Who I Kissed

by Janet Gurtler

  I nod as if I’m agreeing but can’t stop my next words.

  “Well, I didn’t foresee this whole murder thing.”

  She inhales quickly. “Sam. It wasn’t murder. You know that.”

  I shrug. “I know,” I tell her, because that’s what she wants to hear. “But you’ve seen the news, right? The story about Alex is everywhere. Everyone in the swim world will know it was me. The Titans don’t need that kind of attention.”

  “All of us will stand behind you. Every single member of our team.”

  She’s wearing a dark blue Titans polo shirt, capri pants, and a pair of expensive sneakers. I wonder if she ever wears dresses. What her boyfriend looks like. He never comes to the pool or to meets, but rumor has it he exists in real life.

  She’s in good shape, but she’s starting to get thick around her waist. I wonder what she looked like when she swam. Will I start getting lumpy in the middle? Right now I’m skinnier than I’ve ever been as a result of losing my appetite, but it’s coming back.

  Clair’s mouth keeps moving, but I don’t hear her words. Cold creeps right inside the marrow of my bones and blocks out sound.

  “Sam?”

  I smile and tilt my head.

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to help you. I want to see you back in the pool. You need to be there.”

  I nod, but my heart isn’t in it. I watch her face as she struggles to find the right words for me, trying to motivate me, get me back in the pool.

  “It’s not even about winning, or a scholarship. Or how hard you’ve worked to get where you are,” she says. “It’s about taking your life back.”

  She stands up and tells me a quick story about champions who get going when the going gets tough. And then she leans down and hugs me again.

  “I’m so sorry about what happened to you.”

  The choice of words surprises me. What happened to me is nothing compared to what happened to Alex.

  I stand up and walk her to the front door.

  “Getting back in the pool will help you to heal.”

  She keeps talking, but I tune her out. What she doesn’t know is that I don’t want to feel better. I don’t want to go on with my life as if nothing happened. Something did happen. Something big.

  “Okay?” She smiles, and it changes her face, making her look younger and prettier.

  “Sure,” I say, and her grin widens and reaches her eyes. I wonder what the hell I just said to cheer her up.

  “Things are really okay?” she asks. “At school? Taylor said the kids are being tough.”

  I want to ask her what Zee’s said. “It’s okay. You know,” I say instead.

  She hugs me again and heads out. I stare at the closed door.

  “You want to go for a walk?” Aunt Allie says. I’m not surprised she’s behind me. I nod while she puts on Fredrick’s coat and Harley Davidson collar and then slip on shoes and a jacket. We stroll out to the sidewalk as the streetlights turn on. It’s getting dark so early now. Too early. Finally Aunt Allie glances at me. “That was your coach?”

  I nod.

  “So how are you feeling about swimming these days?”

  I lift my shoulder and push my braid behind my ear. “Is Dad making you talk to me?”

  She shakes her head. “No. You’re my family too, you know. The best part of it.”

  I imagine she gets lonely on the road sometimes, even though she appears to have everything she wants. “I wish he would have let you be around me more when I was growing up,” I tell her. It’s the first time I’ve admitted it to her. I don’t feel like I’m betraying Dad anymore. It’s the truth.

  “Your dad is stubborn,” she says. “Sort of like his daughter. But he had his reasons, I think.”

  “It’s not that I’m stubborn,” I say.

  “It’s just that you don’t feel you deserve to go on with life?” Aunt Allie stops and waits while Fredrick lifts his leg on a neighbor’s lawn. She doesn’t seem concerned about ruining anyone’s grass.

  “Maybe you’re getting something out of not swimming? Some control? Not doing what your dad wants for the first time in your life.”

  “No.” I don’t agree with her. A man passes us on the sidewalk with a big black dog on a leash. Kind of a giant Fredrick. I notice the man smiling at Aunt Allie, but she doesn’t even look at him, and Fredrick ignores his dog. Aunt Allie is staring up at a dark streetlight above us. It’s broken; probably a kid threw a rock at it. For no reason other than to see it break. People do senseless things all the time.

  “I dream about swimming all the time,” I tell her. “Sometimes I’m standing on the platform and I dive in, but there’s no water. I keep falling and falling. And then I wake up.”

  “Oh, butterfly. It’s okay for you to go back. Not swimming isn’t going to change what happened. Don’t let the guilt break you.” She stops again while Fredrick turns his back on us and squats. “The letter to Alex will help.” She waits and then bends and scoops with her baggie.

  “Let’s go home. I’ll make you a hot chocolate and throw away this dog poo.”

  “Hopefully not in that order.”

  Aunt Allie laughs, and the sound of it echoes in the street. “Want another bit of advice.”

  “Not really.”

  “Stop listening to the news. Start living your life again. There are things you can do to start taking it back. Do them.”

  But I don’t even know what I want from my life anymore. Or how I can deal with what I did.

  chapter eleven

  On Friday night, I pull the car up to the address Casper gave me, a little surprised by the freakin’ mansion-ness of his home. It’s about the size of three houses and is built across a ridge, so the view of the mountains behind it is amazing. It’s even more gorgeous this time of year, with the reds and oranges on the trees. I turn off the ignition and sit in silence for a moment, studying the huge house, trying to imagine living in it.

  Finally, I grab my backpack and close the car door behind me. The age and condition of our car suddenly seems kind of embarrassing. As I walk, my boots crunch over leaves from the many trees on the lot. Raking must be a full-time job. Trees line both sides of a back yard that includes a full-size tennis court that seems small in the surroundings.

  I don’t want to be intimidated or impressed by the sheer size and cost of the house. Money shouldn’t make people seem better than those who don’t have as much, but it’s hard to remember that while staring up at such a majestic building. I feel like I’m wearing a ratty bathing suit in a room full of girls in expensive prom dresses.

  Inhaling deeply, I focus on the slightly sweet scent of decaying leaves drifting to the ground to rot in the gusts of wind. The little girl inside me wants to stretch my arms out and twirl around. It’s my favorite time of year, even though it means that the dampness and cold of winter is around the corner.

  I think how Alex will never have the luxury of a gray, soulless, cloudy day, and I close my eyes and breathe in and out through my nose slow and deep, the way Bob’s been teaching me.

  “You okay?” a voice calls.

  I open my eyes and see Casper looking tiny in the doorway of the house, especially from the long brick driveway where I’m standing. I realize he must have been looking out the window, watching for me. Seen me hesitating.

  “Come on,” he yells. I scramble up the driveway, walking fast, but it takes a long time to reach him.

  He smiles and flicks his hair as I approach, and I push at my braid as the wind whips it into my mouth.

  “Wow,” I manage, wanting to pretend I’m cool and used to this. “Wow,” I repeat, not able to pull it off.

  “Yeah. What can you do?” He lifts his shoulder as his gaze goes from one side of his house to the other. “My parents invested in tech
nology back in the nineties and got out just in time. You should see my mom’s house, where I live the other half of my time.” He grins and makes a silly face, and it’s slightly charming. Some of my unease fades. “They have a competition going.” He holds the door for me. I step inside and am reminded of fancy museums. The entranceway has huge ceilings, tile floors, and lots of echoic space. There are no framed family pictures or even piles of books or bills on end tables. It’s spotless and organized and makes me want to whisper, like a show home for pretend people who never make messes.

  I slip my shoes off and adjust my backpack strap on my shoulder, wishing I’d worn something a little fancier than yoga pants and a hoodie. Casper has on jeans and a polo shirt. I guess this is his casual look.

  “You mind working upstairs?” he asks. “In my room?”

  “Um. No.” I look around, expecting his parents to come out to meet me.

  “My dad and stepmom aren’t home,” he supplies. “They’re at a party.”

  “Oh.”

  “Poor little rich boy,” he says. “Left all alone.”

  I’m not sure where to look or what to say.

  “Don’t look so sad, Sam, I’m just kidding.” He laughs. “And Theresa is here.”

  I don’t ask who Theresa is, assuming she’s a maid or cook or something.

  “You’re quite safe, don’t look so uneasy.”

  “It’s just that your house is so…”

  “Big?” he supplies.

  “Yeah. That. And…”

  “Expensive?” he says.

  I nod again, trying to shake off my feelings of inadequacy.

  “It’s just a house.” He waves his hand at the vast hallway that leads to a spiral staircase. “Theresa promised to bring up some food and drinks in a while. She wants to check you out.”

  “Who’s Theresa?” Curiosity gets the better of me as he leads me down a huge hallway, past a dining room with dark wooden chairs lining each side and a fancy table with vases of fresh flowers on them.

  “Family,” he says as we reach a huge spiral stairway.

  “Wow,” I say again, and we tromp up the stairs and weave down another long hall, past a couple of closed doors, and then he leads me into his bedroom. I step inside and glance around. It’s the size of our entire top floor at home, and it’s nothing like I’d expect a boy’s room to look. No posters of rock bands or girls in bikinis, no clothes on the floor. There’s nothing personal about this room either. It could belong to anyone. For some reason, it makes me a little sad for Casper.

  The floor is dark wood, and there’s a king-size bed on the opposite end from the door. It’s covered by a comforter with gray and black geometric shapes that looks fluffy and pricey. To the far right is an archway leading to a bathroom that makes Dad’s look like a dollhouse. The curtains on his window match the comforter. I’ll bet it’s the work of a professional designer. I think of my own room, with posters of Rebecca Soni and the Olympic Swim Team on the wall and my bulletin board of swimming awards. Clothes piled everywhere. Mayhem.

  Casper points to the left, where there’s a sitting area with two black leather couches and, pressed against the wall, an office desk. It’s perfectly neat, with a laptop on it.

  “Cool spread,” I say trying to sound like the coldness and sheer size are wonderful.

  “You get used to it.” His voice is nonchalant.

  “So,” he says and points to a couch. “1984. You need to plug in?”

  “Yes.” I slip my laptop out of my backpack, and he points to an outlet. I plug in and sit. While the machine I’ve had since middle school is firing up, I glance around. Casper pulls his Mac from the desk, moves to the couch, and puts his feet up on the coffee table.

  “We’re going to ace this thing,” he says.

  I don’t respond, but I want to ask him if working with me and getting a good grade is more important to him than Alex’s memory.

  A light tapping behind us startles me.

  A striking woman steps into the room, holding a tray. Or is she a girl? It’s impossible to tell her age, and I stare at her, because it’s weird to have such a beautiful person breathe the same air as me.

  “Hi, Theresa,” Casper doesn’t look up as he types something on his keyboard. “This is Samantha Waxman. Samantha. This is Theresa.”

  “Hello, Samantha.” Her mouth widens, but her eyes don’t smile. She glides forward and places a tray on the coffee table between us. She’s brought us four cans of soda and one plate of oversized muffins, and another plate with an assortment of fruit.

  “Sam,” I manage, but her beauty steals my ability to say more.

  “Casper said you were very smart. He didn’t mention you were pretty too.”

  My cheeks warm. Me pretty? She could be on the cover of Vogue.

  “I would have said she was pretty, but you’d accuse me of being shallow. Again. I like Sam for her brains. Her looks are merely a bonus.” His voice is affectionate and teasing. “And stop giving away all my secrets.”

  “Not all of them, Casper,” she says, talking as if he’s a little boy, but one she’s fond of. “The muffins are nut free,” she says, and I realize she knows exactly who I am.

  “Don’t make a mess, you know how Mavis gets.” She smiles at me. “Not you. Casper. He’s a slob.” She smiles again, but it’s not warm. “I’m going out,” she says, and slips out the door, leaving a floral scent in the air.

  “I am not a slob,” he calls, but she’s gone. Based on his room, I’d have to agree. He looks at me. “I’m actually pretty clean. I mean, for a guy, you know. Not a neat freak or anything”

  I hold in a smile. It’s kind of funny that he’s defending himself both about not being a slob and about being a slob. As if he can’t decide which one is worse.

  “Theresa is beautiful,” I say and eye the muffins. Even if she’s not tactful. My appetite is returning. I’m not sure it’s a good thing, but I’m starving.

  Casper lifts a shoulder and gestures to the tray. “Take one.”

  “You said she’s a relative?”

  “Long story. Kind of a sister.” Casper grabs a muffin, takes a bite, and brushes his crumbs to the floor. He glances down and bends to pick them up, then looks at me, straightens his back, and sits up, leaving them on the floor. I notice him look down again, but he doesn’t touch them. It’s none of my business what his messed-up relationship with crumbs is.

  I pluck a muffin from the tray, rip off a chunk, and wolf it down. Casper watches me and grins. “You eat. Another thing I love about you.”

  I chew, suddenly self-conscious, and the muffin lumps up in my throat. “You love that I eat?” I ask.

  “Well. You know. Most girls are all, ‘oh I can’t eat that, I’m on a diet.’” His high-pitched voice goes even higher imitating a girl. “When they weigh, like, ten pounds. You don’t pretend not to like food.”

  I shrug, not wanting to think about the reason I’ve always been able to throw back a lot of food. Swimming burns a lot of calories.

  “I like a lot of things about you,” he says.

  Whoa, this boy has guts. His forwardness unnerves me. I can tell I’m not the love of his life or anything, but he’s good at flirting. I put the muffin on the tray, take a can of soda, and pop the lid, rationalizing what is happening. Casper is cute. He’s being nice to me, but I’m definitely not crazy over him either. Not like with Zee. I swallow, wondering about attraction and how it works. Why Zee? What decides who people fall for? Is it only based on looks? Personality? Or is there some connection in previous lives, like Aunt Allie believes?

  “So are you back to swimming yet?” Casper asks.

  I put the soda down. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “What about you?” I ask instead of answering. “What’s y
our sport?”

  “I play football, but I dislocated my shoulder.” He rubs it, moving his fingers in a circular motion. “I need to get back, especially for college applications. Ivy League calls. Oh. I also do some free running. With Zee and Alex.”

  I stiffen as if he’s thrown cold water in my face.

  “Sorry,” he says softly. He gets up and sits beside me on the couch. “Sometimes I still forget about Alex.”

  I keep my gaze down, refusing to look at him. “I don’t know how you can be nice to me.” I focus on the coffee table and blink and blink and blink.

  “It was an accident.” His leg presses up against mine. It’s muscular, but mine is too and almost bigger than his. “He’s not the kind of guy who would want you to suffer because of it.” His voice is almost a whisper. “I mean, he wasn’t.”

  “Under the circumstances, he might.” I sniff, and my nose accidentally drips. It should be mortifying but, how can I really care?

  “No. He wouldn’t,” he says. He gets up and snags a box of Kleenex that I can’t help notice matches his décor. I try to wipe up the mess on my face as best as I can. My eyes aren’t leaking, but my nose makes up for it.

  He sits down on the couch, but not so close he’s touching me this time.

  “It was really bad luck,” Casper says softly.

  “Luck? I only kissed him to—” I stop, realizing I’m about to say something I’ll regret later. “I’m a mess,” I point out, but it’s not like he didn’t notice that already.

  “Why did you kiss him?” he asks quietly.

  I shake my head. I won’t admit the truth.

  “Alex thought you had a thing for Zee,” he adds.

  I crumple into myself a bit. Shake my head. “Zee hates me.”

  Casper slides closer and puts his arm around me and pulls me close. “Zee is kind of an ass. He’s pissed at everyone right now. Don’t let him get to you.”

  Yeah, and I’m at the top of his hate list. Casper slides his hand under my chin and turns my head toward him. His fingers are strong, but I move my chin away. I can only imagine how blotchy my skin looks. Red eyes. Red nose. A beauty queen.