A Kiss in the Dark

by Gina Ciocca

  I throw my arms around her neck and squeeze for a quick second. Then I turn and charge toward the door.

  * * *

  I see Ben before he sees me. He slams the car door, then props a box of decorations against his torso as he hits the remote lock. Slipping the keys into his pocket, he adjusts the box and starts toward the school. Until he spots me and stops in his tracks.

  “You didn’t wait, did you?” he says.

  “No. But I think maybe we’ve waited long enough.” I take a few steps toward him. He slides the box onto the roof of his car and leans against the door, jamming his hands into his pockets.

  With the exception of the muted noise from inside, it’s quiet as I stop with only a few feet remaining between us.

  “It was you that night. On the field, during the blackout. Wasn’t it?”

  There’s a terrifying heartbeat when he doesn’t respond, and I’m afraid I’m wrong. But then his eyes meet mine, and all pretense falls away.

  “It was me,” he says. “I kissed you. I don’t know what to say, except that my better judgment must’ve shorted out with the power. If you want to kick me in the nuts, you can.” He watches his shoe scuff against the asphalt. “I’m surprised you didn’t figure it out sooner. It’s not like it was the first time.”

  “What are you talking about? You said yourself”—I pull the photo of him and me out of my dress—“we missed the first chance.”

  Ben gawks, though I’m not sure if it’s at my answer or because I produced a picture from my side boob.

  “You really don’t remember, do you?”

  Something about the word “remember” makes goose bumps rise on my skin. There’s only one night that’s caused me to agonize over things I half recall. But the notion that there’s more, that Ben knows something I’ve blanked on entirely, is terrifying.

  I swallow over the dryness in my throat. “Is this . . . about that night at the slushie stand?”

  “You were right when you said everything started changing then, Mace. Only, nothing changed. Not the way I thought it would. And definitely not the way I wanted it to.” He taps a fist against the car door. “I’d been thinking about you way more than I should’ve for a while. And not thinking about Meredith the way I used to. But I didn’t know how to tell either one of you that I was having second thoughts about asking her to homecoming, or how to clue you in on what was going through my head. But then, that night, I didn’t think I had to. Because when I was helping you get changed out of your clothes, you kissed me.”

  “I—I did?”

  “You told me I was a good friend, and you said you owed my real head a kiss. Then you leaned up to kiss my cheek, I think, and you missed. Only, you didn’t stop. And it was . . . not friendlike at all.”

  I cover my mouth with my hand. He might as well be telling me about someone else’s life, because I can’t recall a single second of this. All this time, I thought I’d gotten myself in trouble that night by saying or doing something I couldn’t remember. And I had. Just not the thing I was afraid of.

  “You were asleep five seconds later, but I thought you felt the same way I did. That it wasn’t just about Meredith anymore,” he continues. “I was going to ask you to homecoming and everything. Only, I never got the chance, because Hargrove pulled the ultimate dick move and did it first even though he—” His lips tighten as he cuts himself off and looks at me with last year’s hurt still fresh in his eyes. “And you acted like nothing had even happened, anyway.”

  “Ben.” His name comes out as a plea. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

  “You never saw me when he was around. And even when he wasn’t, you only saw what you wanted to see.”

  My heart plummets. I feel like I’ve had a blindfold ripped off my face, one I never even realized I was wearing.

  “You knew back then, didn’t you? That Joel is gay.”

  Ben kicks at a pebble on the asphalt. “He tried to kiss me while we were in the woods at Snow in Georgia.”

  “Oh.” Well, that’s definitely new information. “Is that why you were so angry with him?”

  Ben’s eyebrows pull together. “No. God, Mace, give me some credit. He was trashed, and he was so embarrassed when I pulled away that I felt awful. So I asked if I could tell him something about me that no one knew. That way we’d be even. And what I told him was how much I liked you. How I wanted to ask you to homecoming instead of Meredith, but I didn’t know how to do it without both of you hating me. And then he turned around and stabbed me in the back so he could keep using you as a cover.” The corners of his mouth turn down. “I was so mad. Mad that he’d use my secret against me even though I’d promised to keep his. Mad at you for being so oblivious. But then when he ducked out on you at homecoming, I felt guilty. Like I’d wished it on you or something.”

  “That’s why you said you should’ve warned me.”

  Ben nods. “And then when we danced, I thought that I hadn’t been wrong. That maybe something was there after all. But it’s like you said.” He slides his hands into his pockets and hunches his shoulders. “I missed my chance.”

  Until he found another chance on a dark football field, and went for it. I want to ask him about that night. I want him to tell me what changed, why then. But there’s something else I want to do more.

  With our picture still in hand, I close the remaining distance between us. My arms wind around his neck and one hand brushes against the softness of his hair, guiding him down so I can press my lips against his.

  And the moment his mouth meets mine, I know. This was what I felt in the darkness. The same explosions of warmth zinging through my body like shooting stars. The familiar fit of our bodies. The taste of cinnamon and citrus that I tucked away somewhere in my subconscious, awakening into a craving.

  I know you, I thought on the field that night.

  And I was right. This is the kiss I’ve relived every time I’ve closed my eyes. Ben is the sunset I failed to notice for far too long.

  When I pull away, we’re both breathing hard. “It was you,” I say. And then, because kissing him is so much better than not kissing him, I go in again. “But why?” I whisper against his lips. “What was different about that night?”

  “I couldn’t take it anymore,” he says softly. “You and I were starting to get back on track, but I didn’t want to be just friends again. I wanted to tell you how I really felt. So I picked this out”—one of his hands leaves my waist to trace the locket at my collarbone—“and carried it around with me for, like, a week, trying to get up the nerve to give it to you. I planned to put that picture inside.” He indicates the one I’m holding. “But that felt, I don’t know, presumptuous. Like I expected you to feel the same way, even though I had no reason to think you did. So I put the Superman picture instead and told myself that I’d switch it out later, as a surprise. You know, if things . . . went well.”

  “But?”

  “But then I ended up not having to work, and I went to the game. I saw you looking at Jadie’s phone, and you seemed freaked out. So I checked out that picture page, and sure enough, there we were, staring back at me like everything was starting all over again. Like a bad omen, reminding me that I don’t exist to you when Hargrove is around.” He runs the tips of his fingers up and down my spine. “It took all of five seconds for me to back down. But then the lights went out, and somehow, there you were. And I had to do it. I had to know if part of you remembered.”

  I close my eyes and press my face into his neck, bracing myself for what’s coming next.

  “And the first thing you said afterward,” he continues in that tone that’s ripping my heart out, “was Joel’s name.”

  “Ben.” His name comes out as a desperate apology. I place a kiss on his neck, squeezing him tight. “I didn’t know. I didn’t even think you were there.”

  “Still. I was kind of hoping that part of you wanted it to be me. But when you said his name, I got flustered and took off. To make matters wo
rse, I lost the necklace. And who finds it but freaking Joel, and then uses it to ask you to homecoming. Because why stop at one bad omen when you can have a whole collection?”

  He snorts, and I cover his cheek with my hand. “Don’t be angry at Joel for that. He didn’t know the locket was yours when he gave it to me.”

  “I know. But it felt like one more sign pointing to ‘Give up, Ben.’ ”

  “Have you talked to him since?”

  “Sort of. But I didn’t think we could be friends as long as he was going to keep using you. Or as long as you were willing to let him.”

  I tuck the picture back into my dress and drop my clutch so I can hold his face with both hands. “I’ve spent a lot of time not seeing what was right in front of me. But if you let me”—I brush my lips against his—“I promise I’ll never miss another chance to kiss you again.”

  Ben’s hand slides up the back of my neck and into my hair. Our lips meet, and then we’re completely wrapped up in each other, making up for all the kisses we’ve lost and wasted.

  And right as I’m wishing this moment would never end, I hear something that brings it crashing to a halt.

  Thirty-Seven

  SENIOR YEAR

  “Macy. Pssst. Macy!”

  Ben and I break apart, and I squint into the distance. “Joel?” A hesitant form creeps away from the outer wall of the school and steps into the light from the streetlamp. “Joel!” I say, taking in his khaki pants and button-down shirt. “You’re here! Did you—”

  “I told them. And it wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great, either.” He rubs at the back of his neck. “At any rate, I don’t think I’m ready to go inside or anything.” He nods toward Ben. “I was kind of hoping I could take a cue from Collins, actually, and ask Noah to come dance with me out here.”

  “Noah?” Ben blurts. I squeeze his hand, hoping he’ll get the hint. “Oh,” he says, and then he’s cool.

  “He’s not answering his texts, though,” Joel continues. “So I’m sorry to interrupt, but do you think you can go get him for me?”

  “Of course!” I tug Ben’s hand, and he grabs the box of decorations off the car with his free one. We start toward the school, and I call over my shoulder that we’ll be right back. A slow song starts up as we’re entering the gym foyer, and I’m so consumed with getting to Noah that I almost forget that Ben didn’t come here with me tonight and we’re on borrowed time. Until I hear Principal Fielding say, “Please give a round of applause to your homecoming king and queen, Tyrell Davis and Meredith Kopala!”

  “Shit,” I say, coming to a stop. “This is the homecoming court dance.” In the next instant, I’ve already dismissed it. “Whatever. They won’t miss me.” Ben sets the box of decorations on top of the desk I’d left beneath the bulletin board. I take his hands. “Listen. I know you have to get back to your real date at some point tonight. But since she’s occupied for at least the next few minutes . . . can you save this dance for me?”

  “A real dance? Inside the actual building?” An adorable grin lights his face. “I’ll wait right here.”

  “Too bad we can’t stay at Ridgedale another year,” I tease. “Next time we might’ve made it inside the actual gym.”

  I give him a quick peck, but when I start to walk away, he pulls me back. “Just so you know, Mace, Meredith and I have talked about this. About us. Maybe not as soon as we should’ve, but it’s not like you said. I didn’t string her along.”

  I nod as his grasp drops. When I return a few minutes later leading Noah with one hand, Ben is exactly where he said he’d be.

  “Collins,” Noah says, slowing down despite my best efforts to haul him toward the door. “I’m really sorry for everyth—”

  “No time for talking,” I scold him, pulling his arm with all my might. “Your prince awaits.”

  Noah scans the darkness through the glass pane of the door, and the corners of his lips curl upward. “Wish me luck, Mace.”

  I do, landing a smack to his backside as he heads out the door. “Sorry,” I say. “I guess I get handsy when I’m happy.”

  He’s still laughing as the door shuts behind him.

  “Hey,” Ben teases, pulling me into the foyer in front of the bulletin board. “Just because he’s gay doesn’t mean I like watching you smack his ass.”

  I place my clutch on the desk chair and wrap my arms around his waist. “He’s bi. And relax, it’s not like I did this.” I let both my hands wander down to Ben’s rear end and give it a gentle squeeze. And all I can think is, I just grabbed Ben’s butt, and this is weird.

  Except it wasn’t weird, and I liked it. A lot.

  He must be thinking the same thing, because he says, “Wow. If someone had told me yesterday that Macy Atwood would be groping my derriere today, I would’ve laughed in their face.”

  I do laugh, because only Ben could use a word like “derriere” non-ironically, and be so damn cute while doing it.

  Then I smile up at him, remembering the words he once said to me when things weren’t quite this amazing. Only now they are.

  “Yesterday’s not today.” I brush a gentle kiss across his lips. “Thank God.”

  “Wait. What happened to our picture?”

  I tap my chest. “Right next to my heart, where it belongs.”

  He pulls my cell phone from my open clutch on the chair. “What do you think? Should we go two for two?”

  “I think we can pull it off.”

  Ben holds the phone out, and we press our faces together. Only this time, it’s him who turns and presses his lips to my cheek as the camera clicks. When I look at the photo, I’m beaming.

  It’s perfect. And I’d probably spend the rest of the night staring at it, if not for the text message that comes through at that exact moment.

  When I click on it, a new picture pops up. It’s Joel’s face, grinning back at me as Noah plants a kiss on his cheek. A reenactment of Ben and me from last year. The caption reads: TAKING A PAGE FROM YOUR BOOK. THANKS.

  I text back about fifty hearts before clicking over to the new picture of Ben and me.

  “Should I post it?” Ben asks.

  “No.” I press my nose against his. “Let’s keep this one for ourselves.”

  I smile again at the screen of my phone. Then I take out the old photo and hold them side by side.

  Pictures don’t always tell the whole story. Sometimes they are worth a thousand words, and other times they tell a thousand lies. But then there are the times when photographs capture perfectly the things we failed to see, things we didn’t even know about ourselves.

  And sometimes they’re a perfect spotlight, like a halo of light from a streetlamp, on the moments that become memories all too quickly. And if we’re lucky enough to capture those moments, we can hold them in our hands long after they’re gone. We can share them with the world, or we can keep them like beautiful secrets, only for ourselves.

  But in each one, there’s a story to discover. And I couldn’t be happier with the ending to mine.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It took a village to get this novel written, and if I’ve forgotten to mention anyone who had a hand in making it possible, please know that I am grateful from the bottom of my still-seventeen heart.

  As always, the first thank-you goes to my agent, John M. Cusick, for being the bee’s knees. Thank you for having my back, and for always knowing exactly how to make a story better.

  To my editor, Nicole Ellul, thank you for wading through several mucky drafts of this book, and helping me find and polish the salvageable pieces. The evolution of Macy’s story wasn’t easy, but almost nothing worthwhile ever is. I’m glad you stuck it out with me.

  Big hugs to my readers, critiquers, and cheerleaders, whose insight, kind words, and gentle corrections were far too generous for the draft you read: Rebecca Phillips, Cam Montgomery, Dahlia Adler, Brianna Shrum, and Brett Jonas. You all rock.

  To Sarah Blair, thank you for the playdates and text con
versations that saved my sanity. Being a writer mom is hard, but having a friend who knows that firsthand makes it a little easier.

  A huge thank-you to Stephanie and Meghan Copenhaver, for giving me the peace of mind to work while knowing my son was in good hands. Had you not answered my desperate SOS for a babysitter, there’s a very good chance that this book still wouldn’t be finished.

  Thank you to all the other people who afforded me writing time by keeping my little guy occupied: the wonderful teachers at his preschool, my parents, in-laws, Aunt Gloria and Uncle Joe, and my husband. Every minute counts, and I appreciate every single one you gave me.

  Dom, thank you for introducing me to Georgia, the place that not only became our home, but the setting for Macy’s home, school, and her favorite spots. Being here isn’t always easy, but that doesn’t mean I’m not in love with the place itself. Thank you also for bringing me to a high school football game when I was afraid I’d forgotten what they were really like. (I hadn’t, thank God.) But most of all, thank you for reminding me that I achieved my dream, and that’s the only thing that should matter.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Author photograph by Marchet Butler

  Gina Ciocca graduated from the University of Connecticut with a degree in English. She relocated from Connecticut to Georgia, where she lives with her husband and son. You can find Gina online at writersblog-gina.blogspot.com.

  Simon Pulse

  Simon & Schuster, New York

  Visit us at simonandschuster.com/teen

  Authors.SimonandSchuster.com/Gina-Ciocca

  Also by GINA CIOCCA

  Last Year’s Mistake

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