Three Sides of a Heart

by Natalie C. Parker

  The clouds above mirror the smooth texture of the rock walls and they glow with a ghostly, diffused sunset. We are all paler versions of ourselves in this light. Maybe that’s what makes us feel like jumping is a logical, harmless thing to do.

  Maybe it is a logical, harmless thing to do. It’s the not knowing that makes it real.

  An and I don’t know anyone here, and that’s just the way we like it. There are maybe eighteen of us, maybe twenty. I’ve never been great at estimating a crowd. Mostly because I’m not great at being in a crowd. Too many possibilities. But this group is different. We’re a collection of people who don’t like crowds. I doubt there’s anyone like me, afraid of futures coming out of nowhere to taunt and torment. Still, we maintain our orbits, sporadically spaced across the cliff like stars in the sky. I like it.

  And then, all of a sudden, I don’t.

  An sits at the edge of the cliff. Her red ballet flats balance precariously from the tips of her toes, and she’s smiling down at the crashing waves. The air is salt and wet and loamy earth. Her smile is the prelude to a challenge.

  She leans back on her hands, butt scooting dangerously close to the edge, and she looks up at me. “I have an idea,” she says.

  I look down the long drop and my head feels heavy, like if I leaned just a little farther, the weight of it would pull me off balance and I would fall.

  I shift back from where she sits, but I only move an inch before I’m stopped by another body.

  “You really shouldn’t jump,” says a voice I should not—not in this present time—recognize. But I do. Oh, I do. I know the shape of the hand that has landed, feather light, on my waist. I know the look that waits for me in those endless brown eyes. I know the taste of those lips I’ve never seen in real life.

  And all the feelings I knew I would feel are suddenly whispering down from my neck, fluttering in my lungs, warming in my belly.

  An sits up straight, so urgently that one of her red ballet flats flies from the tips of her toes and down the cliff. It is swallowed by the dim light before it hits the water below. A trick of the light, I know, but a good one.

  “You two know each other?” she asks, alert. No, alarmed.

  I pull a curtain over my damn face and shake my head. “No.” But that isn’t the truth. At least not for me.

  I am afraid to turn around. I am afraid that seeing that smooth skin, those lithe curves, that confident stance will undo the very small amount of control I have.

  Dra steps away from me and extends a hand to An. “Dra.”

  “Whatever,” says An, but she shakes the offered hand. “Cass?”

  I am frozen. The wind snaps around us, the waves sing beneath us, and I am terrified that my next move will be the wrong one. Behind me stands Dra—the person I’ve only ever known in my future, but who is promise and possibility and every tantalizing unknown—asking me to stay on the cliff, not to jump. In front of me is An—the person I’ve known nearly all my life, and who is the surest thing about it, the future I’ve always determined for myself, for my mind—holding out her hand, asking me to leap with her, because no matter where we go or what we do, we’ll be together.

  And for the first time in months, I wish the future would give me the right answer. I wait for the whisper—Choose, Cass, choose—to come and show me how to answer this question.

  But there is nothing.

  The moment is up to me.

  Lessons for Beginners

  JULIE MURPHY

  FROM: Paul Villanueva

  TO: Ruby Mae Otto

  SUBJECT: client inquiry

  10:24 p.m.

  We had a new submission on the site from a couple. There’s more you need to know about it, but are you even down with couple lessons?

  FROM: Ruby Mae Otto

  TO: Paul Villanueva

  SUBJECT: RE: client inquiry

  10:28 p.m.

  Sure? I’m up to try it once. It could get weird though.

  FROM: Paul Villanueva

  TO: Ruby Mae Otto

  SUBJECT: RE: client inquiry

  10:31 p.m.

  Well, it’s about to get weirder.

  “Call Paul,” I dictate to my phone, as I shake the soapsuds off my free hand.

  It’s not even half a ring before he answers. “Why are you switching modes of communication on me in the middle of a conversation? How am I expected to keep proper business records like this?”

  I hold back a giggle as I blow bath bubbles off the tips of my kneecaps. “Paul.”

  “And you’re in the tub,” he says. “I can hear the fan running in your bathroom. You’re going to drop that phone in the water and then you’re going to be really screwed.”

  “Whatever,” I say. “We’re cash positive.”

  “We won’t be for long if we rack up business expenses every time you want to take calls from your tub.”

  “When have I dropped my phone in bathwater?” I ask.

  “Last spring. Right after you finished your final lesson with Mallory Stephens . . .” I can hear him clicking around on his computer, checking his calendar—which he merged with mine and which I haven’t even looked at since Presidents’ Day, almost six months ago. (I couldn’t remember if the district gave us the day off school or not.) “And three days before your first session with Jacob Booth.”

  “Ah, yes. The slurper.” That was definitely a case of doing the best I could with what Mother Nature gave me. “Well, whatever. I’m the talent.”

  Paul groans. Paul is not only my business partner, but also my best friend and my first client. It was three years ago, and the summer before eighth grade. I’d just experienced that classic middle school shift when not only is your body growing in weird, awkward ways, but so are your friendships. I was lonely and practically friendless and stuck at Micah Salih’s thirteenth birthday party, which my grandmother had forced me to attend. (The woman would lie down on the tracks and let a train speed right over her if she thought it was the polite thing to do.)

  The game was seven minutes in heaven, and I was up next, along with a new kid named Paul who’d just moved to town with his recently divorced mom. That night, Paul and I learned three life-changing truths in that closet.

  1. Paul was a bad kisser.

  2. I was a good one.

  3. Paul was definitely gay.

  After a minute or two of sloppy kissing, Paul and I began to talk—decidedly the better use of our mouths. We made a pact to tell everyone things had gotten super steamy between us, and Paul asked me to show him how to be a great kisser. The only problem was, I didn’t even realize I was a great kisser until he said so. Suffice to say we spent much of eighth grade platonically making out and taking notes and making out some more until I’d cracked the science of kissing.

  Monetizing my skill? That was Paul’s idea, of course. Some great kissers are born. Most great kissers are made. Some of them are made by me. With careful practice and close tutelage, of course, which comes at a price.

  My hands are turning into prunes, which means it’s time for me to get out of the tub. And off the phone. “Okay, so come on. The couple. What’s so weird about them?”

  “Don’t freak out.”

  “I’m not going to freak out.”

  “You’re going to freak out, Rubes.”

  “Just tell me.”

  He pauses for a moment. (For dramatic effect, I’m sure.) “It’s Annie Kim and Theo Simpson.”

  My stomach drops. “Annie? As in Annie Annie?”

  “You’re freaking out.”

  “I’m not freaking out.”

  “Uh-huh,” he deadpans.

  “Okay. Okay. Yeah. I’m freaking out.”

  I sit in my childhood tree house on the far edges of my granddad Jake’s property. It’s not an ideal location for kissing lessons, but it’s private, and when you’re in the business of neckin’
, that’s priority numero uno.

  Annie Kim sits across from me in cheer shorts and an oversized T-shirt twisted into a knot at the small of her back. Her black bob is gathered into a half ponytail sprouting out from the top of her head like a weed. Annie is Korean American. Dumb people who don’t know any better mistake her for Chinese or, even worse, “Oriental.” She smells like sweat, but it’s not the same kind of stench that used to radiate from my brother, Ralphie, after football practice. She holds her bedazzled cell phone up for me to see. “He should be here any minute. He’s helping his dad do a sound check for tomorrow morning’s service.”

  I nod and make no effort to mask my sigh. “I don’t normally do couples.” I decided that agreeing to meet with Annie and Theo was the professional thing to do. I have a reputation to uphold, and I’m not going to let sour grapes ruin that. Plus Annie offered to double my normal fee.

  “And I appreciate you taking us on. You’re not easy to get in touch with, ya know?” she says.

  “There’s a contact form on the website,” I say.

  “Well, it just felt like there was a lot of vetting.”

  “For good reason.” As the setting sun behind her head burns into the trees, I plug in the twinkly lights that Granddad Jake wired through here when we were kids.

  She nods. “This place looks just the same.” Silence hangs there for a moment, suspended in midair. “I know this is awkward. I wouldn’t have reached out if I had known that you . . . were you. Even after I found that we would be meeting you here, I didn’t actually believe that it would be you waiting for us.”

  “Well, here we are.” I’ve been giving kissing lessons for two years now, but my identity remains a secret from everyone except my clients. I keep their secrets, and they keep mine. Paul is my only real friend, so situations like this have never been an issue.

  She nods. “I can’t believe how much tinier the tree house feels.” It’s just small talk, I know, but I appreciate the effort. Besides, we’re going to be doing things a lot more awkward than talking once Theo gets here.

  I pull myself back a little farther into the corner. “Funny how things change,” I tell her. The dynamic between us is stiff and awkward, but also somehow familiar. Ever since we were girls in this little tree house, I remember being so aware of how much more space I took up than Annie. For Annie to be aware, it took her a growth spurt and boobs.

  After a few moments of silence while she chews on her cuticles, she shakes her head quickly. “I can’t get over how weird it is to be back here.”

  I simply shrug. For Annie to still be sitting here, she’s gotta be desperate.

  Beneath us, leaves rustle as Theo takes the ladder two slats at a time. He pulls himself up and first turns to Annie. “Sorry I’m late.”

  Annie nods and helps him up, but the way her shoulders slope down slightly tells me that his tardiness means more to her than Theo knows.

  And then he turns to me. “Ruby?” he asks. “Ruby Mae? You’re the Kisser Fixer?”

  I smile with my lips pursed tightly together. I get this a lot. Use whatever kind of euphemisms you want. Curvy, big-boned, junk in the trunk, heavyset, chubby. I’m the fat girl. Always have been. Not many people regard me as a romantic interest, but the proof is in the pudding and my pudding is kissing.

  Theo is a classic PK—preacher’s kid—and the kind of guy who always wins. It could be anything from a game of wall ball to a radio contest. The guy’s just lucky. But you can’t exactly fault him for it, because he’s nice and charming. Or at least he’s good at pretending to be. Theo shuts the trapdoor behind him and takes Annie’s hand. “So give it to us easy, doc,” he says in a mock serious voice.

  Annie swats at his leg. “He tries to make jokes of everything.”

  Theo grunts. “Well, this is sort of a joke, anyway.”

  I close my eyes, and breathe in deeply through my nose. “No one is forcing you to be here, but you should know: I don’t do refunds.”

  Theo huffs. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Most people remember their first kiss more vividly than the first time they had sex.”

  “Well, we haven’t ever had sex,” Annie says.

  Theo’s lips press into a thin line.

  I scoot on my butt, inching myself closer to them, so that our knees are touching and we form the shape of a triangle. “I’m going to kiss each of you. Think of it as a physical, like a check-in to see where we are. This will allow me to evaluate your strengths and weaknesses.” Up here, this is my domain. I may be quiet at school, and a little lost in my small Oklahoma town, but up here in this tree house, I’m in charge.

  Theo turns to Annie. “You’re okay with kissing a girl?”

  “Baby,” she says, taking his hand.

  “I’m not complaining. As long as you’re not making it a habit.” His smile is goofy, but his tone is serious. “I’ll go first,” Theo says, like that somehow makes him brave.

  I close my eyes again, and force myself to erase every pretense, and to think of Theo as a blank slate. I open my eyes and see his grin has been exchanged for terror. I can see all the questions there on his face. Is this technically cheating? Am I actually going to kiss a fat girl? What if I really am a bad kisser? What if I get a boner?

  “It’s okay,” I tell him. “Use your whole body.”

  His fingers dig a little too deep into my soft waistline, and he places his heavy hand on my shoulder in an oh-buddy, oh-pal kind of way. And then there’s his mouth. His mouth opens so wide that I can only assume his plan is to devour me whole, starting with my dental records.

  Poor Annie, a voice in my head screeches. I push the thought of her aside and concentrate on Theo’s every move. The clumsy but too-eager hands. The wet, wide-open mouth that reminds me of one of those nonpredatory fish that just float through the ocean with their lips in an O, catching whatever meals dare float through their path. But something about his meaty hands is aggressive and territorial.

  But then he pushes a little farther, and his hands are too heavy and too persistent. He tries to dominate me with his lips and tongue, and I can’t tell if this is just business as normal for him or some kind of psychological bullshit. Some people see auras. I don’t know if I buy all that, but if Theo’s kissing had an aura, it would be an angry purplish bruise.

  I press against his chest, tapping out, and he pulls back a moment too late with a grin on his lips.

  “Okay.”

  “That’s all you’ve got?” he asks. “Okay?”

  I’ve done this enough times to know that me unloading a laundry list of all the ways he’s a horrible kisser won’t get either Theo or Annie anywhere, but still, I have to bite my tongue.

  I turn to Annie. “You ready?” I almost wish I could brush my teeth in between the two to cleanse my palate.

  She leans in. And then pulls back, hesitating.

  I smile easily. A part of me wants to reach out and comfort her and pretend that middle school never happened. Seeing her so unsure of herself . . . it’s nothing like her. “This is your show. Just do it how you normally do. Close your eyes and pretend I’m Theo if you have to.”

  She leans in again but doesn’t close her eyes until her lips meet mine. In every movement, she is tentative and then abrupt. Like, someone self-possessed enough to know what they want to say, but lacking the vocabulary to actually follow through. It’s the opposite of the Annie I grew up with—the girl who saw the world in black and white or yes and no.

  And yet, I sink into her. Something about the way she extends herself for just a moment and then pulls back makes me want to reach out and grab her. I break my own rule and kiss her back just a little. Encouraging her just a little. Just a little.

  It’s hard not to remember all the history this tree house holds for us. I almost wish our friendship had ended with some final fight or with a bang so that I could neatly wrap that chapter of my life up and stow it away. But Annie drifted out of my world in an uneven way that coul
d only be blamed on us growing in two separate directions.

  Theo clears his throat, and Annie pulls back, startled. But Theo doesn’t startle me. Not at all. Something about him makes me defiant. And something about her reopens a wound that never healed.

  My gaze drifts back and forth between them for a moment. I’ve never had to mediate between two people like this before. And on top of that, two people I have such clear feelings toward. I shake my head, forcing out every thought that begins with the word “I.”

  “You’re both speaking two different languages,” I finally say. “Annie, you’re waiting for the kiss to come to you. And Theo . . . you’re . . . well . . . you’re overcompensating for that.”

  She reaches for her backpack. “I—can I take notes?”

  I bite my lip to stop myself from smiling. “Of course.”

  The sky outside is dark now, and with my twinkly stars lighting the tree house, and against my better judgment, I help bridge the gap between Annie and Theo as I teach them a language they can both understand.

  That night, as I’m standing in my bathroom, long after Gram and Granddad have gone to bed, I coat my lips in a pricey organic lip scrub that I bought online with my Lessons for Beginners money. An investment, I told myself. A business expense. (One that I’ve managed not to tell Paul about.)

  Every time I so much as blink, it’s Annie I see draped against the backs of my eyelids. Sitting in my tree house in her cheer shorts and spiky ponytail.

  My phone rings, and I start the bathtub so Gram can’t hear me.

  “Hello?”

  “Don’t hello me,” says Paul’s voice on the other end of the line. “How’d it go?”