by Anna Michels
jeffrey said people are talking about me and the guys i’ve kissed, I text Mel. is it true?
I hope she’s not still mad about what happened at Seth’s yesterday. I need her to be on my side right now. Luckily, her response is almost immediate. whaaaaat?!? no. i have not heard anything like that.
i don’t know if i want to come tonight.
I can imagine Mel standing at her bathroom sink, holding the flatiron to her hair with one hand and typing madly with the other as samba music blares from her iPod. A department store’s worth of makeup is scattered across the counter, and she’s wearing one of her dad’s old button-down shirts so she can get ready without spilling eye shadow on her outfit. Maybe she’s even pregaming with some rum mixed into her Diet Coke or vodka-soaked gummy bears.
you have to. tonight is everything. you could cross off a bunch of letters all at once!!! and you know who is coming, right?!
Yep. Definitely pregaming. I close my eyes, suddenly nervous about seeing Killian tonight. There’s only one letter standing between me and K—and I realize with a jolt that the one remaining letter is J.
i need to talk to jeffrey and find out what he knows.
Mel doesn’t respond. Inside the bathroom, the shower shuts off, and I quietly move away from the door, hoping Jeffrey will think I’ve given up and gone away. He spends twenty minutes humming to himself and banging around in there. I hear the distinctive hiss of an aerosol body spray can and wrinkle my nose. Finally the door opens and Jeffrey steps out, a towel wrapped around his waist.
I’m on my feet and next to him in a flash, my shoulder pressing against his damp arm. He smells like the love child of Hollister and an overripe banana. “If you don’t tell me what the hell is going on, I’m going to rip this towel off, take a picture, and send it to everyone in school,” I say, the tone of my voice calm and conversational. I hook one finger under the towel and give it a gentle tug. “So I suggest you just do what I say.”
Jeffrey stiffens but doesn’t pull away. “You wouldn’t do it,” he says, but the hesitation in his voice tells me I’ve got him right where I want him.
“Try me.”
He lets his breath out in a huff. “Fine, but get away from me. You’re freaking me out.”
“Come over here.” I tug him across the room and force him to sit down in a corner of the sectional. I stand over him, hands on my hips. “Spill.”
Jeffrey squirms, goose bumps rising on his chest as water drips from the ends of his hair. “I’ve just heard some stuff,” he mutters, avoiding my gaze.
“What stuff?” I brandish my phone at him, camera app at the ready.
He cringes. “Kyle and Oliver told me Mark had some people over last weekend for a bonfire at his house.” I stop breathing for a moment, the smell of woodsmoke and the feeling of one of Mark’s giant hoodies pulled around my shoulders flashing through my mind. “And Gabriel Latimore was talking about how you were all over him at Lila’s party.”
A flash of anger rips through me. Paired with Ryan’s eyewitness account of how I kamikaze-kissed Dexter early this summer, I could see where some people might start to see a pattern. But Mark knows me. He knows I would never actually sleep around. But is what you’ve been doing any better? an annoying voice inside me asks. I choose not to answer.
“All I did was kiss Gabriel.” I close my eyes briefly, unable to believe I’m having this conversation with my little brother, who apparently is not so little anymore.
Jeffrey takes the opportunity to try to bolt, but I grab the edge of his towel and he quickly sits back down as it begins to slide. “Stop. I don’t want to hear about it.”
I fall onto the couch, letting the squishy cushions surround me. “Who else knows?”
Jeffrey shrugs. “Beats me.” He stands up, clutching the towel to his waist with both hands. “There, I told you everything. Happy? I’m leaving now.” He stomps into his bedroom and slams the door.
Shit. I clutch my phone, my hands trembling. Everyone from school must know by now. It’s too good of a story—goody-two-shoes Vee gone wild. I’m a slut—me, Vee Bentley, debate team nerd, half-marathon trainer, the girl who wanted nothing more than to keep dating her high school boyfriend.
My phone buzzes in my hand, and I jump.
i’m ready, biotch. coming to pick u up.
I’m wearing my Dad-appropriate clothes, hair up in a boring ponytail. Cute and traditional. The same old Vee.
I take a deep breath and stand up, my fingers moving automatically over my phone’s screen.
k. but we need to go back to your house first.
They think I’m a slut? Fine. If they want to give me the label, I’m going to look the part. They haven’t seen anything yet.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The girl staring back at me from the mirror is wearing more eyeliner than I’ve ever seen on anyone in my life. Her eyes are huge, her cheekbones sharp, her lips red. She looks like she’s going to kick the world’s ass.
“You. Look. Incredible.” Mel stands next to me, staring at my reflection. “I’m superjealous.”
“Mark knows,” I say to her, touching the ends of my hair, full and wavy from Mel’s curling iron. “Everybody knows.”
“They don’t know anything,” she says, raising her Diet Coke bottle and toasting my reflection. “And they can just go to hell.”
It’s nearly dark by the time we leave Mel’s house, stumbling in our stilettos and folding ourselves carefully into the Buick so we don’t flash the whole neighborhood with our impossibly short skirts. I have to drive since Mel ended up pregaming a little bit more than she planned to while I was getting ready, and my hands are slippery on the steering wheel. My senses are heightened under the awareness I’m likely the number one topic of conversation among the teenage population of Butterfield right now—the deep purple shadows of dusk seem sharper, the lake-scented air more crisp.
“I’m done with the kissing thing,” I say to Mel. My pulse is racing, imagining what it’s going to be like to walk into the middle of a crowd, knowing everyone there thinks I sleep around. “I can’t walk into that party and just start kissing more random people. And I was so pissed at Jeffrey when I left that I forgot to kiss him, so I’m not even on K yet.”
“Vee! How could you forget?”
I shrug and turn on the air-conditioning, trying to keep the windshield from fogging up. Maybe I didn’t exactly forget—but if I still have to cross J off my list, then there’s no risk of having to make the decision about Killian tonight.
Mel shrugs and then rolls the window up a bit so the wind doesn’t mess up her perfectly straightened hair. “Well, screw it. Just skip J.”
I swallow hard. “Is that allowed?”
Mel’s smile is dangerous as we pass under a streetlight. “Vee, have you looked at yourself lately? Tonight everything is allowed.”
It seems to take about half the usual time to get to the dunes, and when we pull up the parking lot is nearly half full with cars. “Excellent,” Mel says, using her phone’s flashlight to check her makeup in the rearview mirror. “This is going to be an insane party.”
As soon as we climb out of the car, I start shaking and feel like I have to pee. “Mel,” I say, leaning against the Buick, the metal warm against my thighs. “I’m scared.”
She walks over and puts her hands under my elbows, steadying me. “You don’t have anything to be scared of,” she tells me, anchoring her dark eyes on mine. “They suck. You are awesome. What else matters?”
She grabs my hand and leads me to the beach path. Laughter and shouts float through the trees, and it sounds like half the school must be here. We pull off our shoes when we reach the sand and step out onto the beach, and I hold my breath as I wait for someone to spot me and shout, Hey! The slut is here!
Of course, that doesn’t happen. Everyone is already two or three beers into the night, preoccupied with their own drama, hitting on whomever they want to make out with later. There aren’t nearly
as many people here as I thought, and one quick glance over the crowd tells me Killian hasn’t arrived yet—if he’s even coming.
I grab Mel’s arm. “Let’s just go.”
“No way. Killian will be here, right?”
“He said he would.”
She tosses her hair. “Well, you have to at least wait until he shows up.”
We grab drinks from one of the many coolers scattered across the sand and join Brianna and Landon at the edge of the bonfire. Mel flits around, talking to everyone, using animated hand gestures and exaggerated laughter, and I trail after her, trying to drink my foul-tasting beer as quickly as possible to dull the sense that everyone is staring at me.
I stay close to Mel, avoiding the eyes of people I don’t know, and keep drinking. I find some wine coolers, which speeds up the process a bit since they don’t taste like the bottom of a garbage can, unlike the cheap beer.
“Text him!” Mel says, holding her drink aloft while she dances.
I look down at my phone but can’t quite figure out how to type a coherent message. My fingers keep hitting the wrong keys and writing strings of nonsense. Sighing with exasperation, I look up. And there he is. Killian is standing in front of me, his hands on my shoulders as I lean precariously to the side. Suddenly he’s the only person in the world who I want to see.
“Are you okay?” he asks, studying me.
“Your hands are so warm!” I grab them and lace my fingers with his, a rush of happiness shooting through me now that he’s finally here. “Come dance with me.”
“Vee—” he says, but then one of his favorite songs starts blasting over the speakers and he grins, his shoulders already twitching to the beat of the song he can’t resist.
Whoever made the playlist tonight must have had a direct line into Killian’s head. Every song is one we’ve listened to together at work, one I know he loves and has scribbled lyrics from across the Jeep’s dashboard. We dance together, but his eyes aren’t really focused on me. He keeps a respectable distance between us, never letting me pull him in close. He’s hesitant, wary. I don’t blame him, but I also don’t care that he wants his space. I move closer, pulling his hands to my hips, letting the neckline of my shirt slip too low.
I’ve lost track of Mel’s trajectory through the night—one moment she’s dancing right beside me with a guy I’ve never seen before; the next she’s over by the coolers, laughing with some girls from school. The only light comes from the fire and from the stars, giving everyone a flickering, impermanent quality. I dance most of the alcohol out of my system, and then, suddenly, I’m exhausted.
Another song starts up, and Killian launches into the most ridiculous dance moves yet, his long legs and arms everywhere as he does something that might be the six-foot-three white male version of twerking. He moves farther into the gyrating mass of dancing teenagers, and I let my fingers slip through his, retreating to the outer edge of the circle, sucking the cool lake air into my lungs.
The sand shifts under my feet as I climb the dunes, and the light from the fire recedes, allowing me to see the millions of stars that shine out over Lake Michigan at night. I find a big stick I can use to keep my balance and keep pushing myself farther, faster, away from everyone and everything. Finally, when I can’t hear anything but my own gasping breaths, I stop.
The Big Dipper rises up in front of me, and I remember the night Mark and I put glow-in-the-dark stars on my bedroom ceiling, spelling out the constellation LOVE above my bed. My mom and brother were out at a movie, and Mark and I had the house to ourselves for the first time. I’ll never be able to describe the feeling that washed over me when he shut my bedroom door and turned to look at me—it was like we were the only people in the world. The only point of existence in the universe. We had been dating for nearly six months, but when he kissed me that night, it was like I had never been kissed before. Everything felt so new. And as we climbed into my bed and did things we’d been waiting so long to do— I push the memory out of my head. It doesn’t matter now.
I sink into the sand and cover my face with my hands. The kissing challenge worked. I barely think about Mark anymore, and when I do, the regret and sadness just skim over me, not sinking in and lodging in my soul the way it did just a few weeks ago. I’ve still got Mel and Seth, I’ve got a half-marathon training plan and a running buddy, and an upcoming senior year of high school that will likely be totally kick-ass. And I’ve got Killian, even though, despite all the talking we do, I’m still not quite sure exactly what’s going on between us—or even what I want to happen. But deep down, I know I’m not ready to dive into another relationship quite yet, especially in the middle of a very confusing kissing challenge. I’m not ready to trust myself with someone else’s heart.
“Vee?” Killian’s voice floats over the sand, soft and powerful, the kind of voice that can change the world if it wants to.
“I’m here.”
Killian staggers over the rise of the dune and slides down to where I’m sitting, clutching his side. “Man”—he gasps—“I really need to work on my cardio. That was brutal.”
I shake my head. “I think you’re probably more exhausted from the dancing than walking the dunes.”
Killian frowns. “I can’t believe you left during that last song. It was epic.”
I shrug, picking up a stick and tracing designs in the sand. “I needed a breather.”
“Are you okay?” He leans in, studying me. “You seem . . . different tonight.”
I laugh and throw the stick as hard as I can, watching it fly through the moonlight. “Killian, we’ve talked about a lot of things this summer,” I say. “Santa Claus. Music. Lighthouses.”
“Shaw,” he adds.
“Yes, always Shaw.” I nod and turn to him. “But I think I forgot to mention I’m a huge slut. Maybe you heard it from someone tonight, though.”
Killian cocks his head to the side. “One, I haven’t heard anything like that about you. Two, I wouldn’t believe it if I did.”
“That’s because you don’t have any evidence.” I look away. “But what if I gave you proof? That I’ve basically been on a mission to kiss every guy in Butterfield this summer?”
Killian lies back on the sand, his hands behind his head. “Then I would say that doesn’t sound like something the Vee I know would do.”
“Well, it’s the truth,” I say.
He gazes thoughtfully up at the sky. “Is this the part where you tell me what’s really going on with you?” Killian asks. “Because if not, let’s fast-forward through everything else you were going to say and just get there.”
I sigh. “It’s kind of a long story. A long, tragic, pathetic story with no happy ending in sight.”
“Well.” Killian shifts his weight, burrowing down into the sand. “I’m just going to look at these ridiculously beautiful stars for a while. And if you were to tell your long, tragic, pathetic story, I wouldn’t mind.”
It’s so quiet. If I listen hard, I can hear the wash of the waves on the beach a few hundred yards away, but other than that, it’s just the sound of our breathing and the soft rush of sand flowing through my fingers. I close my eyes, but I immediately start to feel sick, so I keep them trained on the Big Dipper. And it takes a long time—most guys would have given up and left—but finally, one halting word at a time, I tell Killian about Mark and how much I loved him. I tell him about being so happy watching Mark graduate, feeling like things between us were just getting better and better, and having all my dreams smashed just minutes later. I tell him about the kissing challenge, the way I’ve been chasing after guys all summer, and my little brother calling me a slut. I tell him—only realizing how true it is as the words come out of my mouth—how kissing has stopped meaning anything to me, and how I’m afraid I’m never going to be ready to love anyone again.
Killian reaches for me and squeezes my fingers, then runs his hands up and down my arms, smoothing the goose bumps away. I close my eyes, rooted to the spot, co
mpletely unable to move even though I want to pull away, to tell Killian to run as far from me as he can because I’m not sure I’m going to be able to do anything but hurt him. But his touch feels so good, I can’t quite make myself do it.
“Is this okay?” he asks, and I nod. He moves closer, bringing one arm around my shoulders and pulling me to him. When I open my eyes, his face is right there, those blue eyes that are always looking for answers staring right into my own. I had never noticed the light freckles scattered across his nose, or the thin scar that runs just beneath his eyebrow.
“It’s more than okay.” I can barely breathe, but I manage to get the words out, and I bring my hand up to trace that faint scar. “I want to kiss you.”
He smiles and leans closer, his breath warm on my ear as he whispers into it. “So do it.”
“But I’m not on K yet. I still have one more letter to go.”
His shoulders shake, and I realize he’s laughing. “Vee.” He pulls back and tucks my hair behind my ear. “Tell me the truth—do you really care about that right now?”
I want to know what it would feel like to kiss him while he’s smiling. I want to lie back in the sand and have his weight on top of me. “No.”
“Well, then.”
That’s all he has to say, and the last of my self-control totally crumbles. Killian’s mouth is so soft, and he deepens the kiss just enough to leave me wanting more. We fall sideways onto the sand, and it’s in my hair and up my shirt, but I really couldn’t care less.
It’s over too soon, and then we’re looking at each other, the shifting dunes below us and the stars up above.
“That kiss,” he whispers, “meant something.”
And I nod, because Killian isn’t just a random guy I picked because the first letter of his name happened to fall in line with the next letter in the alphabet. Because he can quote George Bernard Shaw all day, and needs reasons, evidence, and logic to back up everything he knows. But that’s the problem—there’s nothing to show me or him that this kiss was anything more than two drunk people acting on their biological urges. I can’t prove to him that I want us to be together, that I really want to abandon the game and kiss only him for the rest of the summer. I can’t even prove it to myself.