From Where I Watch You

by Shannon Grogan

  I swallow hard. My heart flutters a hundred miles an hour, bouncing off every corner of my chest. I shake my head.

  He tips my chin up and dips his head down slowly. I watch his eyes close as he presses his lips onto mine. His lips are soft and warm and wonderful.

  “Kara,” he whispers against my lips. “Mmm, strawberry. Close your eyes.”

  I snap them shut, feeling stupid. Nick’s lips are on mine again and this time he holds my lower lip in between his. His hands are holding either side of my face. He pulls away again but only to come in from different angles. When he pulls away again I can barely breathe. I’m afraid I’m doing it wrong even though Gaby and Jen and I practiced on our hands all the time. Gaby was sort of the expert and said we did it the right way.

  The way Nick smiles and the fact that his breath comes faster makes me think I’m okay.

  And just as I’m feeling disappointment that it’s over, he comes back at me. This time his lips press into mine harder than before and after a moment he nudges his lower lip between mine.

  “Open your mouth,” he whispers against my lips.

  When I do I feel his tongue running inside my lower lip, and then deeper. I wrap my arms around his neck because it feels like the right thing to do. His hands move around to the small of my back. His weight is forcing me backwards into the armrest but it doesn’t hurt. In the back of my mind I know this is all wrong, and I can almost hear Mom standing at the top of the stairs scolding me. So many thoughts run through me, but the only one that matters is I can’t wait to tell Gaby I got French-kissed by a high school boy!

  I’m not sure how much time passes before Nick pulls away, sitting back and stretching his arms over his head. “Cross that off your list, too,” he says, smiling.

  My face flushes and my mouth feels swollen. “Thanks.” Thanks? I am a dork! I couldn’t think of something else to say?

  He laughs and scratches his head. “Well, you’re welcome.” He leans forward and catches my chin again, giving me a short kiss before he stands up. “Happy to oblige. I’ll be right back.”

  I wish he’d kiss me again and I wonder what it all means now? He’s Tad’s best friend and always over here. What happens now? Does he kiss me now whenever he gets me alone? Do we forget it? Do I tell Kellen? No way. She’d tell Mom.

  The weight of all of it pushes me further into the loveseat. I look at where Nick sat and reach out, feeling the warmth he left there. I pick up one of the pillows and sniff and smell Nick’s clean smell. Then I throw it down and stand up, feeling like the biggest dork ever.

  15. Be careful not to burn your butter.

  ..........................................................

  Working on my final cookie design at the café, I’m careful to not let Mom see. I am a nervous wreck. I can barely sleep. The contest is next week. Entering and winning is not what I’m panicked about—it’s logistics. How do I get there without Mom noticing?

  Sticking my pen into the foam of my latte, I draw loopy swirls of cream and brown and wonder if Charlie is working. Dishes need washing today because the place is packed.

  Most people eat Mom’s holy pea soup. They smile and look at the ceiling. Some hold hands in prayer. What the hell? Mom’s turned everyone crazy. People slurp it down because she says it’s liquid salvation, the answer to their prayers. They actually believe this, or pretend to. I suck the latte foam off my pen and go back to my cookie design.

  “Hey, Sprinkles.”

  I jump.

  Charlie’s on his knees, leaning over the back of the other booth and resting his chin on his folded arms. “What are you doing?”

  Before I can answer, he scoots out of his booth and comes to sit across from me. I think of him the other night, spying and staring up at my window.

  Mom comes out of the kitchen so I slap my notebook shut. When she looks at me, and then Charlie, her face stretches into a huge grin and she claps her hands together, like she approves of seeing us together. Whatever. Maybe she approves of him because he’s a little bit of a Holy Roller himself. I fidget in my seat when she whirls over to the table and plants a kiss on both of our cheeks.

  “Well aren’t I the lucky one! The Lord sees fit to bless me with you two!” She turns to Charlie. “I still have that chocolate cream in back, shall I get it for you?”

  “Sure, thanks, Meg.”

  Mom glows before she winks at him and twirls off to the kitchen. It’s weird to hear him use Mom’s name, like he knows her so well.

  “Your mom is the best, Sprinkles. You’re lucky to have her.”

  I sigh very loudly and glare out the window.

  “It wasn’t her fault that your sister died. She had so much grief, Kara—”

  “Stop it,” I interrupt. I feel the anger rising in me. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

  Mom sets the plate down. “Enjoy!”

  He smiles at her and she puts a hand on each of our shoulders, squeezing before she disappears.

  “Kara, listen. I’m saying this because . . . my mom died.” He stops for a moment and stares at the pie. “My dad couldn’t take it; we didn’t even have a funeral. We left, just like that—two days later. I had no chance to say good-bye to anyone. That’s why I disappeared so quick . . .” His eyes are glued to the plate. His voice is thick, strained. “Man, I’ve been begging your mom to save me a piece of this—it’s amazing.”

  His eyes are glassy when he looks up at me.

  I feel tears prickling my own eyes. I wasn’t expecting this. “I’m sorry.”

  “She used to make this pie for me. It’s my favorite.”

  “What happened?”

  Charlie cuts off a bite with his fork and offers it to me. I shake my head.

  “No way, you did not just turn down the best pie in town. Take it.”

  He pushes a fork of the moist chocolate against my lips and his expression makes me smile, so I take a bite.

  “I wanted you to know that I understand,” he manages while I chew. He sniffs, his voice still shaky. “But right now that’s all I can . . .” He exhales, pushing the plate away. “I’m sorry. Guess I’m not ready.”

  I stare at him, and the shock of it hits me. Charlie’s mom chaperoned every field trip and made it to every school function. I can’t think of a time my parents showed up for any school events, but I remember Charlie’s mom brought in cupcakes for our class on his birthday.

  One time my cupcake fell, frosting side down, onto the dirty linoleum floor. When I picked it up pencil shavings and grit were stuck in it. The teacher hollered at me to clean it up but Charlie’s mom knelt down with wet paper towels to help me. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she’d said.

  Right there, my ten-year-old self wanted to tell her that I loved Charlie and that Tracy Snider was a horrible girl and that Charlie shouldn’t have a crush on her. He should like me because I’m nicer and I already love him.

  Now Charlie is scooting out of the booth. “Can I pull you away from your cookie baking long enough to go take a walk with me?”

  “It’s freezing outside. They’re forecasting snow.”

  “All the more reason for a walk. C’mon, please?” He offers his hand.

  “Okay. Give me a second to get my coat, ’kay?” I slide out of the booth and walk toward our apartment door.

  “Need help? I can come up there with you.” He grins.

  No way. Where I live is embarrassing. “I’ll be back in a sec.” With that I rush to the door and upstairs.

  Charlie waits by the front door for me, smiling, wearing one of those funny baseball-type caps lined with fake sheep fur. It’s goofy but sort of cute. He also wears a flannel work coat that makes me think of maple syrup and pancakes. All in all, not a picture of hotness, but as we step outside into the biting cold, I’m thinking of him without his mom. My nose sting
s and I wipe my eyes at the same time I hear someone whistling.

  The frigid air smells of baking bread, coffee, wood smoke, and diesel from the buses. Noelle and Mason are across the street, watching us. Mason gives a slight wave with his fingerless glove, while Noelle points at us, grabs Mason and thrusts her hips back and forth into his butt. Thank God Charlie doesn’t seem to see my psychotic friend, who is now blowing us kisses. He’s hurrying down the street.

  “I just want to show you something, Sprinkles.”

  I nod, following, and every few seconds a question about Charlie’s mom nearly rolls out of my mouth but I stop it, because I know how he feels. Charlie leads me past Crockett’s and around the corner to the lot of St. Francis’s Catholic Church.

  I knew it. He is like Mom. He probably wants me to go to Bible study or something. Disappointment floods through me. I do not need any more Jesus in my face. I stop and watch as he skirts the front of the church and disappears around the corner. Seconds later he reappears, throwing his arms up.

  “Hey, are you coming or what?”

  I shake my head, trudging over to him.

  “Over there.”

  I look to see an old, flat brown Ford Ranger. Tiny dents dapple the side, along with a few scrapes of different colors. There are spots here and there of the old shine but not much.

  “What do you think?” he asks, smiling at the truck.

  A for sale sign is taped crooked in the window.

  “Are you serious?”

  Charlie shoves his hands into the pockets of his jacket and shrugs. “I’m buying it.”

  I move closer to the driver’s side and see a Strawberry Shortcake ice cream bar sticker. Not very appetizing because the color has faded to blue and letters are peeling away.

  “Why would you want to buy this? It’s a piece of junk. An old ice cream truck?”

  He sighs. “Can’t you see the potential? A little paint?”

  I think it sucks but I don’t say it out loud. It’s not like I have a car or anything.

  “It beats my bike and the Metro. It has wheels, a motor; it’s covered, and it’s the right price,” he adds.

  “Which I hope isn’t much.”

  “To get it I have to do yard work for the church for a year. Cut grass, rake leaves, prune stuff, pull weeds.”

  “Um, do you go to this church?” I see my breath form icy crystals on the window.

  Charlie’s right behind me, pretty much trapping me against the truck. All of a sudden I’m focused on the contrast of frozen air and the heat from his body so close to me. I want to turn and wrap myself into him and his flannel jacket, but instead I stare into the truck and wonder why he can’t have a better car when his parents have money. I mean, surely his dad still has money, right?

  It’s so admirable, though. He wants to work for it, and do it on his own. Not typical of most of the boys I know on the Hill. For an instant, I feel that same feeling I had when I was ten, when I wanted to confess everything to his mother, that I loved him.

  “I can’t afford to pay for a car right now so it’s a pretty good deal I think.”

  “Sure.” I can barely breathe because he’s almost pinned against me. Part of me enjoys being so close but the other part feels cautious. Eventually I’m going to have to turn around and there he’ll be. “Plus you’ll be all ready if you want to sell ice cream.”

  “Ha-ha. Too bad it’s not mine yet, I could drive you to California, to the contest.”

  I say nothing. I feel his gloved fingers touching my hair. It sends a tingle over my scalp.

  “So,” he continues. “You’re still planning on sneaking off by yourself, huh? Maybe I should go with you—”

  “Listen,” I interrupt, whirling around to face him. “I don’t need anyone to watch out for me. I’ll be fine, so don’t get any ideas about coming with me, okay? Besides I already have my ticket, and don’t you dare tell my mom.”

  He raises his hands in surrender but doesn’t back up. His face is very close, and his scent is soapy and clean and warm, like he just came out of the shower. “Okay, okay. So will you ride in my truck with me when it’s finished?”

  Maybe when I get into La Patisserie, Charlie can go with me. We could pack up all our stuff into his truck and move to California. We could take the Pacific Coast Highway all the way, through Oregon and into California. Make a fun trip of it before we have to get busy and work. I’m not sure where he’d go to school but I know there is a university close by. Of course I don’t tell him all of my thoughts. Not yet.

  “If you dare say a word to my mom about San Francisco you won’t have the chance to finish it.”

  He pulls me closer, smiling down at me and I stop breathing. He just stares with his big brown eyes and I think it’s the first time I’ve really noticed how much taller he is than me—I remember when I could look at him eye to eye. But that was when we were kids.

  He’s not a Holy Roller like my mom. He’s just the same Charlie, the same sweet boy he’s always been except now he has a history he wants to escape like I do.

  Charlie asks me if I’m cold and tightens his arms around me before I answer and I don’t care about anything else. My mom, baking contests, creepy note writers, nothing.

  I suddenly feel like I could tell Charlie everything.

  But I won’t.

  The few strands of hair sticking out of his dorky cap are tossed around by the wind. A tiny frozen flake lands on my cheek. “Charlie, it’s snowing!” I look up and another flake lands in my eye.

  “C’mon, let’s go,” he orders, grabbing my hand.

  We sneak past Crockett’s on the other side of the street. A mere dusting of white would have the store filled because pantries on the Hill might go bare during the two hours we have snow. If Dickhead saw me he’d call me in on my day off like the asshole that he is.

  “Sprinkles.” Charlie turns and grabs my other hand, pulling me to him, just a little closer. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. If we have a snow day tomorrow we’ll spend it together.”

  “Okay.”

  “No excuses, no hiding in the kitchen baking cookies.”

  “Okay.”

  He grabs my hand and pulls me around the corner where it’s just the snow and us. Thankfully, the chill masks the odor of rotting vegetables coming from Crockett’s dumpsters.

  “If your school is canceled tomorrow and mine isn’t then I’ll skip,” he says.

  Snow falls heavier as Charlie pulls me to him. Icy snowflakes flutter onto my lashes and cheeks as Charlie’s lips touch mine.

  I shiver when his arms slide under my jacket and around me. My hands wrap around him and go up his back, under his jacket where he is so warm. Snowflakes fall onto our faces, so cold, and his lips are so soft and sweet. When he goes deeper I can’t believe after all this time that I’m finally kissing Charlie Norton.

  You’re just a fuckin’ baby, Kara.

  Bliss changes to fear. His arms tighten around me and his lips are an unbreakable seal and I suddenly can’t breathe. My palms go into his chest and I’m sick to my stomach. “Charlie, I can’t, I’m sorry, I . . .” I’m gasping for air.

  He releases me and rubs his chin. “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t.”

  “We’re just kissing.”

  I’m going to throw up. The memory won’t budge no matter how much I push it away. “I’m so sorry, I just can’t, okay?”

  He looks up into the sky and lets out a short laugh. When he looks back at me he’s red-faced and I know it’s not the frozen air. “Did you say that to Westcott, too? Because I didn’t see you push him away.” His eyes narrow, accusing and judgmental, and I have to look away.

  “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” My heart pounds and I watch the snowflakes trying to cover up the wilted lettuce and lumps of dead paper sca
ttered around the foot of the dumpster. I can’t believe he saw Hayden kiss me. No one was around. I suck in air so I won’t puke.

  “I always go through the back door to pick up my paycheck. But that’s beside the point. If this is going to happen then I need the truth, Kara. Are you and Westcott over?”

  His intrusiveness eclipses every warm feeling I had for him only moments ago. “Fine! Then we won’t happen!” I jerk away from him and run through the snow.

  He calls out, but I keep running. The warm café smells of smoked ham and coffee, as I run up the stairs to our apartment. When I reach the top step I can hear Charlie’s voice and Mom’s at the bottom, but not what they’re saying.

  For a minute, I sit down on the top step before I open the apartment door. I can’t keep my heart from racing. Once I’m inside I put the kettle on to make tea and peek outside. The snow is falling hard, and the cars crawl along the Ave, even though it barely sticks to the pavement.

  Charlie stands across the street, staring up at my window.

  The next day I’m pulling go-backs from each checkout stand when Justine pokes me in the shoulder. “Precious girl, you’re not really so absorbed in your work that you didn’t hear me call your name five times?”

  “Sorry.” I shove a jar of kalamata olives in the basket.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Is it Charlie?” She grabs the edge of my basket, stopping me.

  “No,” I pull the basket away from her hot pink nails. “There’s nothing going on with Charlie. And you need to forget it.”

  “You know,” she says, hands on her hips, “Guys like Charlie don’t grow on fuckin’ trees, baby girl.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Justine.” I slam a can of ravioli into the basket. “You don’t even know him.”

  She shakes her head. “I got eyes, and I know enough to see you’ve got your head stuck in a cloud of frosting. Don’t let that one slip away because you’re too busy planning what color to paint your damn cakes.”