The ABC's of Kissing Boys

by Tina Ferraro

  I flinched as thoughts slapped together in my head. “Don't tell me. He's a freshman?”

  “Just like all the other kids who hang out in the courtyard.” She smirked. “I guess I'm not the only one who's heard that you and your man- child broke up.”

  I crumpled the note. “Guess not.” I'd steeled myself for snide comments and for heckling, but not for becoming the object of freshman fantasies.

  I pretended to laugh it off, then turned to see my three former BFFs approaching. The one who cared about everyone and everything was occupying the center, of course.

  “Hey, Park,” Chrissandra said, without attitude, particular interest or malice. Her minions echoed her words, but all three kept on walking. Until soon I was staring at the backs of their heads.

  “Aren't you going to say something back?” CeeCee asked, her tone lowered for intimacy. “You know, hi or something?”

  I shook my head. They'd never even notice. Besides, this encounter wasn't about me. It was about setting limits on me. Letting me know I was worthy of a public greeting again (since I was no longer dating an inferior) but not conversation (since I was still on JV).

  I knew the rules. I was ashamed to admit I'd been there when many of them were established, had condoned and obeyed them. But that felt so long ago … back when amicable public greetings had been a given. And before I'd realized that they weren't the make-lemonade- out- of- lemons kind of friends but rather the kind that held you down and made you suck on the lemon rind and choke on the seeds, “for your own good.”

  Watching them disappear, I could have sworn I had a sour lemon- drop aftertaste in my mouth.

  As the morning went on, I heard a few chuckles about the breakup, but mostly what I got was smiles from upperclassmen who seemed glad to have me “back with the grown- ups.”

  When Becca asked where I wanted to have lunch, I told her anywhere but the courtyard (and then explained about my new admirers). We settled on the grill truck again, and on our way back inside, we saw Tristan and a group of friends (but no Emma, I noted happily), and we all did a very satisfying and mature I- don't- see- you.

  But I couldn't not see Emma on the field later. While Hartley explained how the practice would run late to make up for the one we'd miss for the next day's sports fair, I studied Emma's too- cute face and figure and dreamed up an announcement of my own.

  “My footwork clinic is, as usual, on the far side of the field,” I called out when Hartley finished. “And today, Emma is joining us, too.”

  “Me?” she said, throwing a heated look at me, and then at Coach. “But I don't need to work on my footwork!”

  Hartley shrugged. “If Parker thinks so …”

  As the team dispersed, I walked over to Emma and slipped a supportive arm around her shoulder. “I heard from our mutual friend that you're feeling left out. So I thought I'd include you so you'd feel like one of my favorites.”

  She pulled free. “I don't need help. I'll stick with the rest of the team.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “Then you'll have the time to go to the equipment room and bring me some extra cones for the girls who do need my help.”

  She exhaled through her nose, and squinted like she was calling me some serious names in her head. Then she set off toward the building at a snail's pace.

  Apparently, having a hot new boyfriend—and being able to hold that offensive steal over her team captain— wasn't enough to power her engines.

  •

  When the team hit the showers, Hartley called me into her office. I figured Emma had gone to her about me and quickly considered defense strategies. Deny any antifa-voritism? Or tell Coach what Emma had done to so royally tick me off?

  I settled into the plastic chair across from her desk.

  “I'll be frank with you, Parker. It's come to my attention that you are the one who broke into AJ's locker.”

  I struggled to switch gears. Since she'd missed her obvious opportunity to confront me at practice last Friday, I'd gone with the hope that she'd dropped me from her list of suspects. But apparently not.

  “You realize,” she continued, “that even though nothing was taken from the locker, it's still considered breaking and entering?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “And that I consider slipping an anonymous note under my door to be a form of cowardice, not leadership?”

  “Yes, which is why I'd never do either one.” Well, okay, maybe I'd consider it, but I wouldn't do it. “And with all due respect, Coach, maybe you should suspect the person who is pointing a finger at me.”

  She bit on the inside of her cheek, nodding. “One last question: I don't suppose that little problem you needed to leave practice for last week had anything to do with all this?”

  “No,” I said, meeting her eyes.

  “Fine, then.” She rubbed her temple. “I just had to clear the air.”

  I nodded, wishing she'd clear the air with the blabber's name. And hopefully, get to the real point. Which was giving me AJ's position—right?

  “You know how important you are to JV, Parker, and that I've come to rely on you.”

  My heart picked up speed. Wait for it, wait for it….

  “I'm excited about the way the team is coming together,” she continued, “and optimistic about our standings this year.”

  I nodded, folding my hands in my lap, trying to look obedient and patient.

  Only to see her stand. “Okay, then. I'm glad we had this little conversation.”

  Huh?

  I searched her face, until her underlying meaning struck me as hard and fast as having seen my name on that last JV roster. Regardless of the opening that had just been created, Hartley had no intentions of moving me anywhere. She was happy with me on JV.

  Crap.

  That meant that the sports- fair plan was still a go. And that Clayton had better be ready with that fancy legalese. The kissing booth was my last shot at varsity this year.

  Vacuum Kiss: When one

  partner sucks all the air out of the other's

  mouth.

  The next morning, my brother called as I was heading out the door. He wanted to warn me that he and Luke might be a little late because of traffic. I pretended to be irritated, just because I knew it was expected, but the truth was, I was sort of numb about the sports fair. I hoped I wasn't making a gigantic mistake.

  The day breezed by, and when Clayton and Luke's 12:4,5 arrival time came and went, I finished my shift at the JV ring-toss booth—where I only had to explain to three or four thousand people why I was still playing on an underclassman team, thankyouverymuch—handed the cash box to Lyric and met up with Becca for what I hoped looked like a casual stroll around the fair.

  Oldies music blared through the propped- up speakers, songs about big girls not crying and grease being the word. We passed some sophomore guys emptying their pockets for kisses from Chrissandra, Mandy and Elaine at the kissing booth; saw Kyle and some friends wolfing down barbecued- pork sandwiches; watched Rachael shoot baskets to win a stuffed animal and checked out the cooking club's fudge- tasting booth. But no food tempted me, not even the slice of pepperoni pizza that Becca waved under my nose.

  “I can't,” I told her.

  “Why? Nerves?”

  “Breath.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  “Okay, breath and nerves.”

  She rolled them again.

  “Okay, nerves.”

  She patted my arm. “It's not too late, you know. To call the whole thing off.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Maybe you don't want your old life back.”

  I watched her pop the pizza crust in her mouth, letting her words sink in. Well, yeah, no way I'd suck up to Chrissandra again. I didn't need her “protection.” She wasn't the compassionate person she pretended to be to her close friends. In fact, I think the general population had her pegged better than I ever had. There would definitel
y be a change between us when I was on varsity. And that might not be an easy transition.

  But I didn't want to freeze- frame right here, either. Stuck on JV, and with the knowledge that Emma's “boyfriend” was sure to come to every game.

  I didn't want old. I didn't want new. What I wanted was better. And keeping with the Plan seemed like my only way there. As I watched my sophomore-year Spanish teacher on the dunk- tank plank, time pounded at me like a bad headache. Late was turning into later. And at some point, later would become too late. What would I do then?

  So when a finger poked my shoulder, I felt my muscles relax. I turned. But instead of seeing the faces of my partners in crime, I saw a different kind of partner altogether.

  “Don't you have a job to do?” Tristan asked.

  Wearing his gray T-shirt and a smile that skimmed his lips, he had separated from his pack of friends, and the only person within earshot was Becca. I needed to close the gap between us good and fast—anyone could hear—but when I found myself senses first in his body space, I regretted the move. It felt like I'd lost too much oxygen, making me think of that Vacuum Kiss he'd talked about.

  Breaking up, I decided, did not guarantee attraction immunity. Even when there was another girl in the picture. Even when you'd never really been together.

  “They're just late,” I managed, hoping that was, in fact, true.

  “You need me to pinch- hit? Be his understudy?”

  Wow. That would be totally wrong, but, still, I was touched.

  “You're sweet,” I told him. Noticing that he smelled good. Too good, and familiar. (Which, any way you looked at it, was not good.)

  Anyway, I could not consider kissing him again, for real or for fake. And there was no way I could explain to him why he couldn't fill Luke's shoes. While he'd likely pull off the kiss better than any guy at school (or in Minnesota or the whole U.S. of A.), he just didn't have the clout of a former prom king. Or a pocketful of cash, for that matter. “But I'm sure they'll get here,” I added.

  “Yeah,” he said, giving up without a fight. Making me wonder if he hadn't read between the lines after all.

  But there was nothing I could do about that. Es pecially with Becca nudging me and pointing to the small crowd forming at the entry gate.

  Which meant only one thing. Showtime.

  •

  My nerves tingled when I got a quick eyeful of my college cavalry entering the fair. I didn't bother to wave hello to Clayton and Luke, just grabbed Becca and hightailed it back toward the girls’ soccer booths.

  Mandy, Elaine and Chrissandra stood puckering and ready in the varsity booth, apparently in between customers. Lyric was running things at the JV ring toss along with a couple of midfielders. I noticed that Hartley had vacated her folding chair in the JV booth, and I didn't see her anywhere around.

  “How are we doing, cashwise?” I asked Lyric.

  “Good. Almost sixty bucks.”

  I nodded, then crossed the narrow alley and asked the same of Mandy.

  “Why?” she countered.

  I fought back a scowl. So much for the days of unconditional friendship. That had ended when Hartley changed the conditions. No, actually, my friendship with Mandy had ended when Chrissandra changed the conditions.

  “Hartley,” I said, with no compunction about lying to her, “told me to keep tabs.”

  “Okay, then. We've collected a little over a hundred.”

  Chrissandra trained her eyes on me. “Kyle's probably paid half of that—it's like he can't wait till Friday night, out at the lake.” She laughed, and Mandy and Elaine did, too.

  I was tempted to point out that I'd spent the last hour just a few feet away and all I'd seen Kyle get his mouth around was a pork sandwich. But why bother? It had to be happy on her planet.

  To busy myself, I wandered back to the ring toss and bought a half dozen rings. I quickly learned that you had to pay attention to land those suckers on the milk bottles, and with the roar of voices and footsteps coming closer and closer, that wasn't an option for me.

  I snuck a look at the kissing booth, to see Chrissandra shoving Mandy and Elaine behind her, then doing a boob thrust and a welcoming smile. Clearly, Luke was approaching. And she knew a godly thing when she saw one.

  “Hey, Luuuuuke,” she said, drawing out his name as if they were old friends. (In her dreams.) “Kisses are three dollars apiece, but I'll offer you two for five.”

  Oh, puh- lease! All he'd have to do would be to look remotely interested, and she'd have one of her hangers-on start him a tab.

  “Thanks,” he said; then his voice increased in volume. “But I'm here for Parker.”

  “Parker?” Chrissandra echoed.

  My name floating in the air, I turned their way. Luke looked the total part of a player, in a Hawaiian shirt, with his hair falling lazily into his eyes. People were starting to move in, drawn simply by his presence.

  “You heard me,” he said.

  Chrissandra laughed in her “silly, silly you” way. “She can't work this booth. She didn't make varsity.”

  I cringed in case anyone glanced at me. It was pretty horrid to hear my loser status announced so loud and clear. And to think I'd choreographed and produced this degradation.

  “Doesn't change a thing for me.” Luke spoke his line boldly. “I'm here to kiss Parker, and I'm willing to pay plenty to make it happen.”

  My heart started beating all over my body. Antici pation? Excitement? No, I think just nerves again. But figuring it was about time for my formal entrance, I stepped forward and plastered on a smile. “Luke, hi.”

  His eyes smiled first, then his lips. (Boy, was he good.) “Hi yourself. You up for a kiss for a good cause?”

  I nodded, while girls from close by wandered in and girls as far as five miles away drew a collective sigh.

  Except for Chrissandra, who pounded a fist on the counter. Then she snapped a look at me—filled with anger and suspicion.

  Making me realize a fatal flaw in our plan: Chrissandra knew there was nothing between Luke and me. No sparks, no chemistry. No nothing. She knew I was just a kid sister to him. She knew that something was up, that she was being trumped—or maybe worse. And she was not giving me one inch of Luke, of her status or of her power without a fight.

  I narrowed my own eyes.

  Hers turned cold and hard. Unforgiving.

  I knew right then and there that Chrissandra Hickey hated me. Truly hated me. And that the hatred had been festering inside her for some time. The put- downs, the countering of compliments, the jokes at my expense? All meant to wound, to hurt, to destroy.

  I just didn't know why.

  Was this because of Kyle and his car- ride generosity? Or something deeper?

  I held her eye, returning her “Die, witch” stare. Which gave her a jolt before her brow settled into something meaner and darker.

  Coach Hartley pushed through the crowd, dunktank wet, in an oversized T-shirt and shorts over a one-piece. Behind her, I spotted a wary- eyed Tristan, arms folded, and the fuzzy crown of my brother's blond head.

  “What's going on here?” she asked, adjusting the towel tied turban- style over her hair.

  “Luke Anderson,” Chrissandra announced, pointing at him, “wants to kiss Parker here at the booth.”

  Hartley stopped before him and leveled him with a gaze. “You'll have to wait a year.”

  Cords stretched in his throat as his voice rose. “I've got three hundred bucks that says the kiss happens now. All you have to do is put her on varsity for a few minutes.”

  Hartley screwed up her face. But there must have been at least a hint of temptation in her eyes, because Chrissandra jumped up on the booth's counter.

  “Don't you get it, Coach Hartley? Parker's trying to buy her way onto varsity through her brother's buddy.”

  Crap! Was it too late to move to New Jersey, meet a family of mobsters and take out a contract on her?

  “She's desperate,” she screamed. “She'
ll try anything, since ratting AJ out didn't work.”

  Wisdom: The side you lean in

  on to kiss tells all. From the right you show

  your partner real emotion; from the left you

  reveal little-to-none.

  Voices—mostly female—cried out.

  Including one that sounded like Becca screaming, “Parker, I told you it was Chrissandra stabbing you in the back!”

  And my own: “I had nothing to do with that, Coach!” But only one person pushed her way forward. “No way. Uh-uh. You're not giving Parker my spot.”

  Chrissandra looked down from her lofty counter position with an icy glare. “Shut up, Lyric.”

  “I believed you, Chrissandra. I trusted you!”

  “And if you just shut up,” Chrissandra said, between clenched teeth, “everything will work out, okay?”

  Hartley spun to look Lyric in the face. “It was you? Chrissandra talked you into breaking into AJ's locker?”

  Lyric's face remained blank, but her voice betrayed her fear. “No, she only had me do the note.”

  The crowd made a tittering noise; then all that could be heard was breathing.

  “It's not like I planted the pills or anything,” Chrissandra said, and did one of her superior hair flips. “I mean, AJ totally deserved to be exposed.”

  Hartley's face inflamed. She shook a finger at Chrissandra, then swept it to point at Lyric. “Out! Both of you!”

  Chrissandra's hands went to her hips and her eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth, then, for once in her stupid life, thought better of it and closed it. She stepped down from the counter and out the side door. There was no doubt she didn't consider this finished, but that would be her battle, for another time.

  Hartley shook her head. Then, slowly, her eyes rose to meet Luke's. “The coach of the booth that makes the most money gets a reserved parking space all year.”

  I appreciated Luke's silence and the fact that the “duh” sounded only in my head.

  “With both my teams collapsing,” she continued, “I sure as heck need a break somewhere.” She held out her palm.

  Luke pulled the wad from his pocket. “So Parker's on varsity for the next two minutes?” he asked, holding it inches above her open palm.