Finally, we decide that in order to go out on our next date, we should probably end this first one by heading home and calling it a night. The last ten miles to Sonesville seem to go by so fast, all the sights that have become familiar to me over the last two weeks coming into view and winding me down like a music box that’s lost its song. He parks in an empty space behind his house, and I think he snickers a little when I glance around, paranoid and in search of the raccoon that chased me into his house, then he walks me across the street. He takes my hand while we’re on the sidewalk, his cool fingers squeezing mine as we match each other step for step. There’s a dim light on in the parlor of the witch house, though I doubt either one of my parents waited up for me, and it ekes dull illumination out onto the worn wooden steps.
Nate approaches the door with me, all the inelegance of a first date ending pressing down on us both like a ten ton weight. I turn around to thank him, but before the words escape me he catches me off guard. Sweeping me in by the hand, he’s kissing me again, tilting my head back comfortably while his hungry mouth explores my own. Peanut butter, sweet coffee, the lingering taste of marshmallow, all things my taste buds will never experience again without thinking about him, this night, these first kisses. The storm of butterflies tingles, tickling and teasing my insides, but at least I have enough self-control not to murmur the word wow this time when he finally pulls back.
Fingers tracing the curve of my cheek, he ducks them beneath my chin and stares into my face in the dull glow of the street lamp overhead before leaning back in to softly brush his lips to mine one more time as he whispers, “Goodnight, Tali.”
“Goodnight,” I murmur.
“I’ll come and pick you up tomorrow around seven, okay? We’ll go get something to eat before the movie.”
“See you then.”
I watch him walk back across the street, tucking his hands into his pockets and hiking his shoulders up as if the night’s chill is more than he can stand. I’m warm, I notice, and not just because he set my blood on fire with that last kiss. I’m still wearing his sweatshirt. I draw the neckline up to my face, breathe in the scent of him and realize that no matter how hot it is in my room tonight, I’m wearing it to bed.
TWELVE
I always have the weirdest dreams. I’m standing at the gates of some carnival that looks like it came straight out of a horror movie. There’s a sad clown holding a balloon out to me, and when I turn away because I can’t stand looking at his face, he tells me, “You can’t go in without one.” But I don’t want to go in. Not if there are more clowns in there. Why would I? But then Arthur is there, unclenching the fingers on my left hand and forcing the string of a helium balloon into my hand even though I don’t want it.
“Do it for me, Tali. Come in with me. I don’t like the clowns.”
“No one likes the clowns, Arthur. I don’t like them either.”
But I go in anyway because he really wants cotton candy, and now I do too. We stand in front of the counter, waiting for this weird guy in a white uniform made of printer paper to spin it over our paper cones. I feel something tugging on my head, and when I reach up I realize my hair’s gotten caught in the machine and he’s spinning it, yanking and pulling while reaching out with his other hand to push his fingers into my mouth.
Then he slaps my cheek hard and I jerk awake staring into a pair of eyes the color of molten caramel. The monster is grinning at me, her cheeks rising just before she says, “Yay!” and pats her hand across my arm.
“Gwen?” I groan and start to turn away from her, but Art’s blocking the other side of my bed, sitting with his legs crossed while he stares down at me like he’s got a secret. “What are you guys doing in here? Get out?”
“Did you drink a lot of beer?” He leans in real close to my face like he’s trying to smell my breath for evidence of alcohol, and I shove him into the wall with more force than I think myself capable of.
“What are you, the cops? Take your sister and get out.”
“She’s not my sister. She’s your sister. Why are you wearing a sweatshirt? It’s like five thousand degrees in here.”
“None of your business, get out.”
“Ooh, it’s your boyfriend’s, isn’t it?” Bending down, he sniffs at the hood, wrinkling his nose as he asks, “Why does it smell like you went camping?”
Gwen’s bouncing up and down, trying to crawl across my legs so she can straddle my thigh like a pony. “Boyfriend!” she declares, clapping her hands into her mouth and blowing kisses at me. I never should have taught her that.
“Does he know you stole it from him? That you’re sleeping in it and infecting it with your bad smells? He’s never gonna want it back now.”
“Am I speaking French? Get! Out!” I roll Gwen forward, catching her in one arm before jabbing the elbow of the other out to edge him into the well. He’s not exactly a big kid, so the force of my elbow sends him backward into the wall, his head bouncing so hard it sounds like he cracks plaster.
“Ouch!”
And then he’s on me, Gwen wiggling down to stand on the floor beside my bed, instantly distracted by the jelly bracelets piled up on the floor. Art punches me in the hip and I round on him with a roar of annoyance, thumping him backward into the wall again. His eyes water, his face turning red as he leans forward with a clenched fist he seems bent on pounding into my face.
“You gonna cry?” I ask.
Beside the bed Gwen mock cries, another thing I probably shouldn’t have taught her, but sometimes it is pretty funny. Like right now. It infuriates Art. Rage pours through him as he grinds his teeth together and launches another assault. His hands grip my wrists, feet pushing into the wall behind him for leverage as he tries to edge me off my bed and onto the floor. Gwen grabs onto my arm and starts pulling me, laughing as I struggle. The battle ends with me rolling off my mattress and narrowly missing the corner of my bedside table. Jumping up in a huff, I storm toward the door and scream out to my mother, the sound of my voice carrying through halls. Below I hear distant stirring, footsteps on the hardwood floor and then she calls back, “You have company, Tali.”
“What?” I wrinkle my nose and look back at Art. He’s sitting in the middle of my bed like a champ, grinning.
“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. Your boyfriend’s here,” he sneers. “He probably wants his sweatshirt back.”
“Oh my god,” I whimper, a hand shooting through the tangled nest of my hair. I didn’t even wash my makeup off last night when I crawled into bed, so I don’t need a mirror to know how awful I look. “He’s not my boyfriend.” I race into the bathroom, slam the door behind me for privacy and greet the Bride of Frankenstein in the mirror. “Oh my god,” I murmur again.
“Should I tell him to come back in three hours?” Art’s right outside the bathroom door. I only need to look down to see his toes beneath the gap. “I’ll tell him you need to put your mask on and tuck the snakes away so he doesn’t turn to stone when he looks at you, Medusa.”
And suddenly I regret getting him those Greek mythology books for Christmas. “Tell him I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Are you sure?” he asks. “I mean, really sure?”
“I’ll be down in a minute.”
I drown out everything else he says with the sound of running water, which I hastily splash onto my face. I’m awake now, my throbbing head protesting the hour, and I realize I still don’t even know what time it is. There isn’t enough coffee in the world for this day, I can already tell. Scrubbing my face, I brush my teeth and yank off Nate’s sweatshirt as I’m walking out of the bathroom. Peeling out of my tank top, I grab a wrinkled sundress from a hanger in my closet and start gathering the unruly mass of my hair into a quick ponytail as I hike down the stairs.
Following the sound of voices, I discover Nate leaning casually against the wall talking to my mom while Art hovers under her arm, nibbling on the fingers of the hand she’s put over his mouth as if to hush him.
“Nate…”
“Hey Tali.”
“I thought you were coming at seven.”
And then I wonder if it is seven, and maybe I slept through the entire day. That would explain the massive headache.
“Yeah, about that…” He draws in a breath.
“Come on, Arthur.” Mom starts drawing him out of the room, but he resists, making kissy faces at me as she jerks him after her.
“What’s up?”
“Sorry if I got you out of bed.” He looks down a moment, the loose locks of his hair falling into his face. “I would have called or texted before I just came over, but I realized this morning I forgot to get your number last night.”
“It’s okay.” Though I’ll definitely be remedying that situation as soon as possible to avoid future walk-ins with me looking like I just crawled out of my grave. God, he can barely even look at me, and I imagine he’s having second thoughts about going out with me at all. I wouldn’t blame him.
“My mom has to work a double shift today. Usually she leaves Delilah home by herself during the day if we both have to work. There are enough people in the neighborhood who know to keep an eye on the house, but she doesn’t like leaving her alone at night, and my gram’s got bingo tonight, so…”
“I understand.”
My disappointment must be evident because his face brightens as he shakes his head. “No, I’m not breaking our date. I just thought maybe you could bring your brother along tonight. I think they’re the same age, and if the way her face lit up when I made the suggestion to her, I’m guessing she might have a little crush on Art.”
“That’s fabulous.” I clap my hands together and try to suppress a laugh. Oh, how I’m going to torment him with this news. “I can ask him.” Though I already know my brother’s not going to turn his nose up at the opportunity to ruin a date for me.
“Cool. We can take them to this place out by the mall. There’s pizza, games, mini-golf. It’ll be fun.”
“Should we leave earlier?”
“I was thinking maybe around six. The first movie doesn’t start until nine, but that’ll give everybody time to eat and wear themselves out so they pass out before the not-so-rated PG movie.”
“Let me ask Art and make sure it’s okay with my parents real quick.”
Nate waits while I duck into the parlor. I catch Art racing out of the hall and know he was spying on us, but he puts on a real good act of not knowing what I’m talking about when I explain the situation to Mom. I don’t think Nate realizes how much he’s already endearing himself to her, first with Gwen at the store, and now taking Art out with us on a date. If he’s not careful, she’s going to ask him to start babysitting, and while that would get me out of the chore, I wouldn’t get to see him.
He’s scrolling through his phone when I return to the kitchen. He’s already got his contacts open, a new one started just for me. Handing me the device, I quickly type in my phone number and snort a little when I see he’s added “witch house” under address.
“Is it all right with your mom?”
“Yeah, she said it was okay, though I have a feeling we’re going to regret taking Arthur anywhere.”
“Delilah will keep him in line,” he winks and takes his phone as I hand it back to him. “I’ll see you at six,” and then he does the strangest thing. He doesn’t kiss me, but I can tell he wants to because he brings his hand up and tucks and errant strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek for a moment. Then he backs away and leaves, and I know nothing really happened in that moment, but it feels like everything.
I just stand there in the middle of the kitchen feeling my heart hammer inside my chest and wondering how long it’s going to take before it just explodes.
Glancing up at the clock, it’s only eleven-thirty. Six and a half hours until I see him again. It already feels like an eternity.
“This is gonna be great,” Art announces as he slides through the kitchen in his socks. “Dad’s already given me a checklist of things to report on when I get home.”
“Lovely,” I roll my eyes and yank open the refrigerator door.
THIRTEEN
I haven’t been to the mall yet. In fact, I didn’t even know there was a mall. I had my assumptions. Pretty much anyplace that’s someplace worth noting has a shopping mall, and the Little League Capital of the world is only about twenty-five miles from our house. Nate parks the car and lifts his sunglasses to rest atop his head, sweeping the longer locks of his hair back from his face as he peers into the backseat at Delilah and Arthur. Neither of them has said a word since they got into the car—a huge feat for my brother.
“You guys hungry?”
“I am not a guy,” Delilah informs him.
“Excuse me,” he rolls his eyes. “Are you children hungry?”
“I’m not a child,” Art throws in for good measure.
For a moment he and Delilah share triumphant sneers. I half expect them to high five.
“So it’s going to be that kind of night, is it?”
“Art, don’t be difficult or we’ll go back home.”
“I’m not being difficult.”
“Okay, so who’s hungry?”
Both of them chime, “Me,” then eye one another suspiciously before reaching in to unbuckle their seat belts. They’re out of the car and racing toward the doors before Nate and I have a chance to yell out for them to wait up. He reaches for my hand, surprising me as he curls his fingers around mine and grins over at me. I know I shouldn’t be thinking about this, not with my brother running off into traffic, but I really want to kiss him. Instead, I offer his hand a squeeze and edge my shoulder into his playfully as we head toward the building.
The place is big enough that with a pocket full of quarters, Delilah and Art all but disappear, leaving Nate and I alone at the table to wait for the pizza we ordered at the front counter before we sat down. He’s sitting in the booth across from me, mostly because Art more or less refuses to sit next to Delilah. I’m folding my straw wrapper into one of those little origami footballs, tucking paper into slots and folds until it’s no bigger than a thick, square pea on the table in front of me.
Nate’s watching me, his arms slack on the table until he reaches across and takes my hand, entwining our fingers together and staring at them for a moment before he confesses, “This is probably going to sound really weird, but I can’t stop thinking about kissing you.”
My teeth self-consciously draw at my lower lip, as if in memory of his lips on mine, the softness of them and the taste of his tongue in my mouth. Those stupid little butterflies are at it again, and I just want to crush them inside me so they stop making me feel like I can’t handle what’s happening here. I know how to handle myself. I’m confident, strong… melting under the force of his intense eyes as they stare across the table at me.
“It doesn’t sound weird,” I shake my head. “It’s all I thought about all day. Kissing you,” I trace my thumb along the outside of his, “touching you.”
Leaning forward, he draws me across the table until our faces are close, murmuring against my lips, “We should just get it out of the way then.”
“Mm,” I agree softly, “we should.”
That stolen moment is the most perfect part of my day, if I don’t count the ten minutes he spent kissing me on the porch steps at four a.m. It doesn’t even feel as if we’re in a crowded environment—just him and me—and I’m pretty sure the whole world could come crashing down around us and neither of us would notice. There’s nothing tawdry about it. We’re not like those teenagers who sneak into dark public places to hide and make out. It’s just the lingering touch of our lips before he draws back almost dazed and asks, “What are you doing to me Taliesin Wick?”
So he did hear my dad use my full name. Great. It’s not that I don’t like my name, but people always ask me what it means, and the few who’ve actually heard it before don’t hesitate to point out matter-of-factly that it’s a boy
’s name.
There are a thousand clever things I could say right now. I could make a joke about the power of the witch house, or spin some nonsensical yarn about my devious plot to capture his heart, but all I say is, “I was just about to ask you the same thing. It’s like you put some kind of spell on me or something, Nathaniel Thorne.”
We’re still close, our voices so quiet only we can hear them above the cacophony of game whistles and sirens, chattering voices and gleeful children. “I’m not…” he starts, then stops himself.
“What?” I prod, leaning back into my booth. Our hands are still clasped, his long arms stretched across the table to accommodate my having pulled away. “You’re not what?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea what I am. I don’t think I’ve ever really known, but you…” Shaking his head, the loose locks of hair spilling out of the arms of his sunglasses jostle against his face. “It’s like you know exactly who you are. From the first moment I saw you… I don’t even know what I’m saying right now. Never mind”
His cheeks are flushed, his eyes diverting from my face and his grip slackening as he starts to pull his hands back across the table, letting mine go. The sorrow is there again, a deep depression there are no words for, and we barely know each other, not well enough for me to ask him to share whatever burden he’s carrying. But I want to. You can’t even begin to imagine how badly I want to take it from him, hide it somewhere far away so the only thing I ever see inside his eyes is bliss.
“I thought I knew exactly who I was,” I confess, “then I met you.” It takes a lot for me to make that confession, but I watch his face relax a little, the tightness of his jaw disappearing. “I feel clumsy when I’m with you, and a little ditzy, and I’m not either of those things. Not really.”
“You don’t seem like either of those things to me.”
“Well, I must be doing a really good job of hiding it then.”
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