How to Make Out

by Brianna Shrum

  I stare him in the eye. “Seth, I don’t want to be with Drew. I want you.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “It was a stupid mistake. Something I did just because it’s familiar and I’m not used to having a boyfriend. But I know that’s messed up and I’m not going to do it again. I swear. And if you want to break up with me, I get it. It sucks, but I get it.”

  “I don’t want to break up with you, Renley.”

  “You don’t?”

  He stands then. “No, I don’t. I’m crazy about you. I just don’t want to wake up and find out I’ve been dating a girl who’s not over someone else. Not if I’m going to let myself fall for you.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  He rubs the back of his neck and looks out my window at the snow falling gently. “I need to think about some stuff, okay? And I think you do, too.”

  “I don’t—”

  “Yeah. You do. If you want to be with Drew, please, be my guest. But I need you to figure it out. Okay?”

  I bite my lip and nod.

  “See you in class.”

  “Yeah.”

  I sit there, picking at my jeans, rehashing everything, thinking. Frick. What am I gonna do?

  I walk to school the next morning. It’s freezing, but the alternative was asking Seth for a ride, and I want to give him at least until cooking before he needs to face me. I don’t want to pressure him into making any … hasty decisions. So I walk in the cold and cling to his letter jacket.

  I eat lunch with April for the first time since Seth and I got together. It’s pretty nice, or it would be if it weren’t for the sick feeling in my stomach. That horrible, knotting dread.

  I suffer through English, knot just tightening harder in my stomach, then head slowly to cooking, like someone going to face the firing squad. Seth’s already there when I walk in, standing in his spot beside mine. I slink in beside him and he looks my way.

  “Hey,” he says.

  I look up at him and say quietly, “Hey.”

  Mr. Cole starts class then. It’s a lecture day so we can’t even whisper to each other and fake like we’re cooking, but Seth reaches over and brushes my fingers with his, and I don’t think it’s an accident. So that’s gotta be a good sign.

  I fidget and pay no attention whatsoever for the length of cooking, both dreading and very much looking forward to the end of class.

  Seth takes my hand when the bell rings and we head out to the courtyard. We both sit on the concrete, doing that weird eye-avoidance awkward thing until he finally speaks.

  “Do you know me, Renley?”

  I blink. “What?”

  “Do you know me, really? I’m asking you to pick here, between Drew and me, and I want you to make an informed decision.”

  “I … I think I do.”

  He peers at me and reaches absently for my fingers, fiddling with them. “Did you know I play soccer?”

  “No. Tell me. I want to know.”

  “Okay. I play soccer, and I’m decent at it. I’m Jewish. Obviously. My parents met in the army. Uh, let’s see. I’m into hiking. And, dirty little secret, I’m super into Magic, the card game.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “Your parents met in the army? That’s kind of awesome.”

  He grins.

  “Okay, what position do you play in soccer?”

  “Center forward.”

  “Are you on the team?”

  He shakes his head. “Shabbos. Got too hard to coordinate never going to practice or games after sundown on Friday. Schools can’t have games on Sundays because of religion, but Friday night or Saturday morning? They can indeed.”

  “What about the Jewish thing? You, like, can’t eat pork and have to wait until you’re married to have sex?”

  He side-eyes me. “Yes. Judaism in a nutshell. No pigs, no fornicating. You got it.” Oh, the saltiness in his voice. Just everywhere.

  I hit him. “Shut up. That’s not what I meant.”

  He smiles and looks up from my hands. “So. That’s me. Now you know.”

  I lean back against the red wall of the school. “Now I know.”

  “So. What, then?”

  I tighten my grip on his hand. “Seth, I’m not with Drew, I don’t want to be with Drew. I want to be with you.”

  He looks straight into my eyes. “You sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  He reaches up and takes my face in his hands, then whispers, “Okay,” and meets my lips with his. “You want to get out of here?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Yes I do.”

  He takes my hand and we cross the parking lot.

  “I know this little burger place. Everyone’s there right now.”

  I have no clue who “everyone” is.

  “Sounds good to me.”

  When we pull up, I can see through the window who “everyone” is. It’s basically a collection of all the kids everyone talks about, but no one actually talks to. I recognize several of the kids from the party forever ago.

  “Come on,” Seth says, and we walk hand in hand into the restaurant. I see Taylor Krissick a couple booths down from where we take our place and if looks could kill … yeah, I don’t think I need to finish that statement.

  “Hey, Seth! And Renley, right?” It’s the girl from the party—the pretty Latina one. I wiggle my fingers at her and then my eyes widen. Oh no. She knows my name (which shocks me to my core, for the record), and I … have no idea what hers is. I want to crawl under the table.

  She laughs at the look on my face. “Sam. No big deal.”

  “Ugh, I’m sorry. I totally hate it when someone remembers my name and I don’t know theirs. I do remember you, though! How on earth do you remember my name, by the way?”

  Sam and her girlfriends look back and forth at one another and laugh. “How could we not?” Sam says.

  I blink.

  “Is she serious?” Sam says, to no one in particular. “You’re dating Seth, for one, which is pretty much enough. And not only are you dating him, you somehow managed to steal him from Taylor, you slut.” (She says this with a smile, so I’m not really sure if it’s an insult or a really bizarre compliment. A complisult?) “You’ll have to tell me how you did that at some point, by the way. And really, look at you. You’re like, crazy hot.”

  I sit there in stunned silence. Sam just laughs, and the other girls with her laugh, too. It’s like I’ve stepped into The Twilight Zone. I feel a little pang at the thought, and Drew flashes through my head. But I shove that away. I’d rather focus on the fact that I’ve apparently been turning into a goddess and had no idea.

  “Well, I’m, um, flattered.”

  She smiles and then turns to the curvy one. “Ugh, Sophie, stop being so rude and get off your phone. You’re totally nocializing.”

  Sophie turns red, a problem that instantly endears her to me, and waggles the phone in Sam’s face. “I haven’t read this one yet.”

  “Since when have you needed advice on how to remove a hickey?”

  “Since Gary and I made out last night.”

  “Ew, Gary?”

  I’m totally lost, so I turn my focus back to Seth, who’s rubbing his fingers over my knee. He’s being way more touchy-feely than usual, which I figure is because of our fight. I don’t totally get it—I should probably be the one trying to make up for everything. But I’ll take it. The girls grab my attention, though, when I hear the words Sweet Life.

  “You guys still read that?” I say.

  “Well, there’s some seriously good info on there. Hickeys are tough to cover up,” says Sophie.

  “You should know, right?” Sam says to me with a big smile.

  I narrow my eyes, but shrug it off. Whatever.

  Sophie turns her neck to me and I can see the outline of a little mark under her jaw, but barely. She did a good job covering it, apparently using my advice?

  “I would love to
give you an excuse to use some of that info later,” Seth whispers into my ear. I feel myself go red and the girls on the other side of the table exchange wicked grins.

  “You’ve seriously never heard of it?” says the tall girl, Ash.

  I shake my head. “Well, just the once. I remember you guys talking about it at the bonfire.”

  Sam pipes back in. “Oh yeah. You were there, huh! Well, you should get on it. I’m sure Seth would appreciate it.” She winks at me, and I’m sure the red deepens considerably. “Or maybe you should get Seth access instead. I swear, the tips and tricks are so worth it.”

  I laugh and let my hand slide under the table, fingers intertwining with Seth’s over my knee. He smiles at me, like we’re sharing a little secret.

  “For the record, I don’t think you need any help in that department,” I say, and he kisses me under my ear. My skin prickles and my heart rate doubles in the span of two seconds.

  “Neither do you,” he breathes.

  I look over and once again catch the eye of Taylor. She is being such a freaking creeper. Like, isn’t there anywhere else she can stare? I roll my eyes and the server gets to our table.

  “Can I get a strawberry malt?” I ask. Seth holds up two fingers, signaling that he’d like one as well. The rest of the group already has whatever they ordered, which makes my mouth water.

  The server gets back pretty fast, and I take a long, slow drink. I see Sam and the others exchange surprised glances and then drink from their own cups, which I notice are full of brown, fizzy liquid. Probably diet.

  I’m suddenly self-conscious about my beverage choice, but I can’t really turn back now without looking stupid. So I take another drink. This one doesn’t taste quite as good, somehow.

  After about five minutes, the girls stand and exit the booth, then stand there, looking expectantly at me.

  “What?” I say.

  “We’re going to the bathroom,” says Ash.

  “Okay.”

  “Well, aren’t you coming?”

  “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

  I guess I am. And that’s the signal. I’m in.

  I push my way out of the booth and follow the girls into the bathroom. All three of them enter the stalls, and just as the doors close, the one behind me opens. I cough.

  “Renley, right?” says Taylor, voice sugar sweet and terrifying.

  “Yeah. Taylor?”

  She leans over the dingy counter, putting on some more lip gloss, and smiles. “Come on, honey. We all know you know my name.”

  “I—”

  She looks over at me, glancing from my head down to my shoes. “What? He hasn’t said it while you guys were hooking up yet?”

  My mouth falls open. “We haven’t hooked up.”

  “I know,” she says. “It’s like I’ve been dating him forever or something. By the way, we’re cool, okay? No hard feelings?”

  “Okay,” I say slowly, grabbing the counter, leaning back away from her.

  “Just so you know, though,” she says, opening the door, “the other day, when you guys had your little falling out and he needed to ‘think,’ he came to see me.” She smiles viciously and leaves.

  My eyes widen and all the girls exit the stalls at the same time.

  “Ugh, she is the worst,” says Sam.

  “Yes,” says Sophie. “We’ve been, like, dying for them to break up for ages.”

  They turn to leave and Ash smiles, pulls her hands out of the sink, and flings them, totally dripping, in my direction. More than once.

  I throw my hands in the air and glare at her, water spray all over my chest and face, little droplets in my hair.

  They leave without me.

  So yeah. I guess I’m in.

  DECEMBER

  23. How to Cure a Hangover (Among Other Things)

  It hurts. Everything hurts. I kind of want to die, except I can’t imagine my last moments on earth feeling like this. I reach for the Advil I’ve kept stocked by the bed since last night, just in case, and take two, then gulp down an entire glass of water. What did Google say? A Gatorade? I don’t even care; I don’t want a Gatorade. I don’t want anything. Except to die. And here we are again.

  My dad knocks on the door and, I swear, he has never done anything in his life with more gusto. My head throbs harder with every stupid knock.

  “Whaaaaaaaat?” I moan.

  He cracks the door open. “Honey? Are you feeling okay?”

  “No,” I say, face stuffed into my pillow. And freaking talk quieter.

  He tiptoes into my room and sits on the edge of the bed.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. I just have a headache. And my throat is so dry. I just need some Advil and a nap.” I close my eyes. “Can you turn the light down?”

  He gets up and flicks the light off, then comes back to the foot of my bed. “Do you have a fever?” He moves to feel my head.

  “No. Please don’t touch me. Don’t.”

  He stops short and frowns, sniffing the air. “Is that … Leelee, is that alcohol?”

  “Dad, just go away. Please.”

  “Is that alcohol on you? Have you been drinking?”

  “No.” I turn my head back into my pillow. I can feel Dad coming closer, smelling again.

  “This is beer. You’ve been drinking. I know it.”

  “Who cares?”

  “I care. This is dangerous behavior. I thought you were getting better when you stopped sleeping with that boy—”

  “Ugh, I never slept with him, Dad—”

  “—but now you’re off at some party getting drunk? Was Seth there?”

  Oh no. Shattering the image of the golden boy. “Yes. He was. But he didn’t drink.”

  Dad furrows his brow and rubs the back of his head. “He … he let you do this?”

  “Yes. I asked his permission and then I drank allll the alcohol after he gave me his blessing.”

  Dad shakes his head. Sarcasm does not go over well when you think your daughter is turning into a miscreant. “You can’t be doing this.”

  “Go away.”

  “Leelee—”

  “Go. Away.”

  “I …” he raises his hand, then lets it fall back to the bed, and steps slowly out of the room, shoulders slumped. Normally, I would feel bad. But there’s a certain point of misery you hit that is your maximum capacity. Beyond that, nothing. So I don’t have the room to feel guilty. I just have room to feel this stupid headache and this stupid throbbing throat and all of this ridiculousness that was brought on by last night. Which is something else I don’t want to think about. But I will. Because, obviously, I hate myself.

  About a week after Seth and I got things figured out, Sam called him up and invited us to this party at her house. It was supposed to be this amazing thing and “everyone” was going to be there. This time, at least, I knew who “everyone” was. They were all the people we’d been spending the last week with, which still feels kind of unreal to me.

  So, Saturday night (last night) rolled around, and we headed over. It was like the classic party scene out of every teen movie ever made. Cars everywhere, kids outside, making out in the dark, ignoring the snow everywhere.

  Seth and I made our way inside immediately, ’cause it was freezing. Who would pick to make out outside and freeze when they could be inside? I didn’t get it; I still don’t.

  “Renley!” Sam squealed as we walked inside. She ran across the crowded room, writhing with bodies, and threw her tiny arms around my neck, like we’d been the best of friends for years, not days. And like she didn’t secretly hate me and call me various names for sexually promiscuous girls all the time.

  “Sam!” I said back, trying to edge equal enthusiasm into my voice.

  “So glad you could make it. You look so hot. Like crazy hot.”

  I did look pretty great. These pants I’d chosen made my butt look supernaturally amazing, and the top clung to all the right places, showing just the right amoun
t of boob and stomach.

  “And you look like you got your outfit straight out of Vogue,” I said.

  She smiled brightly and grabbed my hand. “Let me get you a beer, sexy. Or a shot. You want a shot of something?”

  I followed her into the kitchen. Where on earth did she find all this alcohol? I swear, she must have bought out an entire agave farm, there were so many shots of tequila sitting out on the kitchen bar.

  She got me a clean shot glass and poured me straight tequila. I watched pretty closely, by the way, half-afraid she would put something in my drink if I blinked. But that was unlikely, as I was fairly sure none of these girls actually hated me. They just all treated each other like crap.

  “Here,” she said, sprinkling a little salt on my arm and handing me a slice of lime. She did the same to her arm. “Lick the salt.”

  She licked it and I mimicked her.

  “Shot!” she yelled.

  I tossed my head back and poured the shot down my throat. It burned. Holy wow, it burned.

  “Lime!”

  She sucked on the lime and grimaced, and I bit into mine with fervor, then shook my head hard, puckering my lips, my eyes … I think my cheeks even puckered.

  Seth laughed. “Starting out with the hard stuff, I see.”

  I blinked hard and shook my head again. Wow.

  “I’ve … whoa. That goes to your head fast, huh?” I said.

  Seth grabbed my elbows, steadying me, and Sam laughed a foggy kind of laugh. “Another. Let’s do another.”

  We repeated the process, and by shot number two, I already felt unsteady. My brain was getting fuzzy, and the rest of me felt warm and weird.

  “You drinking?” I asked Seth.

  “Nope. DD. You drink what you want though.”

  “I think I’m good. Whoa, I feel weird.” Maybe I shouldn’t be done, though, I thought. Several of the blog questions I had thrown away started scrolling through my mind. I landed on “How to Cure a Hangover.” I wondered how much cash that would bring me.

  I’d actually researched it already, just in case. On some level, I think I’d gone there intending to get wasted. I breathed in and shook out my arms and head. “Okay, Sam, what else you got?”