by Kristin Rae
“You’re supposed to feel it out,” I manage through wild panic and curiosity. “If the moment is right, it won’t be weird.”
He laughs under his breath. “I only asked if it would be weird if I said I wanted to kiss you.”
“You’re making it weird right now,” I whisper back, joining his laughter.
“Well, you already had the first kiss you were waiting for, so I figured I’m allowed now.”
The kiss I was waiting for . . . The soft glow of the orange lights overhead, the hay falling everywhere, the sailor suit. I’m not sure if it gets more perfect the more I relive it, or if it really was just the most romantic first kiss I could have dreamed up for myself. I think I’ll have to count it.
Maybe I really am free to kiss whoever I want now.
My eyes dart to his lips. They’re a little thinner than Jesse’s but—no. I stop myself from comparing them. Jesse is not my boyfriend.
“So . . . what are you thinking?” Brian asks.
“I don’t think it’s weird,” I say.
His mouth twists into a pleased smirk. “Good.”
Given how anxious he was to make out back when we were rehearsing for the audition together, I expect him to just grab me and kiss me right away, but he doesn’t. He clasps my hand resting on my leg and turns his attention to the screen.
A warm sensation spreads up my arm. No one’s ever just sat and held on to my hand before, just to keep touching me. I’m not sure what to do. I lift my eyes back to the movie, but nothing registers. I hear nothing but my heart in my ears and see nothing but the image of our joined hands.
Then his grip tightens, and I know he’s asking me to look at him. So I do. He studies me in the dim lighting, leaning toward me. My eyes lock on his mouth as it gets closer and closer to mine.
This is happening. I’m about to be kissed. By Brian.
I stomp down that voice inside that says, Don’t do it! He’s not the one! and close my eyes. His other hand rests on my shoulder and pulls me gently forward until we kiss.
Nothing. I feel nothing.
It’s just two sets of warm lips smashed against each other.
Brian leans away and we both stare at each other. Did he also feel nothing?
He smiles, which relieves some of my tension, and whispers, “Should we try that again?”
I let out a small laugh and nod, closing my eyes and pushing away that stupid little voice again. Only this time it’s saying, He’s not Jesse.
I try to get into this one more, putting a hand behind his head and allowing him to deepen the kiss. But after a few seconds, his mouth stops moving, and we both open our eyes. I fight back laughter, but it comes out when I see him bite his lips.
He clears his throat. “That was weird, right?”
“Totally weird,” I say, eyebrows scrunched together. “I’m so sorry.”
He straightens in his seat. “No, I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have forced it. I just thought—”
I squeeze his hand to stop him. “We both thought, Brian. It’s fine. It really is.”
We laugh together, and I gulp down my Sprite, cooling my insides from the anticipation that had nowhere to go.
“Please don’t hold this against me,” he says after a minute of staring blankly at the screen.
“I won’t if you won’t hold it against me.”
“Friends?”
I give his hand another squeeze, not ready to let go just yet. “Absolutely.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
As expected, there were no car keys under my tree this year. I shouldn’t have let myself dream that my parents were just trying to fool me. My last hope is my birthday in February, which was the original agreement anyway, and a chunk of money to help me with a vehicle, like they helped Rider with his Camaro.
But I thought it would be different for me. Not only did they move me across the country halfway through my high school career, but I’m also their only daughter and the only child living at home, though I realize this won’t necessarily be the case much longer.
I understand it, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.
At all.
And watching Ma ooh and aah over every little thing Dad gave her—a fancy gliding chair, baby bath toys, and the diaper bag he saw her petting in the store, to name a few of their “necessities”—did nothing for me but cause my lip to curl in irritation.
Rider handled it all with maturity, but he made his fair share of remarks when we were alone. He especially liked to rub it in that he won’t be around for babysitting and diaper duties.
I sort of wish he wasn’t around today because he’s decided to tag along with me to the New Year’s Eve party tonight, even after I said I didn’t need a brother-bodyguard. When I reminded him of the Halloween party disaster, he said that was exactly why he needed to come. Not really the response I was going for, because I know what’s going to happen: I’m going to be the one who has to watch him extra closely to make sure he doesn’t sneak off with any of my classmates for a midnight make-out session, not the other way around.
I finish curling my hair and go back to my bedroom to examine my appearance in the full-length mirror on my closet door. Black boots, leggings, long silver top, black sweater, red lips, and an extra teeny star drawn next to the usual one by my left eye. Not that I have anyone in particular to impress.
I turn to grab my coat from the doorknob and catch sight of my newest and most prized possession, proudly displayed on my dresser. A framed head shot of Mr. Gene Kelly, autographed.
A few days after Christmas, the girls and I held a special meeting of Teens for Classic Movies, which turned out to be just Angela, Tiffany, Sarah, and me—I guess we scared the other two potentials away last month. We watched White Christmas while feasting on sugar cookies and drinking through an entire box of hot chocolate mix, then exchanged our meager gifts. We had set the limit at ten bucks each, because, well, we’re broke, but they all chipped in and had Mrs. Morales help them find a legit autographed picture, just for me.
“Maddie!” Rider calls from down the hall. “You ready to walk over to the party?”
“One minute!”
I take Gene’s photo out of the frame and gently smooth my hand over the surface. Chills run through me at the realization that Gene touched this very piece of paper as he signed his name in blue ink next to his own smiling black-and-white face. My eyes well up and threaten to spill over, but not because of that. Because I don’t know how I got so lucky to find a group of friends who actually get me.
The type of New Year’s Eve party I want to host one day will be a classically formal affair like in the old movies. The girls will wear fancy dresses with long white gloves, the guys will wear tuxes, we’ll drink pop out of champagne flutes, eat a delectable catered dinner served by a waitstaff, and everyone will dance! Or maybe a themed party, the kind of extravagant fling Jay Gatsby would throw, and we could do the Charleston out on the lawn until the wee hours of the morning.
I told Angela my ideas when she was in planning mode, but she looked at me like I was crazy and said no one would ever come to anything like that. Normal teenagers want to wear jeans and eat bagel pizza bites and taquitos. So it’s Angela’s own fault she’s stuck in the kitchen all night heating up frozen snacks and keeping the chip bowls full while Sarah and I hang out with everyone else, listening to ski-trip stories and watching the festivities in New York on TV.
Sarah and I load our plates with another round of cookies and head back to the living room, when I catch sight of the one girl who could turn my holiday sour.
“Who invited her?” I ask Sarah quietly as we watch Rica waltz in the front door and breeze past us, heading straight for the kitchen.
“Oh. Yeah. About that.” Sarah takes a sip of cider from her green plastic cup. “Ryan sort of told Rica about it—”
“And why would your otherwise flawless boyfriend do such a thing?”
“—accidentally. At the wrap party for Barefo
ot in the Park the other week.”
We move a few steps to the side so we can see Rica filling her plates with veggies, chips, and dip.
“What do you mean, ‘accidentally’? How does that sort of thing just come up accidentally?”
“I don’t know. We were all talking about holiday plans and vacations and who was having New Year’s parties. It just came out. Maybe she thought she was invited.”
“She’s going to spoil the festive mood,” I say. “It’s one thing to see her at school, but here in my happy place? I just can’t forget that Rica practically drugged me to beat me at an audition and then made a big deal, in front of who knows how many people, that the only guy I’ve ever loved is dead! What if I really had a boyfriend who died in some tragically tragic way?”
“She thought you did,” Sarah says, biting the head off a gingerbread man.
“Exactly.” I eat the arms off my own.
“Though once upon a time I thought you did too,” she reminds me.
“I’m sorry about that,” I say, body tensing. “I just didn’t know how to explain it without sounding insane. It was too soon.”
She laughs and my worry melts. “I get you more than you think I do.”
“I know.” I smile, truly grateful I can be myself with her. “And you would never have used it against me like Rica did. I mean, they don’t get much more vile than that.”
“Word. I’m surprised she’s never slipped me a strawberry just to watch me break out in hives.”
“Now that would just be evil.” I swallow the last of my eggnog and shudder at the strong kick of nutmeg that settled on the bottom. “Really, though, we shouldn’t let her bother us so much. We can’t let her win by ruining our New Year’s.”
“Oh, she bothers me plenty,” Sarah snorts. “You didn’t have to direct the play that the tricky little witch and my boyfriend were in together. And the kissing. Don’t even get me started on how hard that was to watch day after day.”
I rip the head off my cookie too, thinking of all those actors you hear about who fall in love with their costars and wreck seemingly perfect marriages. “You’re a true professional.”
She blinks a few times. “I suddenly feel the need to find Ryan and hug him.” And with that, she disappears into the crowded room.
I spot Rider in the kitchen, surrounded by girls, piling a bunch of cookies on a plate. All the girls are laughing that fake Don’t you think I’m awesome? laugh. If I’m forced to witness the puffing out of chests and the fluffing of feathers over my brother, I might go sit outside by the fire pit with the adults. At least he’s not following me around like a hawk.
The sharp feedback from a microphone makes me jump, and I turn to see Jesse and Red setting up a karaoke machine in the living room, between the fireplace and the Christmas tree. A row of girls including Rica are crammed next to each other on the couch, reading through the song selection.
“Are you actually going to sing?” I ask when I reach Jesse. My heart trills at the possibility.
He laughs. “Uh . . . my relationship with this machine ends as soon as I plug it in.”
“Oh, come on,” I prod. “What’s it going to take to get you behind a mic? Money? Liquor?”
I’ve inadvertently drawn the attention of half the room, and laughter rings out all around us. Rica pops up from the couch and stands maybe a foot away from Jesse, already trying to control the show.
“Jesse’s a great singer,” she announces to her audience, bubbly and peppy like she’s eaten nothing but sugar cookies all day. “A few years ago, we sang together at a school function. We should sing a duet, Jesse! Or I can just sing harmonies! Which one do you want to do?”
My insides twist. He sang with her?
He shakes his head. “That was in sixth grade. Our whole class sang together. For Grandparents’ Day. And it was required.”
My mouth explodes in one of those laughs I roll my eyes at, but who could help it?
The tips of her cheeks darken. “Well, I was standing next to him,” she continues, talking about him instead of with him. “He must have, like, perfect pitch or something. I swear he can do anything.” She turns to him. “Come on, let’s sing for everyone.”
This whole scene she’s making probably shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.
“I can do anything,” Jesse says, snapping one of the microphones into its stand. “But I’m not singing with you.”
Red fumbles with the second microphone stand, biting back laughter.
“Why don’t you sing something?” Jesse asks.
I assume he’s suggesting Rica perform a solo, until I realize he’s looking at me. I’m about to protest, insisting that I haven’t had time to prepare anything, yet fully intending to give in if I find something on the song list worth performing. But Rica’s not done with her audience.
“Maddie doesn’t have the right voice for lead.” Always concerned with appearance, she tucks a strand of her sleek raven hair behind an ear. “She’s just an alto, a chorus-type. Don’t embarrass the poor girl.”
A few hesitant chuckles and murmurs reach my ears. I start to hug my stomach but force my arms to my sides. I will not let her get to me. She can’t win.
I open my mouth to ask how she even knows I’m just an alto when she reads my mind.
“I was there,” she says. “For your audition at the playhouse.”
“How—”
“Open audition. I was in the back. I never miss a chance to scope out the competition.” Her silver bracelet jingles as she adjusts her skirt. “But it was just as I thought from the first time I saw you try out for the school play.” She pauses. “I’m not threatened by you.”
As much as I’d like to laugh in her face, I’m suddenly self-conscious and my eyes automatically zip to Jesse, his left eyebrow slightly raised as he studies Rica.
Sarah’s by my side in an instant. “The fact that you just had to make another big speech to put her down in front of everyone sure makes it sound like you are threatened.”
I want to clap. How is this the same girl who Rica walked all over a mere handful of months ago? Maybe Sarah got used to telling Rica what to do when she directed the play. My chest swells with pride, and I’ve almost forgotten that all of this was inspired by ugly words about me.
“How dare you?” Rica says in irritation. “You’re not allowed to talk to me like that.”
Sarah noticeably shrinks back. Come on, I mentally encourage. Don’t let her win. But the moment is over, Sarah’s brief surge of gumption used up.
“I guess I’ll go first, then,” Rica says, taking the microphone and standing front and center near the fireplace. She looks to Jesse like he’s in charge of the karaoke machine. “I’m going to sing—”
“Find it yourself,” Jesse growls. And without warning, he grabs my hand and weaves me between our classmates, his teammates, my distracted brother and his fan club, through the kitchen, and past Angela, with her mouth agape, and out the back door into the night.
“Hop on,” Jesse says over the engine of the four-wheeler.
I glance around, and besides the glow from the fire pit closer to the house, I can’t see much. “Where are we going?”
“Just for a ride. I like riding at night, it’s . . . relaxing.”
“Okay. . . .” I straddle the seat behind him. “Still no helmet, huh? What if we plummet into a ravine or something?”
“We won’t. Trust me.”
“You’re so sure of yourself all the time.”
“Uh, I’m sure we’re not going to plummet into a ravine because there are no ravines to plummet into. Satisfied?”
He takes off before I can answer, and I clamp my hands on his waist to keep from doing a backflip. We follow the worn path into tall grasses and through the woods until we reach the creek where I saw my first deer. Everything’s brown and dead, so this ride is sneeze-free, and it’s somewhat exhilarating pulling the chilled air into my lungs. I could stand it to be colder, but
I’m pleased by the numbness of my cheeks and my watering eyes. Makes me feel alive.
We come to a stop and I remove my hands from Jesse’s sides, following him in the light of the nearly full moon closer to the edge of the water. What was a mere trickle a few months ago is now a fast-moving stream.
I lower myself to the crispy grass next to him, empowered by the darkness and our inability to completely see each other. “You know, people are probably thinking we came out here so you could mend my wounded pride with your lips.” He doesn’t respond, so I hug my knees to my chest for something to do. “Make-out therapy,” I add with a laugh to make sure he knows I’m joking—mostly.
He stretches his legs out, crossing one boot over the other. “Maybe we did,” he says with what I hope is a hint of humor.
My stomach tightens, and my pulse pounds in my ears. I might be shaking. But I’m not the nervous type. I don’t get anxious about stuff. What’s happening to me?
“Seriously.” I nudge him with my elbow to lighten the mood. “What—”
“I just wanted to talk to you,” he says, too quietly for me to be sure if I heard him right. “Away from everyone else. When I’m not your chauffeur or dance teacher.”
I search for his face in the bluish light and follow the line of his profile down the ridge of his nose, stopping at the pair of lips I remember all too well on mine.
“You want to t-talk?” I ask through chattering teeth, inwardly cursing my body for betraying me.
Leaves rustle in the woods off to the right and I gasp, reaching out for Jesse and pulling myself closer to him at the same time.
“Scared?” he whispers through a laugh, giving my arm a squeeze.
He rifles through a bag he brought with us and clicks on a flashlight. A pair of eyes glow green from the face of a giant, grayish rodent thing, maybe twenty feet away. I scoot a hair closer to Jesse, better lining him up between me and the creature.
“Possum,” he says as if I should have known, stowing the flashlight back in the bag.
“Possum. Right.” I keep an eye in its direction in case it charges us. “Aren’t those mean?”