A Kiss in the Dark

by Gina Ciocca

  The same embarrassment I felt the last time Ben talked about my photographs turns my cheeks warm. Which is the first warning that I’m about to say something moronic. “It’s just a hobby. Cheering is my passion.”

  Yep.

  Both boys chuckle. “It’s possible to have more than one passion, you know,” Joel says.

  The way he fixes those blue-green eyes on me when he says the word “passion” makes me wish we were somewhere way less public.

  The bell on the door jingles, snapping me out of my hormonal haze. A big group files in, including Meredith. She bounds over and hops up onto the stool next to mine. I ignore the way her eyes rake over Joel as she does it.

  Soon almost every seat is full and the scent of hamburgers on the grill mingles with the sounds of chatter and music in the air. The football players alternately high-five Ben and rib him for his getup. Until Ken Davenport walks in with Tyrell. The second Ken spots Joel, he stops, cups his hands around his mouth, and yells “TROJAN HORRRRRSE” for the entire restaurant to hear.

  Tyrell flips Ken the middle finger, but Joel ignores him and hunches over the counter like he’s trying to hide inside his own skin.

  “Who gave him the idea that he’s funny?” I bark. “He’s like a two-year-old with ’roid rage.”

  Meredith rolls her eyes, her pink-glossed lips pursed around her straw. “He may be a scrotum, but no one likes intruders on their turf.”

  My jaw drops. She said it quietly enough that I don’t think Joel heard, but I can’t believe she said it at all in front of him. Before I can strike back, she crooks her finger at Ben.

  “Grab a straw, Benny. You’ve gotta try this.”

  Ben frees a straw from its wrapper and drops it into Meredith’s root beer float. Meredith points to my camera and says, “Mace, how about a picture of me with Ridgedale’s finest float maker?” She winks at the double entendre, without a trace of the attitude from two seconds ago. I have to wonder if I imagined what I heard before.

  I snap a couple of shots of her and Ben, their faces pressed together as they sip from the same glass. And as I’m about to take a third, Meredith turns her head and plants one on Ben’s cheek. He pulls back, blushing to the roots of his hair. Tyrell and a couple of the other guys make a raucous show of clapping him on the arms and shoulders.

  Then Tyrell leans in to me, his tone hushed. “You might want to keep that camera handy.” He waves in the direction of the booth where Ken has made himself at home. “I’m about to show those dipshits how it’s done.” He nods at Joel, and Joel nods back, holding up a cell phone as if to say, Ready.

  Tyrell heads over to the jukebox, which contains music choices from the fifties all the way up to the present. He slips some coins inside, and a few seconds later “Marry You” by Bruno Mars blares through the speakers.

  Tyrell and Bruno start to sing at the same time, and even though I’ve never considered myself attracted to Tyrell, my knees go a little weak. His voice is a-freaking-mazing. The entire diner stops to watch him, and next to me, Joel is recording it all on a cell phone. “We’re looking for something dumb to do/Hey, Jadie/I think I wanna dance with you.”

  The minute he says her name, cheers go up throughout the room. I’m glad Tyrell gave me a heads-up, because I get the cutest picture of Jadie in her booth next to Anna Chen, and Tyrell across the way at the jukebox, the two of them looking at each other like there’s no one else in the room. Her cheeks turn the most adorable shade of pink, and she buries her smiling face in her hands. Tyrell continues to sing, belting out the lyrics he’s changed to correspond to the homecoming dance as he slowly strolls over to Jadie’s side. He kneels down next to her, saying something the rest of us can’t hear. She covers her glowing cheeks with her hands and nods, then throws her arms around Tyrell’s neck.

  “You were in on this?” I yell over the commotion to Joel.

  “I got recruited to record it. Tyrell’s one of the few people who doesn’t treat me like a criminal.”

  Maybe I’m wrong, but I swear he looks at Meredith then.

  “For the record,” I say, “I think you’re pretty great.”

  “You’d testify to that?”

  “Passionately.”

  We smile at each other, and I think, We are totally having a moment. Except that’s also the moment when a handful of sundae spoons slips from Ben’s hands and clatters to the floor.

  And the moment when loud, obnoxious jeers ring out from Ken Davenport’s table.

  “Boo!” Ken shouts. “Boooo!” He stands up, holding his glass, and from the way his unsteadiness makes the contents slosh, I’m pretty sure there’s more than Coke in it. “What is there, something in the fucking water in this place?” Never mind that he’s holding a glass of soda. He points to Tyrell and bellows, “Downgrade.” Then he reroutes his finger toward Meredith and says, “Total downgrade. What the hell happened, Kopala? You’re really gonna drive a Prius after you’ve ridden a Bentley?” He points to himself, apparently the Bentley in question, and smirks. “Or in Davis’s case, a Toyota.”

  I hop off my stool, anger pulsing in my veins. “Toyotas are Japanese, you moron, not Chinese. Do you even know the difference? Or are you mad because everyone here could take blow-up dolls to homecoming and their dates would still have more class than you?”

  Ken’s lips form a sloppy, condescending smile. “Interesting that you wanna school me on class while you’re over there trying to bag some Pirate dick, Macy.”

  There are a few defensive outcries, but the rest of the room rustles with whispers and snickers. My fist curls so tightly that my fingernails cut into my palm. For a second I actually consider punching him. But then Meredith shoots off her stool and says, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Ken, so stuff a sock in it. And I don’t mean the usual location in your pants.” She storms toward the door. “I’m out of here.”

  Joel stands up next and strides after her without a word. I turn on my heel and follow him out. Meredith is already slamming her car door when I catch up and grab a handful of Joel’s shirt to slow him down.

  “Joel, wait. I’m so sorry.”

  “You don’t have to apologize for other people being pieces of shit.”

  “Please don’t pay attention to them. Ken’s always needed to take a tuning fork to his personality, but going after Jadie was beyond his normal brand of rotten. I think he was drunk.”

  “I wish I could be as surprised as you are, Mace.” Joel snorts. “But people suck.” As he walks away, he pounds the side of his fist against a handicapped parking sign, sending a metallic ripple through the night that makes me jump. “People fucking suck.”

  Eleven

  SENIOR YEAR

  Noah is prompt, if nothing else. He pulls up at four on the nose, and I run out to the driveway to avoid inviting him in. But there’s no deterring my mother from following me out.

  My mom thinks she’s some kind of one-woman equivalent of a Myers-Briggs personality test. She claims to be able to sniff out a tool in less than five minutes with a few strategic questions. It’s snap judgment at its best, but even I have to admit she’s uncannily on the mark most of the time. She’s right on my heels as I approach Noah’s bright blue Mazda.

  Noah sticks his head out the window, and Mom holds out her hand as I climb into the passenger seat. “Bonnie Atwood,” she says. “You must be Noah.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Nice to meet you.”

  Strike one. That’s another thing about the South that Mom’s never gotten used to—young people calling her ma’am. It’s meant to be respectful, but Mom says it makes her feel old.

  “I hear you’re new in town?”

  I don’t know why she’d ask him that when I already told her. It’s like she prides herself on embarrassing me.

  If Noah is aware that he’s under scrutiny, he doesn’t seem to care. “That’s right. I came to live with my dad this summer. We’re in Arbor Creek, not far from here.”

  “Oh, Arbor Cree
k! I have some friends there. And Jadie lives there too, right, Macy?” I nod, and I can almost see her making a mental note to put her spies on alert for Noah-related gossip. Another by-product of junior year: Mom’s “mama bear” mode is a grizzly on steroids. She continues the cross-examination with, “And do you have any brothers and sisters keeping your mother company? Or is she on her own now?”

  “No, ma’am, it’s just my dad and me.”

  Strike two. Abandoning your mother is the filthiest of all sins in my mom’s book. She’s only in her forties, but she threatens to cut my brothers and me out of her will on a regular basis if we ever try to stick her in a nursing home.

  “He was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis not long ago,” Noah continues. “So I think it worked out for the best with me moving in.”

  And there’s his redemption. Mom practically coos at his willingness to take care of an ailing parent. She makes sure I have my cell phone before ending the interrogation with, “You kids have fun. Remember, the park closes at dark.”

  She waves as Noah backs down the driveway, and I sink into my seat. “Sorry about that.”

  “For what? Your mom?” Noah glances over, his eyes alive with amusement. “I have that effect on them.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “I take it you’ve met a lot of girls’ parents?”

  He shrugs. “I’m a friendly guy.”

  “I bet.”

  Our eyes meet, and it’s there again—that flickering in my chest, the ripples of heat that have become part of my daily life. It hits me then that despite my best efforts, I’m attracted to him. That I could definitely see myself kissing him.

  If I haven’t already.

  * * *

  When we get to Old Mill, I direct Noah to the parking lot. It’s only when we’re both out of the car and he’s slinging a backpack over his shoulder that I notice he’s wearing flip-flops.

  “I hope you brought sneakers,” I say, pointing to his feet. “You can’t hike in those.”

  He glances down and wiggles his toes. “Guess we’ll have to skip straight to the swimming.” He produces a wadded-up plastic shopping bag from the pocket of his shorts, which I realize are swim trunks. “I brought this to protect your brace.”

  I shake my head. “At least I know you didn’t bring me here hoping to get an edge in the flag hunt.”

  He puts his hands in his pockets as we start down the hill, past the red brick and floor-to-ceiling windows of the Mill Club, and head toward the trail. “I guess I don’t really get the point of it, to be honest.”

  “It’s a team-building exercise. Coach Tori is big on the squad interacting with the football players outside of the games.”

  Noah feigns indignation. “What, the keg parties and hookups aren’t enough?”

  “Guess not.”

  “And what does the winner get?”

  “Losers buy the winners milk shakes at the diner during Friday Night Eats.” At least, they’re supposed to. I have a feeling Tyrell ended up spotting everyone on his team last year. “And, uh, bragging rights?”

  Noah stops and gives me a look of disbelief. “You go through all this trouble, and there’s no infamy? No notoriety? Not even beer?” He shakes his head. “Mace, you guys are going about it all wrong.”

  “You might have a point. Come on.” I nod in the direction of the wood steps that lead down to the rock-and-tree-lined creek.

  “So why’d you quit the squad?”

  “Long story. Here, we’ll take the stairs, since you didn’t bring appropriate footwear.”

  Noah ignores me, heading instead for the steep footpath to my right. He looks over his shoulder and winks at me. “I never take the easy way out.”

  “Suit yourself. But I don’t enjoy breaking bones.” I turn in the opposite direction and bound down the stairs, then jog over to where Noah is trying to hold his bag on his shoulder while negotiating a ninety-degree incline in brown leather flip-flops. “It’s not too late to turn around,” I call up to him.

  No sooner do the words leave my mouth than his footing slips, and he doesn’t so much slide down the hill as surf it. It’s a wipeout, though, and he lands in a heap at my feet. I crack up laughing.

  “So what did you prove by riding that hill like a wave?” I ask as I help him up, still trying to catch my breath.

  “That I’m smooth as hell in every situation?” He dusts off his shorts.

  “You already have a bad knee. You’re lucky you didn’t make it worse.”

  He flexes the leg that had a brace around it at the last football game. “No risk, no reward. Admit it; that was pretty badass.”

  “More like dumbass,” I say through a fake cough.

  He chortles, and as we head upstream toward the sound of the waterfall, he takes my hand again. It’s starting to feel strangely comfortable, and I don’t know what to think of that.

  “Wow, so what are these pipes?” Noah asks, pointing to the huge snake of iron tubing that lines the path. It sits on concrete supports that are almost as high as his ribs and runs the length of a portion of the river.

  “This is part of the old water power system. It carried the water from the dam to the waterwheel. The original was made of wood, but this one replaced it in the early 1900s.”

  Noah raises an eyebrow. “You’re a history nerd?”

  “If you count reading the placard at the observation deck.”

  We round a large tree, and when I see Noah’s face, I know he’s no longer concerned with the metal pipes.

  “Wow,” he says, except it’s about ten syllables long. “This place is awesome.” He steps up onto a rock to get a better look at the waterfall, staring appreciatively. “Forget hunting flags. If Meredith reschedules, I’m hiding out here and letting everyone else do the dirty work.” He turns to me and flashes a grin. “Especially if I’m not getting a prize out of it.”

  He starts to step down, but something on the ground catches his eye and his mouth drops open. “What the—is that a chunk of the old building? A piece of history, just lying there on the ground, in the same water where we’re about to swim?”

  I have to giggle, because Noah geeking out over the mill ruins might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Not that I can blame him. Being here always makes me feel like I’ve traveled back in time. I picture the mill rotting away like a flower, except the petals that scattered were made of brick and metal and concrete and were left here for us to discover.

  “Who’s the history nerd?” I tease.

  He stretches a hand out to me, and I take it, letting him help me over the rock and down to a smooth patch of sand at the base of another tree. “You can’t have a dad who’s an air force veteran and not develop an appreciation for history. Let’s set up here.”

  Noah spreads the blanket over the dirt in one quick motion, and then, without warning, grabs a fistful of his shirt from between his shoulder blades and pulls it off. That’s when I forget what we were talking about, where I am, and what my name is.

  My imagination did his naked torso no justice at all. Good God in heaven, are those nipple rings? Yep. Yes, they are. I’m going to drop dead on the spot.

  Or, I’ll do what I usually do when drowning in my own overheated blood: babble.

  “There is kind of a prize for the pennant hunt, you know. Or there could be. I could feature the winner on the school blog.”

  Noah kicks off his shoes and steps onto a smooth, rounded rock at the water’s edge. “For that picture thing? I heard about it, but I haven’t checked it out.” He balances on one foot and drags his other through the water. “Perfect.” He pulls the plastic bag from his pocket again and brandishes it. “You coming in?”

  I have my bikini on under my clothes, which is probably obvious from the straps tied around my neck. But the idea of getting undressed in front of Noah makes me squirmy. He steps closer to me as if he read—or maybe misread—my mind. “Do you need help taking your clothes off?” He eyes my brace and holds up his hands. “I swea
r that wasn’t as creepy as it sounded.”

  I don’t know who’s more surprised when I lift my hands over my head. He takes the hem of my shirt and peels it up off my body. Suddenly I can’t tell if the sound I’m hearing is the rush of water or the crackle of charged air between us.

  How I thought that letting him take my clothes off could ever make things less awkward, I will never know. So I pull my cell phone from the back pocket of my shorts instead and start yammering again.

  “Here,” I say. “Let me show you the share site.” I swipe the screen and pull up the Ridgedale’s Finest page. “Everyone posts their photos here, and I write up a little feature on one picture for the blog each week. Well—I’ve only done a few so far. See?” I click the link and let him take a look.

  He makes a face. “You highlighted some junior who got her first car? How was that the most worthwhile thing happening at Ridgedale last week?”

  “Hey! She’s been saving for that car since she was seven. I thought it was a cute story. Just like it’ll be fun if I spotlight the hunt winners. I’ll be covering it for the yearbook anyway.”

  Noah takes the phone from my hand. “Wow. You post a lot to this thing, huh?”

  I shrug. “I like pictures.”

  “I don’t get the need to document every second of your life and make sure the whole world sees it.” But for feeling that way, he’s scrolling pretty intently. “Hey, wait a second.” He stops and clicks on a picture. “Is that you and Hargrove?”

  “Oh.” I try to pull the phone from his hands, but he holds firm. “That was taken last year. I’ve been meaning to delete it.”

  “Why?”

  “Long story.”

  Noah glances up from the screen. “You can’t use the same cop-out twice. We’ve got time.”

  I give him a sly look in return. “Then we also have time to talk about why you two are always at each other’s throats.”

  He touches the screen of my phone again, making the picture larger. “Joel uses people. He’s got your back for as long as you serve a purpose. After that, good luck.” I wait for him to elaborate, but he hands the phone back to me and turns the tables with a question of his own. “Your friends don’t approve of you hanging out with me, do they? Can I assume Hargrove’s at least partly to blame for that?”