A Kiss in the Dark

by Gina Ciocca

  “Some things never change,” a voice behind me says.

  I whip around to see Ben sitting alone in a corner booth near the back entrance that opens to the parking lot. He’s wearing a green hoodie, and his cell phone sits on the table in front of him like a weapon at the ready. He does not look happy.

  “Hey,” I say with a nervous titter. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “I’m used to being invisible.”

  If he’s trying to make me feel guilty, that comment is a direct hit to my feel-like-shit-o-meter. Ben Collins is not the kind of friend I imagined walking away from. But he turned his back on me, too. And every time I peered over my shoulder in hopes that he’d be looking my way, he kept right on walking.

  I keep my discomfort at bay by chattering senselessly. “What’s wrong with sticking to my usual?” I nod toward the cup next to his phone. “Next one’s on me if that’s not a hazelnut Irish cream.”

  His eyes flick over to the cup and then back to me. “Still hating on hazelnuts?”

  “Hey, if you enjoy eating something that tastes the way the janitor’s cleaning fluid smells, that’s your business.” A hint of a smile plays at the corner of his mouth, just enough that I don’t quit while I’m ahead. “You missed a crazy game last night. The power went out at halftime while Mr. Hargrove was onstage and—”

  The smile vanishes, and Ben looks disinterested to the point of angry. It occurs to me that I don’t know where I’m going with this anyway. He’s the last person I’d talk to about the real reason why the blackout was such a big deal to me.

  “You should probably know I’m here to meet Meredith,” he says.

  “Oh.” The barista hands me my cup, and I stand awkwardly in the space between the counter and Ben’s booth, not sure what to do with myself. I’d planned to make a bold move and sit down with him, but the mention of Meredith is the opposite of an invitation. “Should I go?”

  Ben pushes his cell phone to the edge of the table. “I’d rather we talk about this first.”

  I step closer and peer at the screen. It’s lit with the image of him, Joel, and me. My eyes dart between it and Ben’s face, trying to read the solemn line of his full lips before I open my own mouth.

  “I’m guessing it wasn’t you who posted it?”

  His expression doesn’t change. “You mean it wasn’t you?”

  “Of course not. It’s an anonymous account, and that’s the only picture they’ve shared.” I slide into the booth, keeping one eye on the French doors that overlook the parking lot, in case I spot Meredith’s car. “Besides, I haven’t spoken to Joel since the night of the fire.” Ben raises an eyebrow, and I hold up my hand before he can call me out. “I know. He’s been coming around again lately. But I don’t know why, and I’m not sure I want to find out.”

  Except that I do. Especially after the way he looked at me before I walked off the field last night. And even more so now that two out of three people in the photo that’s currently fading to black on Ben’s phone have been eliminated as its posters.

  But if Joel posted the photo, it only makes sense that he’s also the one who kissed me. The back of my neck goes hot, and my first sip of coffee is suddenly doing an impression of the Bellagio fountains inside my stomach.

  Ben shifts in his seat and rests his elbows on the table. “Don’t you think it’s time we talked about what happened last year?”

  I take a sip of my coffee, purposely avoiding his eyes. “What is there to talk about?”

  “A lot, and I think you know it.”

  “That’s funny, because there were a few things you could’ve said before that night that would’ve made everything pretty different.”

  For a second we lock eyes, both ready to draw our respective swords. But then a flash of red car pulling into the parking lot catches my attention, and I scoot from my seat.

  Meredith never forgave me the last time she found Ben with me when he should’ve been with her.

  “Time to go. You’re right, though. We should. Talk, that is.” I motion to his phone. “I would’ve had someone warn you about that last night if they’d gone to the diner. But I guess everyone went to Fuddruckers instead. Sorry if you were waiting.”

  Ben shrugs. “They let me off early when they saw how dead it was.”

  “Okay.” I inch toward the front entrance. “Tell Meredith I said hi.” Why would I say that? Meredith wouldn’t care if I said hi. Meredith wouldn’t care if I turned into a tap-dancing monkey. “Or, you know, don’t.”

  I speed to close the distance to the paned doors at the front of the shop, but stop when Ben says, “Mace?” He turns over his shoulder, and I follow his stare to where Meredith is still sitting in her car, applying lip gloss in the rearview mirror. When he turns back, he doesn’t look directly at me. His hands twist together on the tabletop. “I think we should talk about what didn’t happen that night too.”

  My coffee turns to sludge in my throat. I swallow hard and manage a nod. But my mouth opens at the same time as Meredith’s car door, and I slip outside without saying a word.

  When I get to the gas station on the corner, I chuck my cup and make a left. Then I start to run at full speed.

  * * *

  I lied. I’m jogging on the track that surrounds Ridgedale’s football field, still trying to tell myself that I’m not here because of that kiss. That stolen, cryptic kiss that’s hiding in every corner of my mind. Only now I’m trying my hardest to push what Ben said into one of those corners too.

  What didn’t happen that night.

  I spent so much time thinking about everything that did happen that night—the fire, the fight with Ben and Meredith—that I managed to convince myself that the other thing must’ve been my mind playing tricks on me. And maybe it was. Maybe Ben meant something totally unrelated to what I’m thinking.

  An abandoned GO RAVENS sign curled against the bleachers catches my attention, prompting the memory of last night’s kiss to barge in again. I come to a stop, kicking my legs to stretch them out, and breathing deeply to distract myself. It’s bugging me like crazy that a moment that came and went in the blink of an eye has left its imprint on every minute since, and now it won’t leave me alone. What’s worse is that I’m not sure I want it to.

  Screw it. I give up all pretense and jog out to the middle of the field. I can only hope that someone else somewhere is obsessing over last night the same way I am. Maybe they want to reveal themselves but they don’t know how. Or maybe they’re waiting for the perfect opportunity.

  But since I have zero reason to believe either of those things, I’m resorting to blindly combing the scene of the crime, knowing full well that the only evidence is locked inside my head.

  There are a few other random people using the track for their workouts this morning, so I try to appear casual as I trot the length of the field, hoping something other than gum wrappers and napkins will pop out at me. And right when it’s looking like my little mission is as pointless as I thought it would be, I reach the spot where the metal platform stood last night.

  Here, I think. It happened right around here.

  A round of tingles floats down my neck, and I circle slowly, scanning the ground. I stop when, about three feet to my left, I spot the creased, jagged corner of something sticking up from the green turf.

  I dart toward it. At first glance, it looks like a bent, trampled piece of paper, and I’m disappointed. But when I bend down, I realize it’s a photograph. Not an actual four-by-six picture but a grainy printout on letter paper. It’s creased like an accordion and bowed in the center where it was folded, but it’s mostly intact. And it’s definitely not anything I recognize from the Ridgedale’s Finest page. Or anywhere, for that matter.

  The image is a black-and-white close-up of a tattoo on the back of someone’s neck. Based on the muscle tone and hairline, I’d guess the subject is a boy, and he’s lying on his side. The tattoo is an intricately detailed snake, its body coiled and redoubled into th
e shape of a fern. It’s beautiful, and it strikes me in a way that surprises me. I trace the design with my finger for a few seconds before remembering where I am, and stand up with it. On impulse I snap a picture of it with my phone before stuffing it into my sports bra.

  I very much doubt that this picture is somehow connected to the kiss. But just as I was certain last night that someone had posted the photo of Ben and Joel and me as some kind of message, I have a feeling that this picture is telling a story. It’s what pictures do.

  An image that’s very different from the one pressed against my chest conjures in my mind then, and I have to physically shake myself to force it out. A thousand words indeed. And depending on the words Ben wants to say to me, I might finally have to acknowledge something that I’ve been perfectly happy to believe I imagined.

  Which means admitting to myself when things really started to go wrong.

  Six

  JUNIOR YEAR

  “Hey!” Ben greets me as I walk away from my car toward the rickety bleachers at the edge of the soccer field alongside St. Mary’s church. “You made it.”

  “I did. I probably won’t stay long because I have a crap ton of homework, but I made it.”

  He shades his eyes with his hand and gives me an assessing once-over. “Not that it isn’t good to see you, but you don’t look any different. How did you break the bad-luck spell?”

  “Swigged a bowl of Lucky Charms cereal this morning while the twins watched me like hawks. Michael dug every green clover marshmallow out of the box and made me eat extra.”

  He chuckles and motions toward my locket. “I thought maybe your Superman S was your lucky charm, since you wear it all the time. But hey, whatever works.”

  I touch the surface of the rounded silver heart. “The boys gave me this when I turned sixteen.” I press the tiny latch on the side of the pendant, and it swings open, revealing the picture inside. Not the picture I would’ve chosen, since Michael has his fingers hooked into either side of his mouth, stretching it wide, and Aaron’s eyes are crossed. But coming from them, it’s perfect. “They try to pretend they hate it when I take their picture, but they’re full of it. Plus I used to be obsessed with the movie Annie— Have you seen it?”

  “Orphan with a broken locket who gets a carnival of elephants and flame-eating dancers when a loaded bald guy adopts her?”

  “Yup. They gave me this with a card that said, ‘So you can remember us if Mom and Dad give you up for adoption or if you kill us when you start driving.’ ” I snap the pendant shut, adding an affectionate, “Little shits.”

  The game starts, and Ben and I take a seat on the bleachers behind our parents. Michael scores a goal within the first fifteen minutes, and for a while I’m fooled into thinking that the clover-shaped chunks of sugar I consumed might serve a higher purpose than merely decaying in my stomach. The Blue Dragons guard a slim, nail-biting lead throughout the game.

  And then, with barely five minutes left, the other team scores twice.

  Aaron goes rigid in the middle of the field. He finds me in the crowd and glares like he’s hurling a knife at my head with his eyes. My mother and I exchange an anxious glance.

  “So much for not staying long, huh?” Ben says, oblivious to the nervous way I’m fiddling with my necklace or how quickly my parents are gathering their things. “For a bunch of seven-year-olds, that was pretty intense.”

  Unfortunately, it’s about to get even more so.

  Aaron’s fists ball at his sides, and his face turns cherry red. “This is your fault!” he screams in my direction. “I told you not to come!” He looks around wildly, and I’m pretty sure he’s trying to find something to throw at me.

  “Macy,” my mother says hurriedly. “Why don’t you head home? Daddy and I will take the boys out to brunch once we get him settled, okay?” She nods toward Ben. “See if your friend wants a ride in case his parents are staying.”

  In other words, This is about to get ugly. Get out while you can.

  The confusion in Ben’s eyes is clear as they dart from my mother to me. “Uh, sure. Thanks.”

  “Oh,” my mother adds as she’s scurrying away from the bleachers. “And pick up Aaron’s prescription on your way, please.”

  “Prescription?” Ben asks as we head away from the field, where adults are distributing post-game snacks and discreetly discouraging their children from staring at the spectacle that is my crimson-faced, screaming brother. “Is he sick?”

  I shake my head. “No. Aaron’s been . . . going through some stuff. He has been for a while. He’s always had a quick temper, but his meltdowns are getting out of control. My parents are sending him for a bunch of tests to try to figure out what’s going on.”

  “Oh.” Ben looks over his shoulder at my brother. “I didn’t know he was having problems. He seems like a normal kid to me.”

  I shrug. “Having problems is normal, when you think about it. Nobody’s perfect.”

  “Uh, speaking of which. I’ll have you know that ever since you mentioned taking Meredith to homecoming, I have no idea what to say around her.”

  He pauses at the passenger door of my car and shoots me a loaded look over the hood.

  “Well, ‘Do you want to go to homecoming with me’ usually works for asking a person to homecoming.”

  “No, I’m serious,” he says with a laugh. “Ever since you said that she might—you know—want to, it’s like I can’t even speak to her anymore. And everything I do say is dumb.”

  “Aw, that’s so cute that you’re nervous.”

  “Yeah, freaking adorable,” he grumbles, dropping onto the passenger seat and slamming the car door.

  I join him, pausing before turning my key in the ignition. “If it makes you feel any better, I get the same way around—someone.”

  I could kick myself. Right in my big, stupid mouth.

  Ben shoots me a quizzical look. “Are you talking about Hargrove?”

  “Ugh. That obvious, huh?” I start the car and back out of my parking space, like the inevitable verbal diarrhea will somehow be less embarrassing if we’re in motion. “I don’t know why it’s such a big deal. Am I really not supposed to like him just because I’m a cheerleader and he used to play for Mortonville? I think the whole rivalry thing is stupid. And it’s not like he meant to hurt Ken, right?”

  “Aha. So I guess there’s some truth to the after-school special conspiracy after all?”

  “Maybe.” I reach absently for one of the individually wrapped Life Savers in my cup holder. “But you hang out with him. He’s nice, right?”

  “Hargrove’s cool. Kind of quiet, though. Can’t say I blame him—he was like a god at Mortonville, from what I’ve heard. It’s gotta be tough having that held against him every day.” Ben side-eyes me. “Do you want me to say something to him? Like, on your behalf?”

  “No!” I almost choke on my candy. If Joel’s going to notice me, I want him to do it on his own.

  As if he read my mind, Ben says, “There’s no way you’re not on his radar after those sweet layups you made the other day.” He holds up his hand. “But if you’d rather work solo, I’ll keep my mouth shut.” He unwraps a Life Saver for himself. “And if there’s ever a Butter Rum apocalypse and I need”—his face puckers as he puts the candy into his mouth—“really warm Life Savers, I guess I know where to go.” He shakes his head. “You use your cup holder as a candy dish. Meredith uses hers as a makeup bag. Girls are so weird.”

  “Says the boy who used to paint his chest and run screaming out of an oversized inflatable football helmet every Friday night.”

  “You remember that?” Ben looks incredulous. “My flag runner career lasted about five minutes.”

  “Why’d you stop?”

  He makes a muscle, and for being so lean, a respectable bulge appears beneath the sleeve of his red T-shirt. “I got tired of the objectification of my body.” He chuckles. “Kidding. I had an allergic reaction to the paint, so I quit. Hives don’t rea
lly go with our school colors.” When I laugh, Ben sighs. “Definitely not my coolest injury.”

  “I don’t know about cool, but I’ve had my share of crazy injuries. We should compare notes sometime.”

  Not now, though, because I’m not ready to drop the subject of Joel.

  “But back to what we were saying before . . . I mean, if Joel mentions me, I wouldn’t be opposed to hearing about it. And I definitely wouldn’t be opposed to you maybe fanning the flames a little. Assuming they’re good flames.”

  Ben nods, his expression mock contemplative. “I suppose I wouldn’t have a problem being human gasoline if, say, there was something in it for me.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Like?”

  Ben tugs at his seat belt. “Like maybe some help untying my tongue? I feel like I need—I don’t know—practice, or something, before I ask Meredith about homecoming. Is that stupid?”

  “Not stupid at all.” I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile. “It’s a deal.”

  He looks away, grinning to himself, and I can’t help but think it’s adorable. “You know,” he says, “not to use your brother as a bargaining chip or anything, but Joel told me that one of his brothers is on the spectrum. He sees a therapist for that and ADHD.”

  “Really? Aaron is about to go through the testing process for spectrum disorders.”

  “Maybe you should ask Joel about it. I get the feeling he could use more people to talk to, and it’s always nice to have someone who can relate to what you’re going through.”

  “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  After I drop Ben off, I spend the rest of the afternoon singing happily to myself, my mood buoyant. I’ve always thought of Ben as Meredith’s neighbor, but I like the idea of just calling him my friend. And not only do we have the chance to get to know each other better, but we’ll do it while helping each other out in the best possible way.

  And I love a good win.

  * * *

  “I cannot believe she voted against me,” Meredith says, yanking the ribbon around her ponytail tighter. She’s also shooting stone-cold glares at Jadie, who’s stretching on the brick-colored surface of the track a few feet away. “And then she comes right out and admits it. What the hell?”