by Kristin Rae
Of course, he laughs even harder. “Maddie. We aren’t racing. We won’t be hitting any jumps, I won’t pop any wheelies. We’re not even going to leave the property.”
I bite at my bottom lip, considering his assurances.
“You can trust me.” His mouth forms that whisper of a smirk I’m beginning to think of as his signature expression.
“Trust you with my unhelmeted head? I’m still getting to know you,” I say as I sit behind him, cringing as my legs press against his hips. And now I’m staring at his thighs, his athletic shorts riding up and exposing more of his skin than I’ve seen. Those quad muscles are just unbelievable. My stupid weakness for strong legs.
“You know enough.”
Jesse pushes on the throttle, and my body gets thrown backward. Reflexively, I reach for him to steady myself. He straightens as my fingers dig into his sides.
“You can retract the claws.” With the hand that’s not controlling the gas, he adjusts my death grip a bit lower. Closer to the thighs. “You’re not gonna fall off.”
Past the lush, manicured lawn of the backyard, he steers through a patch of overgrown weeds, some of them rising high above our heads. Something pokey reaches out from the ground and scrapes at my shin, and a group of winged, mothy things escape our path.
I open my mouth to ask him why he didn’t warn me to wear long pants, but I already know the answer. He’s a boy.
We hit a dip and my jaw decides to snap shut, the inside of my cheek producing a lovely crunch sound between my teeth. I’m so busy waiting to taste the blood, I don’t consciously clamp my hands back where they were before, but there they are.
“Seriously,” he says, swatting them away as if they’re insects. “Verbal abuse only, remember?”
And of course, because he asked for it, I’ve got no comeback. I lean back and away from him, finding a metal rack to grab on to instead. A sneeze overtakes me so suddenly I barely have time to cover my nose and mouth. It’s quickly followed by two more, complete with watery eyes.
“You better not be sneezing on me,” Jesse calls over his shoulder, giving the beast more gas instead of waiting for my reply.
“Where are we going, anyway?” I ask with a little more grouch than I prefer.
“I thought your attitude toward the country needed a positive boost.” He emphasizes country with one-handed air quotes.
“And riding on this thing is going to improve my outlook how?”
“Just shut up,” he says, rolling his head back in annoyance since I can’t see his eyes.
We burst through another patch of giant weeds before turning onto a trail that weaves between spindly pines. My body slides a bit closer to Jesse, a sign that we’re headed down a slope. The trees get bigger, and the sky seems farther away the deeper into the woods we venture. How much land do they have?
I cover my face for another sneeze and rub at my eyes. My eyelids. Something is very wrong with my eyelids. They’re thicker than usual . . .
Another sneeze. I can’t stop massaging my eyes. What’s happening?
“Jesse,” I say between sneezes, “I think something’s—”
“Shhh!” He stops and cuts the engine, motioning for me to get off.
With a sniffle and a soothing palm smashed against one of my eyes, I follow him down the trail. He crouches low, leaning his upper body forward and bending his knees as he walks like he’s sneaking up on someone. I instinctively mimic the awkward position, doing my best not to make any noise. But then I sneeze and Jesse ducks his head at the sound.
“I. Can’t. Help. It!” I whisper. “I think I’m—”
He turns to shush me again, pressing a finger to his lips before pointing down the hill and continuing to creep along. Irritated, I walk at a normal height, one hand on my hip, the other scratching at my eyes.
After a few minutes of stepping over twigs and fighting back sneezes, we come to a clearing with a nearly dry creek dribbling through the middle of it. He points across the water to the grassy bank. At first I don’t see anything important, but a slight movement causes me to look closer.
“It’s a baby deer thing!” I whisper, hoping it won’t hear me and run. Make that they. “Two of them! And mommy! How adorable!”
Two little brown babies with light spots are curled up in the grass next to an adult deer, relaxing in the shade alongside the water like they do this every Saturday morning.
Jesse bites his lip to keep from laughing, and his body shakes. “A baby deer thing?”
Too overwhelmed by the cuteness to glare at him, I step closer to get a better look.
“I think this is the biggest smile I’ve seen from you,” he says from beside me.
So of course my smile widens.
“Have you ever seen a deer this close?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t think I’ve even seen one in person at all.”
My eyes pool with tears, but it’s not an emotional response. Sneezing is imminent.
I swallow, sniffle, and rub my eyelids in an effort to distract my sinuses. “They’re amazing. How’d you know they were here?”
“That was luck. I saw the little ones hopping around close by last week. Thought you’d like to see them. Sorry for rushing you earlier. I wanted to get out here before the feeder went off.”
“Feeder?”
“Yeah, we feed them corn. Keeps them around during hunting season.”
The thought of Jesse shooting one of those babies in a few short years sends a quiver from the back of my neck down to my toes. And I sneeze.
All three deer crane their necks in our direction, then hold still as stone, like their lives depend on it. Someone needs to teach them that a moving target is harder to kill.
“I think I just became a vegetarian,” I say, wiggling my nose to prevent another sneeze that’s coming on.
Jesse tilts his head to the side and takes a step toward me. It’s my turn to freeze like a statue. His eyes search mine, brows pulling together.
“What’s wrong with your face?” he says just above a whisper.
Exactly what a girl wants to hear from arguably the most attractive guy at school while alone with him in the woods. It’s like he was born without a romantic instinct.
“What do you mean?” I back away from him. “What’s wrong with my face?”
The already apprehensive deer take the opportunity to make a break for it. I wish I could run away right now too. I also wish I had a mirror or that I could look at my reflection in the surface of the water like you see in shows, if that really even works.
“Your eyes are all red and . . . puffy. Are you crying?”
“No, it’s the pressure in my forehead!” I massage between my eyes. Cue another sneeze. “I don’t feel so good.”
“You don’t look so good.”
“Yes, we’ve established that.” My eyes and nose may be malfunctioning, but I know my scowl works.
“Allergies?”
“No. I mean, I’ve never had to deal with allergies before.” I’d certainly remember this sort of facial failure if I had.
“Well, we have a different set of trees and weeds than you do up North,” he explains, starting to climb the hill toward the four-wheeler. “I’ll take you home. You need meds.”
Home. With my trees. My life. So very far away.
“It’s not my home,” I bite. “It’s just where I’m living at this moment in time.” I pivot and march behind him.
Jesse’s arm catches on a branch, which flies back and smacks me in the head. He doesn’t notice. And I sneeze three more times before he starts the engine.
There aren’t enough spotted baby creatures in the world to get me to find favor with this much nature. Texas officially hates me.
CHAPTER TWELVE
With the help of some hot-pink miracle pill my dad rushed to get from the store, my eyes shrank to their normal size and thankfully stopped itching. My voice still sounds a bit scratchy and nasally, like a perpetual whin
er, but the sneezing stopped just in time for the homecoming dance.
And I look gorgeous.
At least that’s what Brian said when he picked me up. Well, actually I think he used the word “good” but I upgraded.
“I like your star,” he says once we’re en route, having survived the obligatory pose-in-front-of-the-fireplace-and-look-awkward pictures. Thankfully, my mom’s pregnancy isn’t really showing too much, so that topic gets to be avoided a little longer.
I smile, pleased I decided to add glitter to the star on my cheek tonight. A dance is a special occasion, after all. And I feel all kinds of glam in my 1950s-inspired halter-neck dress. The red polka dots pop against the black, and the thick red belt around my waist really completes the look.
“You’re not afraid to stand out, are you?” Brian asks.
The elastic strap on my wrist corsage itches, so I take it off and hold it, examining the arrangement of apple-green orchids. My dress is not green. But he didn’t try to match my dress, oh no. It makes so much more sense for the flowers to match the boy’s shoes.
And he thinks I stand out? “Neither are you, I’d say.”
He turns the Camry onto the main street toward the school. “Well, I don’t really see the point of holding back just because of what someone else might think. I mean, if something about me is a friendship deal breaker, who needs ’em?”
I twist in my seat to look at him. “Seriously, I think you may be the only person I’ve met here who would ever say that.”
It’s refreshing, but I’m not sure how attached to this guy I want to get. Let’s see how he does at Monday’s audition first.
“It might also be why I don’t have that many friends.” He laughs and waves a hand dismissively.
I laugh with him, smoothing out my dress under the seat belt. “You’re good people, Brian. Even if you inadvertently told the whole school I’ve never been kissed.”
“Hey, you know how sorry I am for that. I shouldn’t have said anything to anyone,” he says as he pulls into the parking lot. “Good thing you’re not afraid to stand out, right?”
Doesn’t mean I need the misconception flying around that I don’t want to be kissed. I most certainly do. Everything just has to line up . . . perfectly.
We make our entrance into the school common area, and it’s like I’m stepping back into the woods from this morning, but at night. The overhead fluorescents are off, but can lights throw sparkling blues and greens against giant papier-mâché trees stretching overhead. The cafeteria tables that usually occupy the space are out of sight, replaced by a DJ presiding over the dance floor, blasting some country song from the speakers.
Two sets of arms grab me, stealing me away from Brian, who finds a cluster of guys to chat with.
“Maddie, you’ve ruined me,” Angela says dreamily.
“What do you mean, I ruined you?” I ask, observing her floor-length aqua knockout and Tiffany’s strapless green number. All three of us have our hair down in curls. Look out, boys.
“I’ve got all those stupid old songs in my head now,” she explains. “And I like it.”
My heart flies.
“We stayed up all night watching your ancient movies,” Tiffany adds. “All night. And I’m completely shocked with myself to be admitting this, but they weren’t terrible.”
“You watched all of the movies I brought over?”
Angela nods. “Well, we watched one while we were getting ready for the dance too. And we have guesses for your favorite. Summer Stock. It has to be Summer Stock. The way your boyfriend looks at her even though they’re both dating someone else. Whoa.”
Is it possible? Do they get me?
“No, it’s Singin’ in the Rain, yo.” Tiffany crosses her arms and chatters a hundred miles an hour. “She’s even wearing the star on her cheek right now, just like that Lina woman. Personally, I’m partial to Anchors Aweigh because of the little guy with the tight pants and the voice, if that was even him singing for real.”
My heart. It’s swelling. So. Happy.
“Of course it was. Even I’ve heard of Frank Sinatra before.” Angela rolls her eyes. “Anyway, I get it now, Maddie. No wonder you’ve got a thing for legs. The dancing is pretty hot.”
“Meh, the dancing doesn’t do it for me as much as the singing,” Tiffany says. “But I’ll bet Jesse could have been that good if he hadn’t stopped.”
What? My breath catches. “Jesse? As in Angela’s brother? A dancer?”
“Oh, yeah,” Tiffany continues. “He used to be all about it. Because of his mom, you know? Musicals, plays, everything.”
“He was really good,” Angela agrees. “Mom was ticked when he quit. She thought he was going to be her Broadway golden boy.”
Mind. Blown. My personal driver, the Baseball King of high school, was a dancer? There’s no way.
“You guys are messing with me,” I say with a hand on my stomach and one at my temple. “What kind of dancing?”
If she says tap, I’m going to collapse. I glance at the floor to see what I’d land on, just in case.
Angela steps closer to me and speaks low. “Keep it down, Maddie. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”
I turn to her but don’t decrease my volume. “For someone who likes attention from girls so much, I’d think he’d be all over it.”
“Mmm,” Tiffany ponders. “Sports are the name of the game. The theatre stuff isn’t all that popular here.” Angela’s eyes narrow so Tiffany quickly amends, “Though it’s gotten better since your mom took over last year. I’m just saying it’s hard to get too many guys involved in it when sports are the bigger draw. More notoriety, more money in the future. I mean, unless you’re good enough for Hollywood or something.”
“But,” I begin, struggling to form a coherent sentence, “I just don’t see how sports are hotter than a man who can dance like that. And who doesn’t think singing is hot?”
“Maddie,” Angela says, a hand on my shoulder. “As much as I wish it was different for your sake, your reality is skewed. This is high school. When most of us want to see a guy sing and dance, we ask daddy for tickets to a concert, not a high school production of Newsies. This is Texas, which is synonymous with football and baseball.”
“What’s wrong with News—”
“Then there’s the name calling,” Tiffany cuts in. “What did the guys call him?”
“No,” Angela defends. “He wants to forget all of it, so let him. Baseball’s his thing now, and he’s really good at that too.”
And just like that, I deflate. So close. I knew Jesse had dancers’ legs, I just knew it. What a waste to use them standing on a pitcher’s mound. I have to figure out a way to talk to him about it.
“I don’t know about y’all,” Tiffany says, rising up on her toes and bouncing a few times, “but I came here to dance. Let’s warm up before our dates steal us.”
I link arms with Angela as we hit the dance floor. “Summer Stock is my favorite Gene movie ever.”
“I knew it!” she exclaims.
As we start to dance, she sings a few lines of “You Wonderful You,” terribly off tune.
“Okay, leave the singing to Frank,” Tiffany says, “and let’s dance!”
We giggle and the three of us move to the center of the dance floor, throwing our hands in the air and letting loose. I feel so free, so exhilarated. Understood for maybe the first time ever.
And I can’t stop thinking about Jesse. I need to see what he can do.
Brian isn’t a dreadful dancer, but he does like to step on my feet. By the third time, I pretend I’m thirsty and ask him to get me a pop.
“You want a what?” he asks, brows scrunched together.
“Pop, like a Sprite or something.”
“Oh, you want a Coke.” He smiles like he gets it, but he clearly doesn’t.
“No, I don’t like brown pops,” I explain. “I want something fruity, like a Sprite.”
“Yeah. Right. Pop.” He shrugs
as he turns for the drink table.
As soon as I’m left alone, a guy I vaguely recognize from Spanish approaches and clears his throat. His lips part to unveil a set of jacked-up teeth, desperate for braces. I offer him a sympathetic smile.
“Maddie, right?” he says, hands deep in his pockets.
I pick at the flowers on my wrist. “Uh . . . Juan?”
“Francisco.” He laughs and lifts a shoulder. “Gregory, r-really.”
“Ah, Greg,” I say, twisting at my waist to watch my skirt spread out. I wish they’d play some swing music so it could get some real action. And I wish there were a boy at this school who knew how to swing dance. . . .
I glance around, following the flashes of light across the dark room in hopes of glimpsing Jesse’s face. I haven’t seen him yet tonight.
The crowd parts. A figure steps into the spotlight. Black slacks, white shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, suspenders. So. Adorable.
The band starts a slower swing number, something from the Glenn Miller catalog, but I can never remember the names of songs with no lyrics.
He makes his way to me one pronounced step at a time, with each beat, fingers snapping. That perfect smile comes into view, and the scar on his left cheek creates its own little shadow, proof he was once a child prone to accidents. But now he’s so far from a child. And he’s here. With me.
I lean in and kiss the indentation, feeling his smile widen under my lips.
His hand slides around my belt like it’s a pathway, coming to rest against my lower back. We sway cheek to cheek for a moment before the music kicks into high gear and we clasp each other’s hands, step-step-rock-stepping to the rhythm. In a swift movement, he grabs my waist and—
“It’s j-just Gregory.”
“Oh.” I startle, having forgotten he was there. “Okay, Gregory then.”
He smiles again. The teeth. They’re so unfortunate. I can’t look away. And they’re getting closer. The teeth are getting bigger. What is happening?
I look up to his eyes and find him looking at my teeth, or mouth. My mouth!
Just before he crosses the point of no return, I take a step back and shove him away at the same time.