Boys Don't Cry

by Jennifer Melzer

  She looks to me, as if I’m supposed to answer that question, but I have no idea what they’re even talking about, and honestly, I have no right to ask. I barely know them, or Nate, for that matter, and as curious as I suddenly am about who he is, I feel really uncomfortable at the center of their gossip ring, especially with her gaze leveling me into submitting agreement with something I’m not even clear on.

  “Maybe he’s different, a year changes…”

  “Leopards don’t change their spots, and you know it. The fact that he didn’t even show his face at graduation, that he never came to…”

  “Stop it,” Lauren warns her again. “Knock it off. This is not cool. I know you loved her…”

  “He doesn’t even look like he cares. Like he is the least bit broken up over it.” Her voices rises, but a sharp look from Lauren brings her voice down a notch as she whines, “I loved her. She was my best friend and he…” Her eyes are glassy, full of tears she hasn’t yet shed and her voice is rising again. The guys are looking over at us. I don’t have to glance up to see that everyone’s staring. “He has no right to be here, laughing and cozying up to someone else like nothing ever happened.”

  I’m completely lost, not even sure if we’re talking about the same thing anymore, or if she’s gone back to hating on Brett Kline, who left a couple hours ago.

  “You need to stop,” Kaylah warns. “Seriously, Gretch. Just stop.”

  Gretchen glares at me like I’ve done something wrong. Her lashes stick together with unshed tears. She quickly blinks them away, and I don’t even know what to say, or what they’re talking about, so I just stand there letting my hot dogs burn because my arm drops a little and I forget to turn them. I smell the meat charring, but it doesn’t register until it’s too late and Nate steps in behind me, his arms coming around me. His body is so close, so warm. He reaches for the skewer and draws my hand away laughing. He’s so much taller than I am, his arms so much longer and when he curls his hand around my wrist his fingers are wet and cold from the sodas, making me shudder a little against him.

  Lauren steers Gretchen away from the fire, but no one else leaves. And they aren’t staring at us, which is a relief.

  “I don’t know about you, but I only like a little charcoal on my hot dog.” His other hand rests on my shoulder, steering me from the pit and toward the table where Cody set out buns and condiments.

  I feel weird and numb, which I imagine was Gretchen’s intention because when I glance back at her and Lauren huddled just beyond the reach of the fire’s light, I swear she’s shooting lasers at Nate and me with a force I can almost feel carving through my resolve.

  I sort of want to go home, but Nate’s actually smiling. I mean really smiling for the first time since I met him. There’s no melancholy residue lurking in his eyes, no tightness to his lips that threatens to pull the corners down into contemplative sadness. As he slides our hot dogs off the skewer and into buns, I try not to think about the messed up stuff that supposedly happened before graduation, who they all loved and now miss, and how that girl related to this guy I barely know, or what exactly it is Gretchen doesn’t think he’s too broken up about.

  I don’t know what else to say to him, so I smile and say the first thing that pops into my head: “You don’t have to eat that, seriously.”

  “It’s fine,” he chuckles. “But maybe next time I should be in charge of hot dogs.”

  Only I’m not sure there’s going to be a next time, at least not here. I’m not sure I like Gretchen enough to come back for this, not even if it means spending more time with Nate. Everyone else is okay, they’ve all been nice enough, but whatever her issue is with Nate, with me vicariously through Nate, I don’t think I want to know.

  We make our way back to the fire, resume our seats and this time when we sit down Nate leans even closer to me when he finishes eating. At first he keeps his arm resting next to mine, occasionally reaching over with the tip of his finger to stroke the back of my hand. I can see his tattoo clearly in the firelight, facta non verba, and I try to translate it in my head. Something about deeds and words, but then he’s looking into my eyes again, and he’s still smiling.

  I don’t let myself wonder what his friends said to him. Whatever it was, it was a lot nicer than the things Gretchen said to me, and I’m enjoying his grin so much I don’t think it really matters, so long as he’s happy.

  I do feel a brief moment of triumph when Gretchen makes her way back to the fire and her marshmallows slide off her fork and into the pit after ten solid minutes of trying to achieve the perfect roast. Maybe it’s petty, but it sort of serves her right, and I laugh with everyone else, even though it makes her mad enough that Cody has to chase after her when she stalks off in a huff like a five year old who didn’t get her way. It’s right around then that Nate notices I’m shivering, and when he puts his arm around me it feels comfortable and right, and even when I start yawning every few minutes I don’t want the night to end.

  But it does end, because all good things must. It’s just around three a.m. when the majority of the conversation dies off, save for the occasional quiet reverie, and I’m starting to drift a little when Nate tips his chin down to rest on the top of my head. I feel the bristly stubble brushing through my strands as he leans in closer to ask, “Should I take you home?”

  “Back to the witch house?” I giggle a little.

  “I probably kept you out way later than your parents would have liked.”

  “They trust me.”

  “Still, if I want to take you out again, I should probably make good on my promise of returning you to their good care in one piece.”

  “You want to take me out again?”

  “I absolutely do.”

  We thank his friends for having us. They all say how nice it was to meet me, well, all of them except Gretchen, who doesn’t say much of anything. Cody makes me promise to bring Nate back for the Fourth of July party his mom’s having in two weeks, and as we slip away from the light of the fire Nate reaches over and clasps my fingers on the way to the car. Sand crunches under my slippery flip flops and the sound mingles with distant voices and the steady song of crickets and frogs that fill the woods around us.

  He walks with me to the passenger’s side of the car, reaches out to open the door, and as I start to slip my fingers out of his to slide into the seat, he tightens his hand around mine and spins me back in to face him. It’s so dark I can barely see his face, but it’s close to mine when he leans down, his breath pulsing against my cheek as he informs me, “It’s been a long time since I kissed someone.”

  Damn the infernal butterflies stirring tornado funnels inside me. I’m pretty sure I’m trembling, every part of my body shivering like a cup of jelly signaling a T-Rex attack. He must think it’s because I’m cold because his warm hands travel down my shoulders, briskly rubbing heat into my skin as I tilt my head up and try to make out the shaded features of his face.

  It’s a small miracle that I find my voice to ask, “Do you want to kiss me?”

  Only Nate doesn’t answer. The hands on my shoulders lift to cup my face, tilting it upward as he brushes the tip of his nose across mine and then dips in to taste my lips. A lock of his hair falls in to tickle my cheek, and for a moment I forget how to breathe, that you’re supposed to breathe or you float away and there’s no bringing you back from that cloud. I rest my hand on his chest, sinking into that kiss like a girl caught in quicksand. He tastes like marshmallows, and when my lips part to welcome the warm velvet of his tongue my other hand slips around to rest on the back of his neck, fingers crawling through the softness of the closely cropped hair there.

  I’ve kissed my share of guys, but this one? My God. I think my feet are leaving the ground, in fact, I’m pretty sure I am hovering because when he finally draws his head back to break the kiss I drop onto my heels, a meteor plummeting through the atmosphere for a crash landing.

  Achievement Unlocked: First Kiss.

 
“Wow.”

  I don’t mean to say it, but what the hell? I’ve already said a ton of really stupid things since I’ve met him, so why not keep up with the current trend.

  “Wow indeed,” he whispers, his hand sliding down my cheek to rest on my shoulder. He drops his lips to rest against my forehead a moment, then he backs up and lets me get into the car.

  Now I really don’t want to go home.

  ELEVEN

  We’re both tired, so we don’t say much on the way home. Small talk, mostly, Nate asking me if I want him to turn on the heat when he notices I’m rubbing my hands down my goose-pimpled arms, me joking about how foolish I feel for not bringing my hoodie. He turns on the radio, probably needing the sound to keep him from falling asleep at the wheel, and I spend most of the ride studying his profile from the passenger’s seat.

  Every once in a while he glances over and catches me looking at him, but he’s not creeped out. At least I don’t think he is. He just smiles at me, and then turns his attention back to the road.

  He absently rolls the right corner of his mouth between his teeth while driving, occasionally twitching his nose, and it’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. I want to touch his face, trace my finger along his cheek, through the rough patch of stubble shading his skin.

  I have no idea where we are until I recognize the strip of road we’re on as we pass the Sheetz and the sign for Dunkin Donuts comes into view. We’re about ten minutes from home, which means our date is over, and even though he kissed me back at the river lot, a definite signal that he likes me, I don’t want this night to end. We didn’t exactly have much time to talk, just the two of us, which was probably a safe bet for him. Me? I want to talk. I want to know everything about him, but how do you tell a guy that without coming on too strong?

  What a weird thing for me to be worried about, I think. I’ve never once been afraid of coming on too strong with anyone. Like I said before: I am who I am, and anyone who doesn’t like me just like this isn’t someone I want in my life.

  But Nate? I really want him to like me.

  “Nate?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you really tired?”

  “A little, why?”

  “I thought maybe we could stop at that Dunkin Donuts up there and have coffee.”

  “Afraid to go home to the witch house?” he teases.

  Scrunching me nose, my eyes arc skyward. “Something like that.”

  “Sure.” He slows down as we approach the red light, looking both ways into empty lanes and then turning right so he can make a left into the parking lot.

  I’m not gonna sleep for a week, but whatever. You only live once, right? And another hour alone with this guy is definitely worth suffering sleep deprivation for. I wave my hand across my face as the mosquitoes circling around the lights recognize a fresh meal, and Nate holds the door open for me before stepping in behind me. He’s standing behind me at the counter, so close I feel his arm against my back as he tilts his head up to survey the menu. The scent of his body wash mingles with wood smoke, an intoxicating combination, and I feel myself drifting backward just a little to lean against him.

  We wait at the counter for several minutes, debating between hot coffee and iced coffee, whether or not we want donuts. When the girls working in the back finally realize they’ve got customers, they come out and take our order, then we sit in the booth furthest from the counter while they go back to work. I know the minute I take the first sip I should have gotten hot coffee. I’m cold, and the air conditioning isn’t helping. A sheet of goose bumps rolls up the length of both my arms, and as soon as Nate sees them he shakes his head and grins.

  “I’ll be back.” Sliding out of the booth, he walks outside, leans into the backseat of the car and digs something out. He comes back in with a dark grey hooded sweatshirt hanging over his arm. Holding it out to me, he nods toward it and says, “Put this on.”

  “Thanks.”

  It’s too big, the sleeves too long, but the fabric is soft and it smells like him. I try not to make an obvious fool of myself, breathing in his scent like some kind of animal as I snuggle it close to my body and spend the next few minutes rolling up the sleeves so I can use my hands. Neither of us says anything while I do this, then when I finish I set my forearms on the table top, lean forward and sip through my straw while he takes a bite out of his peanut butter-filled donut.

  “Do you have to work tomorrow?” I wonder.

  “It’s my day off.”

  “That’s good. I’d feel guilty keeping you out all night.”

  “I wouldn’t,” he smirks and takes another bite, washing it down with coffee. “I had a good time tonight.”

  “Me too.” I break off a piece of donut, take the top off my coffee and dunk it inside before feeding it through my lips. I realize he’s watching me, a self-conscious twinge tingling in my gut. “Family thing,” I explain.

  “Smart family.” He pries the lid off his coffee to test it out. Creamy brown beads drip down his fingers, over the back of his hand as he pushes coffee-soaked donut into his mouth and moans approval while giving me a thumbs up. “Really smart family,” he adds after he swallows.

  “So,” I start, pulling another piece off and pushing it into the cup, “I’m assuming since this is a date that you don’t have a girlfriend.”

  “And I’m assuming since you said yes you don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “Not for a while,” I confess.

  “Me either.” When he says this he looks away, toward the window, the locks of his hair falling across his profile to hide his eyes. I could see his expression if I look at our reflection in the glass, possibly even meet his eyes, and even though I’m curious, I don’t want to intrude on the moment he’s having. He stares for a few minutes, and I content myself by finishing off my donut and securing the lid on my coffee again.

  The caffeine is already making me feel giddy, or maybe it has nothing to do with drinking coffee at three-thirty in the morning. I don’t know. Maybe it’s the way I’ve felt ever since I first saw him on his front porch, or the fact that he’s sitting across from me and I’m wearing his sweatshirt and wishing I could find my fountain of courage and ask him to tell me everything there is to know about him. My eyes pass over the tattoo on his forearm again, and I reach out, tracing my finger across the first words. “Facta, non verba.”

  “Deeds, not words.” This brings his attention back to the table. “It’s a reminder.”

  “That actions speak louder than words?”

  “Something like that.”

  His skin’s so warm, but the trace of my fingertip over the words makes him shiver a little and I half-expect him to pull his arm away. He doesn’t.

  “What made you ask me out?”

  That draws his attention back to the table, a quirky half-smile drawing at the corners of his full lips. “I thought you were cute.” He brings a shoulder up as if it should have been obvious. “And mysterious. Every morning I see you running for your life, and I wondered what such a pretty girl could possibly have to run from.”

  “Zombies,” I tell him, as if it’s the only answer, and then I tilt my head down self-consciously as I realize he just said I was pretty.

  “Training for a potential apocalypse?”

  “Pretty much.”

  He contemplates, his mouth softening before he asks, “So, what made you say yes?”

  Pushing the straw between my lips I sip coffee, bits of soggy donut filtering through. “I uh…” Wanted to know why you were so sad so I could fix it doesn’t seem like the best answer for a first date, even if it is true, and he doesn’t seem to adhere to the same rules I do about appropriate first date questions, so I mock him a little, lifting my eyebrows as I say, “I thought you were cute.”

  “And now that you’ve met my friends?”

  “Now that I’ve met your friends I think you’re adorable. Which is three steps up from cute, in case you didn’t know.”

&n
bsp; “What’s in between cute and adorable?”

  “Charming,” I throw out. “Sweet. Delightful.”

  “You know those all more or less mean the same thing?” Before I have a chance for a witty comeback—which I didn’t have, by the way—he wonders, “What comes after adorable? Is there a ladder I should be aware I’m climbing? Scaling toward some end goal? I’d like to be prepared so I can achieve ultimate greatness in your eyes.” He reaches across the table, tilting my head back and staring into me for a moment before he tells me, “Beautiful eyes, by the way.”

  Air pushes through my throat and I mutter, “Sweet talker,” before tilting my face out of his grip.

  His hand drifts through my hair, examining a tangerine colored lock before allowing it to fall through his fingers. It settles against my cheek as I bring my eyes back in to meet his. I know we’re in Dunkin Donuts, but it’s after three in the morning and I want to kiss him again, to be able to draw back as I pull my lips away and look into his eyes. I wonder what I’ll see inside them?

  “You think you’ll ask me out again?” I wonder, whirling my straw around so the ice rattles in my cup.

  “What are you doing tomorrow, err—rather later today?”

  “Cursing my father for taking so long to get our Internet hooked up and making life miserable for the little Wicks of the world. Other than that, my schedule is clear.”

  “What kind of movies do you like?”

  “I’m not picky, why?”

  “Want to go to the drive-in?”

  “I’d love to.”

  “Awesome,” he nods, and then it’s awkward again because either neither of us knows what to say, or it’s better to save something for our next date.

  I’m overtired, even though I just chugged down more coffee than anyone should consume before bed. We both slurp the last precious drops from the bottoms of our cups before plunking them down on the table and just staring at each other for a few minutes. He keeps looking at my eyes, or looking into them, as if he’s searching for a glimpse of my soul. I think I see his once, and it’s beautiful, but it’s still so sad, and I barely know him so I know it’s not right to ask him why. But I want to know so badly.