I freeze, eyes fixed on the phone. It buzzes again.

  I know you went to the bonfire. Thanks for inviting me.

  I can actually hear my pulse going crazy in my ear.

  I mean, Seth WAS there. So you didn’t really lie. Thanks for that.

  I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone to a party with a guy over hanging out with you. I did have it planned already tho.

  I feel a rush of guilt, lying to her again.

  Sure you did

  I’m starting to get mad. It might not be totally fair—I am lying to her—but it ticks me off that she would automatically assume I’m lying.

  Fine don’t believe me.

  She doesn’t respond for, like, five minutes, and I start to feel guilty.

  I’m really sorry.

  After another minute, she texts back:

  Okay.

  Do you want to come hang out tonight maybe?

  Sure! she writes.