Confessions of a Serial Kisser

by Wendelin Van Draanen

  Then between third and fourth I heard exaggerated kissing sounds. I looked around for the source, but it could have been any of a number of people. And during fourth I could feel people staring at me. I wanted to stand up and shout. "Get a life, people! I didn't do anything!"

  I was so relieved to see Adrienne at lunch. She joined me in the quad, whispering, "It's bad out there."

  "I know! I can't believe this."

  She unearthed her lunch. "I ran into Brody after third. I told him you were very grateful."

  "I am," I said. "I don't know what I'd do without the two of you!"

  I unwrapped my homemade sandwich and Adrienne's eyes popped. "Wow, where'd you get that?"

  "I'm trying to eat better."

  She nodded. "Well, that's a good start!"

  But after a few minutes Adrienne said, "You know, maybe we should start eating lunch somewhere else."

  I looked over my shoulder to the place she was watching.

  It was the "popular girls," packed in a little huddle, trying not to look like they were doing what they were obviously doing: talking about us.

  Or, more likely, me.

  "Maybe so," I said.

  But just then a high-volume howl cut through the lunchtime chatter and someone came crashing out of the 100-wing's boys' bathroom.

  The quad fell quiet.

  Everyone turned to look as Travis Ung limped away from the bathroom.

  Then suddenly Blaine York came thudding through the door, followed by some dreadful thumping and crashing sounds. Then Justin Rodriguez staggered out, blood streaming from his nose.

  "Oh, no!" Adrienne cried, dumping her sandwich as she shot to her feet. "Brody!"

  "Brody?" I asked, following her to the scene. "Where?"

  He emerged from the bathroom, calm and collected, with not so much as a scrape on him.

  "Wait," I said to Adrienne. "Brody beat them up?"

  Adrienne gave me a look that danced between pride and despair. "Oh, this is bad. This is very, very bad!"

  The quad began to buzz with collective disbelief as people crowded in to see the winded, staggering carnage that was Justin, Blaine, and Travis. Everyone was asking the same thing: "Brody Willow downed three guys?"

  Unfortunately for Brody's spotless behavioral record, it was true.

  68

  Call Me Stupid

  CALL ME STUPID, but I didn't fully grasp my role in what had happened until I saw the Magic Marker rolling across the walkway.

  Going after Justin Rodriguez...writing my number on his hand in the biology room...it all felt like a lifetime ago.

  Adrienne tried to intervene as three teachers escorted Brody and the battered boys to the office, but the teachers already had their hands full and Brody shooed her off.

  "He's going to get suspended!" Adrienne wailed when she was back with me. "And they'll never advance him to black belt!"

  "I can't believe he beat them up," I said, my jaw still dangling over the whole scene. "Why didn't he just turn them in?"

  She stared at me, pinched her eyes closed, flared her nostrils, opened her eyes, then shook her head. "I've got to go," she said flatly, then turned and left.

  "Hey, wait!" I called, but she was gone.

  After lunch, chemistry was just a blur. All I could think about was Brody decking Justin. I'd always thought of Brody as my somewhat nerdy older brother, but the nerdy part was now gone. He'd wiped out three decent-sized guys at once! Nothing nerdy about that.

  And my heart swelled again because, more than ever, I felt like part of their family. My own family was a mess, but Adrienne and especially Brody had come to my defense in ways I'd never imagined.

  As Mr. Kiraly's middle fingers poked the chalkboard and flipped birdies through the air, I wondered how Brody's meeting with Hickory Stick Hershey was going. Somehow I doubted he'd get off with writing letters of apology. Graffiti, obscene language, insubordination, cheating, stealing, smoking...these were all things you could get away with at Larkmont High.

  Brawling was not.

  I began to feel claustrophobic. The classroom felt like a box--a sweltering box where I was trapped with thirty other glazed-eyed people desperate to escape.

  Particles of chalk dust danced in the air. Why did this room still have chalkboards? Why not whiteboards? Why were we having to breathe in chalk dust instead of toxic marker fumes?

  The chalk dust began to feel like a blanket that I couldn't breathe through. I was suffocating. Smothered. And Mr. Kiraly's voice...it was a Hungarian torture device, booming chemical conversions in my ear, echoing...echoing...

  When the bell rang, I escaped the classroom in record time. I began running, dashing past people, dodging them, squeezing between them. There was only one class left in the school day, but I couldn't bear the thought of being locked up for another fifty minutes.

  I needed to find Brody.

  Find out what had happened.

  Thank him.

  Somehow that seemed so much more important than going to psychology.

  My plan was to walk to the Willows' house. I was sure Brody had been suspended, and that that's where he'd be. What I wasn't sure about was how to leave campus without permission. Having never given it serious thought before, I had no idea how much stealth was involved in ditching school.

  What I discovered was it's easy. To ditch school, you simply leave. No one asked where I was going, no one asked for a hall pass.... I just walked away.

  No wonder Larkmont has such a truancy problem!

  I left the way I always leave: through the student parking lot. To my surprise, Brody's truck was still there...and Brody was in it, reading his physics book.

  I guess you can suspend a guy from school but you cannot make him leave.

  "Hey, Chevy-man!" I said, opening the passenger door.

  He seemed surprised. "Evangeline?" Then he looked at his watch. "You're going to be late to psychology!"

  It flashed through my mind that him knowing I had psychology sixth period was odd. But Brody's a fact magnet, so I just chuckled and said, "You're suspended and I'm ditching...who'd have thought?"

  He chuckled, too. "Not me."

  "I was actually on my way over to your house to thank you."

  He blushed.

  "Really, Brody. You didn't have to go and get yourself suspended." I grinned at him. "You should have just let me beat them up." Then I added, quite seriously, "I feel bad that you're in trouble over me. And Adrienne says you won't be eligible for your black belt now, which I know is a big deal. Is that because you're only supposed to use karate in self-defense?"

  He shrugged and nodded. "I'll have to go before a review board. It'll just take longer."

  "So how long are you suspended from school?"

  "A week."

  "A week! How long did Justin and his cronies get?"

  "They've got detention."

  "That's it?"

  He nodded.

  There was a moment of awkward silence, and then I blurted, "Well, I don't know what to say. I'm sorry this got you in trouble." I shook my head. "It's been a really sucky year, but I'm glad I've got you and Adrienne looking out for me. You're like the brother I never had, Adrienne's like the sister I never had.... Your parents are even like the parents I wish I had."

  He was looking at me in a peculiar way. Confused? Embarrassed? Uncomfortable? I wasn't sure. With Brody, you don't really talk about feelings. You talk about science. Or math. Or how to maximize compound interest. I was treading on new territory here, and it was obviously making him uneasy.

  So I laughed and gave him a sisterly hug (something I've done a lot of over the years), then said, "Look, Brody, I'm just trying to say thank you, all right?"

  But as I pulled away, I found myself face to face with him.

  Looking him in the eyes.

  And before I knew what was happening, we were kissing.

  69

  Attempting to Re-establish Sanity

  IT WAS THE S
WEETEST, dearest brotherly kiss.

  And weird.

  How could I have just kissed Brody?

  Or wait. How could he have just kissed me?

  As I pulled away, I felt confused and embarrassed and incredibly awkward. "Wow. Uh...well..."

  Being a man of many words, Brody just blushed.

  I sat there a moment, then opened the passenger door and started babbling. "Well. I'm going to walk home now. I'm going to walk home and clear my head and...and cut my hair. Yeah. I think I'll go cut my hair."

  "Don't cut your hair again," he said. "I like your hair!"

  "Well," I said, my hands flitting around my head, "I'll probably just snip it a little here and there."

  How mature of me. We'd just shared a semi-incestuous kiss, and I was now discussing hair-cutting strategies.

  "I gotta go," I said, and took off.

  He didn't follow me in his truck, didn't run after me, didn't even honk the horn in an effort to get me to come back and talk.

  It was probably the smartest thing he could have done, because I didn't want to discuss it. I wanted to forget it.

  Unfortunately, two monster bowls of the fudgeaholic ice cream that I discovered in the freezer did nothing to help.

  So I cranked up Ride the Lightning by Metallica, and from "Fight Fire with Fire" through "Creeping Death" I let it bash my worries away.

  It wasn't until the opening strains of "The Call of Ktulu" that I realized someone was bashing on my door.

  "Evangeline! Evangeline, it's Adrienne! Open up!"

  Before I could fully consider the potential repercussions, I turned off the music and whisked open the door.

  Adrienne rushed in and handed me a book. "I couldn't find the movie. I know he has it somewhere, but I couldn't find it. All I could find was the book. It's his favorite book."

  "Who? What are you talking about?"

  "Brody! You have to read this, okay?" She pressed the book on me. "You have to read this, and then you will understand that he is in love with you."

  "What?" I looked at the worn milk-chocolate-colored cover with gold lettering. "The Princess Bride?" I gave her one of her own trademark squints. "And he can't be in love with me! He's practically my brother."

  "Yeah, well, he's already got a sister, and I don't think he's looking for another one." She held her forehead. "Don't you get it? All those times we tried to set him up...all those times we kidded him about letting us find him a hot girlfriend...he's been in love with you!"

  I collapsed into a living room chair. "This is not good."

  "You're telling me!" She sat in the chair next to me. "I got an inkling of it the other day when he said, 'As you wish,' but I couldn't quite believe it. After today I totally believe it!"

  "What was that 'As you wish' about, anyway?"

  She pointed frantically to the book. "You have to read that!" She leaned way over toward me and said, "Evangeline, he is the sweetest guy! What are we going to do?"

  My face contorted into what must've been a horrendous sight.

  "What?" she asked.

  "I kissed him," I blurted. "Or he kissed me. I don't know. We kissed."

  She jumped out of her chair. "What?" She looked at me like I'd just murdered someone. "When?"

  I grimaced. "Today. During sixth period. In his truck."

  "How could you?"

  "I didn't plan for it to happen, I didn't mean for it to happen, I'm not even sure how it happened, it just did!"

  Her head quivered side to side. "I can't believe you! How could you have kissed Brody when you don't even like him!"

  "I had no idea he liked me!"

  "So what! You don't like him. It's not fair to kiss people you don't like!"

  "But--"

  "You are totally out of control! Who won't you kiss?"

  "What?"

  She threw her hands in the air and said, "I've got to get out of here. This is so unbelievable."

  "Adrienne, wait!"

  But for the second time that day she hurried off, only this time she slammed the door.

  70

  Outsider

  I WAS AFRAID TO CALL ADRIENNE over the weekend; afraid to go over and try to talk to her; afraid (for the first time in my life) to run into Brody.

  So I stay holed up in my room, reading The Princess Bride.

  It served as excellent parent repellent. Every time my mother looked in, I was obviously doing something studious; and the unwritten rule is one does not disturb one's child when they're studying. (Never mind that I was reading about a dreaded pirate, a sweet farm boy, a beautiful maiden, a disgusting prince, and a Spanish swordsman who lived to avenge his father's death.)

  It was a fantastic book. Funny, moving, inspiring...and yet Sunday afternoon when I'd finished it, what I felt was heartache.

  "As you wish" really meant "I love you."

  What was I going to do? I loved Brody, but I wasn't in love with him. He was nice-looking--it wasn't that. He was smart and kind and obviously heroic (in a karate chopping sort of way). But to me he was family.

  What was I going to do?

  Fortunately, I had the condo to myself because my mother was off doing "sneaky shopping" for my birthday. And fortunately, there was still some fudgeaholic ice cream in the freezer to help me think.

  There was no sense in using a bowl.

  These were desperate times!

  I went directly at it with a spoon.

  And while I ate, I ruminated.

  I deliberated.

  I contemplated.

  And with the carton finally scraped clean, I concluded that there was really only one thing to do:

  I needed to talk to Brody.

  I considered calling. The phone, with its appealing remoteness and its emergency abort feature (otherwise known as the end button), seemed like the safest way to go.

  But it was also cowardly.

  So I took a shower (two days of reading in bed will make you feel matted all over), flossed my teeth (I don't know why--they just wanted flossing), and left the condo. No makeup, no agonizing over clothes, no earrings--I just pulled on some jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers, and I left.

  On the walk over to the Willows' I tried out every opening line I could think of. I didn't know how in the world to say what I wanted to say.

  Actually, I didn't know what I wanted to say. "I'm so sorry!" seemed like a good start, but what exactly was I sorry for? Until the kissing incident in the truck, I'd never been anything more than chummy with Brody. It's not like I'd been leading him on! And who'd kissed whom?

  How could I not know?

  So I was already completely muddled when I walked past my old house and saw my mother's car.

  Once again it was parked beside my father's.

  I stood there for a moment staring. So much for "sneaky shopping."

  I hurried on, but when I neared the Willows', I saw Brody and Adrienne sitting side by side on the steps of their porch. They were deep in conversation, and even though they were probably talking about me, I couldn't seem to find the courage to join them.

  I eased back and watched from the shadows of the neighbor's tree. The bow of their heads, Adrienne's comforting rub of Brody's back...it was all so quiet and gentle and warm.

  I felt like a ghost by that tree. A ghost of the girl I used to be, stuck somewhere between worlds.

  Between families.

  71

  Swinging

  I ESCAPED MY OLD NEIGHBORHOOD...the Willows, my parents, the hibiscus plants in glorious bloom.... I hunkered down, kept my eye son the ground, and just walked away.

  I didn't go through the graveyard to be with other ghosts. I went a few blocks beyond it, to my old elementary school. I don't really know why. It's just where my feet took me.

  The place was deserted, as schools should be on Sundays. It was also totally accessible, as schools should not be.

  I wandered past the kindergarten classrooms, their windows plastered with artwork. I thought about Mr
s. Potts, who had been my kindergarten teacher, and wondered if she was still alive. She'd seemed so old, with her graying hair, long skirts, and tatty moccasins. Every day she'd wear those same moccasins. The little beads had fascinated me. How did they hold on day after day? When would the frayed strings finally give up? How would we ever find all the beads as they bounced and scattered across the black-and-white squares of the linoleum floor?

  My life now felt like Mrs. Potts's moccasins. The strings had broken. The beads had scattered.

  How would I ever put it back together?

  I sighed and moved on, passing by my first-grade classroom, home of Mrs. T (short for Tottenicker). She had been one of those teachers who rarely smiled, and only with great effort.

  I had not been a fan of Mrs. T.

  I walked around the corner to Room B-8, which had been my second-third combination with Miss Escar. She'd been so hyper, and loved to hug all her students good morning. I'd adored her, living for my morning hug and trying to steal extras throughout the day.

  I peeked in the B-8 window. The same familiar You're a STAR pencil mug was on the desk. How many years had it been?

  Nine?

  I suddenly ached for a hug from Miss Escar.

  Then there was my old fourth-grade classroom with its presentation platform, where Mr. Dixon had gotten us comfortable with speaking in front of the class. Every week we had to "present," and after a while it was no big deal.

  It was also the platform my dad had used when he'd come as a special guest. He'd played guitar and talked about music, and everyone thought he was the coolest dad ever.

  For me, that had been a huge deal.

  I continued meandering through campus, peeking inside the windows of all my old classrooms, feeling a little like Alice at ten feet tall. Eventually I wound up at the playground and sat on the low curb that held in the sand surrounding all the play equipment.

  I ran my fingers across the sand, through the miraculous grains of disintegrated rock. I thought back to how I'd accidentally skip-loaded heaps of it home in my shoes; how my shoes and the dunes they contained had been banned to the porch, leaving scattered piles of the fine tan grains outside.

  Sand was a big part of life then.

  And now?