“Where’s Lani?” he asks, sounding subdued. I just shrug, distracted now as I text her back.
You going home?
I wait with dread for this answer. Spring break is a whole goddamned week!
Yeah.
Just like that my week stretches ahead in all its emptiness. Dammit! But I see the little text bubbles dancing as if she’s still typing.
“Are you texting with Lani?” Holly teases, but I don’t need to respond because everyone else does for me, laughing and teasing her back. Huh.
There are a million things I want to ask Lani. Like where are you right now? when can I kiss you again? or what the fuck is going on?? I have a feeling she can’t answer two out of three.
Then she writes, Where are you now? and my pulse picks up. She’s. The. Best.
HowHall, I text instantly, using shorthand. With… I come up short here. Our classmates? The gang? Lame! I go with our friends, but that feels super weird too. Are they friends? Or ours??
When Lani texts back a few minutes later with I’m outside I practically trip over myself to get out of there.
“Gotta go!” I grab my unfinished plate and ignore the chorus of confused looks and comments in my haste. Then I realize I’m being an asshole. “Hey, have good breaks and…uh…see you after.” Yeah, I’m not so good at this, but it’s a start.
Then the doors are swinging shut behind me and I’m out in the hallway, face to face with Lani. She leans against a wall, wrapped in her usual cocoon, and it’s all I can do not to kiss her senseless again. Was she always this goddamned pretty? While I’m still blinking she drags in a deep breath and starts in.
“I’m much better on paper than in person, you know.”
I open my mouth to protest but she holds up a finger and keeps going.
“I ran because attention makes me feel nervous and guilty or guilty and nervous. It’s not just the kissing. It’s you. I don’t know why you even noticed me. People don’t notice me! But for whatever strange reason you seem to be interested in me so I’m not exactly suspicious but more confused. But I don’t blame you. Even if you did just kiss me to teach me a lesson.”
I start to set her straight on that howler, but she raises her hand again to stop me. The hall is almost deserted but I move closer.
“It’s just that this is kind of quick and really intense. Especially for me because I’m really a pretty mellow person. No waves, you know? But maybe this is more normal for you since you seem kinda temperamental. No offense! I know I’m rambling now, but I just wanted to say something. In person. Because a week is a long time to wonder what’s going on. But I better go now!” She stops babbling and finally raises her eyes. Those eyes!
“Hey!”
She freezes. I don’t touch her because that seems risky right now. So I jam my hands in my pockets.
“No, you’re not. That’s okay. And no, this is not fucking normal for me either. Just so you know. And that’s okay.” I feel a little dizzy and she looks a little shaky, placing her hands flat against the wall behind her as if for support.
“And I didn’t fucking kiss you as homework, okay?” I glower at her. Because that’s important. “I can’t believe you’d even think that when it’s so….” I can’t even continue. She flushes and her eyes drop.
“No, I’m not what?” Her voice is low and not helping.
I drag in a steadying breath. “Better on paper. And I added another ‘that’s okay’ in there for extra reassurance.”
There’s a pause while she thinks about this, chewing on that delicious lower lip.
“I do have to go,” she says regretfully. Neither of us has moved and the tension holding us together and apart is nearly unbearable. I nod. She should just snap it.
She must agree because with a quick nod of her own she turns and bounds down the stairs in that graceful way she has. And damn, I hate it when she leaves!
The week apart is officially Not Good. I’m antsy and anxious about this not-dating, not-hooking-up, but totally-involved thing with Lani. I spend a lot of time picturing her on a beach, though the vision is kind of hazy because I have no clue what her body looks like inside the demilitarized zone of her clothes. When I think about it that way I’m kind of amazed at myself. I mean, Lani’s gorgeous but this didn’t start with her tits or ass. I’d wonder if that means I’m growing up or something pathetic like that except that I’m still eager to check her out.
You wear those scarf-y things around your waist? I text her in one particularly desperate moment.
LOL! You mean a sarong?
Photo pls!
Ha ha! How’s that paper coming along?
Damn you!
I was sure I could write the next comp paper by myself. That I didn’t need Lani. But after dragging my feet all week. I finally sit down to start and draw a total blank. It’s just like before: no amount of sweating or scowling or beating myself up produces any words on the page. I pace around my room talking out loud as if Lani is here. But she isn’t. Damn her! Impulsively I grab my phone and send her a bat signal.
Need to talk to you.
There’s a delay before she answers. Talk?
Yeah. Like with our mouths. I want to sound breezy, but in fact I’m desperate. It’s already been forever—waiting for the next time I see her, the next time I kiss her. It’s like how Captain America must have felt spending decades in suspended animation.
There’s an even longer delay and I picture her staring at her phone, chewing her lip. Maybe she’s lying on her bed, with her long legs bare…. The image and the waiting is making me hot and antsy so I text her again in case I wasn’t clear.
NEED YOU!
Call you in 10, she texts immediately. Because she’s the most goddamned generous loyal caring person I’ve ever met.
“What is it?” Her voice when she calls is sleepy.
“Shit. What time is it in Hawaii?”
She yawns adorably. “Six a.m.”
“Christ. Sorry. What are you doing up? It’s spring break!”
“Sun salutations.”
I scratch my head. “What the fuck is that?”
Lani laughs and it’s a low seductive sound that seeps into my blood. “I’ve missed your inimitable conversation, Kyle!”
I can’t help the warm fuzzies spreading through me. “Yeah, well, you’re the one using the word inimitable.”
“What do you want?” She sounds amused and I feel ridiculously, dangerously happy.
“Uh.” I’d rather just shoot the shit with her than talk about writing. Though if I have to talk about writing I’d rather do it with her. “I’m having some trouble with my paper.”
“Okay.” Lani doesn’t sound impatient or judgey or anything. “Whatcha got?”
“Nothing?” That makes her laugh again, which cheers me up. “We’re supposed to pick a passage in A Room of One’s Own and show ‘how it relates to the whole essay.’” I’m reading from the prompt and my frustration shows.
“Virginia Woolf?” She sounds excited. “What did you think of it?”
“Er….” I clear my throat and start pacing again.
I hear a loud sigh. “Please tell me you read the book!”
“Lani, no one ever reads the book!”
“I do!”
“You’re a freak of nature! An exception to all rules! One of a kind!”
She giggles as if I’m joking. “Hmmph. Well, go read the book, then call me back. It’s good. It’s short. No whining.”
Is it really pathetic that I like it when Lani scolds me? The answer is obviously yes. “Okay, okay. That’s what Annika said too. Fuck.”
There’s a long silence.
“You’re hanging out with Annika?” Her voice got really tight.
“Nooo.” I draw it out. “I ran into her. At the library.”
“Hmmph.” She sounds weird and I’m trying to dissect what I hear: skepticism? Anxiety? Resignation? I’m too busy overthinking to respond.
“She
’s so beautiful,” Lani persists. Now she sounds like she’s poking a bruise to see where it hurts. I don’t like it one bit.
“Sure is…. If you like tall, blond, Russian ex-models.”
Lani snorts. “Who doesn’t?”
“Me.”
“Oh.” There’s another pause. “Then I guess you’re the freak.”
I can’t keep from smiling even though she can’t see me. “Then I guess we make a good pair, partner.”
“I guess so. Go read the book, Kyle, and call me back.”
8
Lani
Spring break is always too short, but this one feels endless. When my dad finally drives me to the airport for my return flight I’m jittery with anticipation. I want to launch from the ground in a grande jetée, legs entendus, toes pointed. I spin the dial of the car radio, searching for music to go with this buoyant mood, then I tap my fingers against the dashboard. I’m reminded of Kyle’s restlessness and grab my phone to text him. I wonder if I’ll be back in time to catch him before his EMT shift tonight.
“Who’s the guy?”
I whip my head around to gawk at my dad’s profile. “What guy?”
He takes his eyes from the road for a moment to nod in the direction of my phone. “That guy.” His voice is neutral, which is how my dad always talks. He’s calm, steady, impassive even. And no, I don’t think it’s because he’s Japanese American. It’s just his nature. Like mine. Usually.
“Why would you even think…?” I shake my head.
“Is it a girl?”
Where is this coming from? My jaw is still dropped so I close it.
There’s a silence as my dad smoothly changes lanes, glancing into his rear view mirror and then at me.
“You seem different. Distracted. Your mom and I both noticed. Scott noticed.”
“You noticed? Scott noticed?”
“Of course. We notice things, Lani. Did you notice that Scott didn’t retreat to his room as much as usual? You’re always a calming influence on him when you’re home.”
I am? I’m still stuck on the noticing part, wondering what they noticed and what I missed. This trip home seemed just like any other. Was I distracted?
“I have to decide what to do about dancing,” I blurt out, then wince. My dad doesn’t care about dance and he doesn’t care what I do with my life as long as I support myself.
He nods slowly. “That must be tough. What do you want to do?”
I think out loud. “I don’t want to be a professional dancer, but I want to keep one foot in the dance world. So to speak.”
“You’d make a great teacher.”
I blink, feeling my throat close up and I’m not sure why. My parents are teachers. “Thanks. I like teaching yoga at school.”
His brow creases. “Can you make a living as a yoga teacher?” He doesn’t sound skeptical, just uncertain.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “How did you end up as a teacher?” I never asked him that. I wonder how he and my mom chose their careers, their lives, each other.
He smiles and his whole face brightens. “I always loved school. It made sense to stay in it. And then I met your mother and we wanted family-friendly careers, with long vacations and short days.” He shrugs. “We were very lucky. We are very lucky,” he amends.
My thoughts shift in my head like kaleidoscope pieces. What? “Lucky?” I repeat stupidly. Never in my life did I think of my parents as lucky: their lives were ruined by the tragedy of their son’s disability. Obviously.
My dad nods. He shoots me another sidelong glance, but I turn to stare out the window at the planes making idle patterns in the sky above. We’re almost there.
“We have wonderful healthy children. Each other. Work we love. This beautiful place to live.”
I’m quiet as I rethink…everything. My parents were always there when I got home from school, always happy together. We spent long summer days at the beach then grilled fish on the barbecue and ate on a picnic table in the backyard. We couldn’t travel, but we were addicted to documentaries and scoured the public library for new releases about other cultures, other countries, other periods. I’d get toe shoes and books for Christmas and Scott would get baseball cards and music. There was nothing tragic about that.
My dad slows down at the exit for the airport terminal.
“There is a guy,” I say slowly, quietly, to the window.
“Good. You don’t need the right things in your life as much as you need the right people.” He double parks in the departures area and efficiently gets my bag from the trunk. A humid breeze ruffles his hair, the black lightly streaked with gray.
“Here you go.” He wraps one arm around me in a loose hug. “Don’t worry. You’ll figure it out.” He turns to go.
“Love you,” I toss after him. He smiles at me over the roof of the car as he opens the door.
“Love you too.” He says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it is.
The quad is starting to green up again, I notice. It’s still cold—shockingly so after a week at home—but there are people outside and even some buds pushing through the lawn. I’m glad to be back. And even gladder to be back with Kyle again.
In the dimming evening light I see him sitting on a bench checking his phone, waiting for me, and I stop in my tracks. I’m bemused by how much I missed him, how my heart jumps at this first glance. He’s leaning his elbows on his knees so his broad shoulders hunch forward. I take a good look and shiver. Then I notice the blankets.
I move closer to confirm and he sees me. I swear we’ve discovered a new law of physics: something like “despite appearing to have free use of her limbs, Lani will draw inexorably nearer to Kyle whenever he’s around.”
“You brought blankets,” I say because the rest can’t really be said out loud.
He nods, and I can practically feel him vibrating, like he’s humming with emotion. Still in slow motion I close the distance between us until I’m standing right in front of him. I feel like a marionette, one of those spellbound girls ballets are written about. Coppelia. Or the Somnabulist. I run a hand over his hair while he stares at my face. Then I climb on to his lap, wind my arms around his neck, and kiss him.
He’s so warm. I nudge closer and his big hands settle at my waist. This kiss is slow and hot and needy. It says it’s been way too long since we did this and we haven’t kissed nearly enough to slake this thirst. Our tongues slide over and around each other’s, exploring and deepening. I tilt my head for more and Kyle groans, his grip tightening. My hands clutch at his neck, and my breaths are coming in pants. He tears his mouth away and grabs a blanket, tucking it around my shoulders, then drags me back to his mouth. We’re cocooned together in a little world of our own and we go under again.
“You warm enough?” he mumbles against my lips. He’s pressing little kisses against my mouth, my face, my jaw line. I arch my neck and he exhales deeply before sliding his mouth down my skin, sucking and teasing. It’s almost unbearable and I start shaking.
“Hot,” I moan, grasping desperately for words. I pull on his head to raise his face to mine. He grunts, leaving my neck reluctantly. When his eyes meet mine we both still. We’re breathless and wide-eyed, flushed and rumpled.
“Get a room!” someone shouts and I flinch under Kyle’s amused gaze.
“You’re getting good at drawing attention, Golden Eyes.” He tangles one hand in my hair, stroking, and I want to arch like a cat.
“Golden Eyes, huh?” Now I’m amused. I study him, bowled over again by his handsomeness, his blue eyes now dark, his sharp cheekbones slightly flushed, his mouth full. I brush my mouth against his again and he responds hungrily.
When we resurface my whole body is throbbing and Kyle is hard against my hip under the blanket. I shift against him helplessly and he clamps down to stop me.
“We’ve got to slow down.” He rests his forehead on mine, breathing hard.
I nod, out of words. What are we doing?
“We’re in public,” he adds, like he’s reminding himself. Or us. I look around and there are people crossing the quad, smirking at us. I realize I don’t care one whit.
“We’re just partners.” He repeats my words to me, but they sound false now. I’m ready to rip off his clothes and straddle him right here. I start to say something, but he puts a finger on my mouth and shakes his head in warning. I lick it and his eyes flare.
“Lani—”
This, I like. This attention. Having Kyle’s intensity all focused on me, eager for me. I feel powerful, confident, safe.
“See, you’re helping me already. I don’t even care that we’re making a spectacle of ourselves.” I try for a lighthearted tone because I’m overwhelmed.
He smiles crookedly and looks over my shoulder, inhaling. When he looks back at me he’s more under control.
“You said you wanted to talk?” I tease lightly, wanting to help us both back onto stable ground. It’s hard enough keeping my mouth off him, but I can’t seem to stop my hands from taking a tour of his shoulders.
“Nah. That was just a ruse.” His hands stroke up and down my back under the blanket.
“Really?” I pull back to read his face, but he pulls me back in.
“Nah. That was just a joke.”
I lean my head on his shoulder, then inhale. I stroke one hand along his jaw experimentally. It’s rough against my palm.
“Mmm. You smell like sandalwood.”
“Would you try to stay focused? Give me a little help here?” he grumbles and I laugh at his expression. I’m loving this—having the freedom to touch him wherever I want. Or some of the places I want.
“I’ll try,” I say, but I’m not feeling very apologetic.
He huffs out an audible breath and squeezes my waist.
“Tell me about your attention-getting plans. Besides this one.”
I sigh. “Okay. Performing in public. That’s coming up next month when we do the alumni spirit day fundraiser.” I plow ahead so I don’t think about any of this too much.
The Partnership (Extra Credit Book 1) Page 6