“Charlie, I’m so happy for you,” she says, and I can tell she really is.
“Thanks, Amelia. I’m pretty happy, too.”
“But I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.” Her voice sounds a little wounded.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I wanted to, but I was just…nervous, I guess.”
“Yeah, but that’s what I’m here for! So you can tell me you’re nervous and I can assure you it’ll be fine.”
“I know, I know. Sorry.”
She sighs. “You better be.” Then she pauses and asks, “So?”
“So?” I repeat.
“So, tell me about today! You’re meeting him soon. Where?”
“At the Spring Festival downtown. He texted me to say his parents have a booth. So I’ll meet him there.”
Amelia squeals, and I feel both grateful to be sharing this with her and a bit remorseful that I boxed her out last night. “I want to meet you there. Not go with you, but just, like, casually bump into you. I’ll bring Kira so it’s not a big deal. I just…I want to see you two together. Like, together-together.”
“Okay, but no ogling!”
“Promise,” she says.
“Meet me there around two. Sound good?”
“Yes. Text you when I get there.”
I’m with a boy at the Spring Festival.
That’s a thing I can say now. If I run into anyone from school, who’s like, Hey, Charlie, how are you? I get to say, Oh, you know, good, but have you met this boy right here?
And then I get to show off Brian, who manages to be hot and cute at the same time! Who has eyes you can get lost in! And bone structure celebrities would envy! And arm muscles that make you think he could maybe weight-lift a car just for fun! And a crooked smile that feels like it’s just for me!
Sigh. I’m not swooning. You’re swooning.
But he looks totally adorable standing there at his parents’ booth, where they’re selling birdhouses, and I get to help manage the table. You know. As the girl he’s here with. We haven’t had many customers, but lots have stopped to look. Behind the table, Brian has made a game of subtly using his pinky to reach out for mine, and each time they finally connect it feels like a jolt of electricity. It leaves me wondering over and over: When will we kiss?!
I don’t even mind when Amelia and Kira drop by the table and ogle, making it painfully obvious they’re here just to check out the two of us together. I make a show of shooing them away, but let’s be real, I was into it.
Brian says we won’t stay much longer, that we can walk around the festival soon. Truthfully, though, I wouldn’t mind if we stayed at the table all day because that would mean I’d be sitting right here with him.
“So, how did you get into making birdhouses?” I ask Brian’s parents.
“Oh, gosh.” Susan looks at Maura. “It’s been forever.”
Maura nods. “We actually started making them together when we first started dating.”
“Maybe on our third date?” Susan offers. “Either way, we started building them together. It just became a thing we did.”
“If I’m honest, it was my suggestion. I was terrified our second date didn’t go well and I wanted to have something concrete planned,” Maura says, a wistful look taking over her face, as if remembering the beginnings of her and Susan.
Susan laughs. “You never told me that! Why birdhouses?”
Maura looks at her and smiles. “It was something I knew how to make, and I wanted to impress you.”
“Well, it worked.” To me, Susan says, “It brought us even closer together. Especially when I would get a splinter and need Maura’s help getting it out.”
“So many splinters,” Maura teases.
Brian’s rolling his eyes, but only so I can see. I think the story is cute, though, and I find myself smiling at it.
The giddy feeling from yesterday is still pinging around my insides, amplified by the fact that it’s a gorgeous day. The festival is a quirky annual event that always brings good vibes, mostly because it’s held on the first beautiful weekend of the season. After a long winter of slush and cold and misery, some time outside in the crisp air, looking up at the blue skies, knowing that the trees will soon be in full bloom, is exactly what we all need.
The festival is mostly meant to raise money for the town and some of its small-business owners; they ask for residents like Maura and Susan to set up tables and sell their wares. Residents pay a small fee to have a table, and whatever they earn is their money.
Most people at my school think the Spring Festival is passé; they show up at the end of the night, maybe sneak some booze, and make fun of everyone there. But I like it. The colors are soft and there are flowers everywhere and it always feels like it’s ushering in a new season full of possibility. Plus, I like to go and look at all of the items that have been lovingly created by my neighbors—like these birdhouses.
“I love that story,” I say to Brian’s parents. “And I’d like to buy one.”
Susan looks touched. “You would?”
“You don’t have to buy one, Charlie. You can just have one,” Maura says.
Brian chimes in. “Seriously, Charlie. Just take one.”
I shake my head. “I want to pay. You’ve put your hard work into it.” I take my time looking at each birdhouse before carefully selecting one that looks like a cute suburban home with a picket fence. “This one.”
Susan smiles. “That’s a good one.”
It’s thirty dollars, but I feel like it’s the best thirty dollars I could’ve spent at this festival.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Brian says, nodding toward the main street.
“Okay,” I say, waving at his parents, birdhouse in hand.
We walk along the street, taking everything in: the craft booths, food stands, organizations trying to solicit new members, volunteer groups trying to get the word out about their cause.
“You know…,” I say to Brian, “one time, when I was a kid, my parents brought me here and I stumbled across a table that was selling personalized bookmarks made from popsicle sticks. The woman behind the table would ask your name and then she’d write it in calligraphy on the painted popsicle stick. It cost, like, ten dollars or something, but I begged and begged my dad until he relented. I still have that bookmark somewhere.”
“Ten dollars for a popsicle stick? You got robbed, kid,” Brian says.
“But it had my name and there was even a little sunflower embellishment glued to the end of it. I felt like that made up for the cost.” I look at him for added effect when I ask, “Don’t you, Tig?”
He wrinkles his nose at his nickname. Then he says, “If it meant a lot to you, I think it was worth the ten bucks.”
I smile at that. I smile even bigger when Brian reaches out and grabs my hand. “Is this okay?” he asks.
After a whole afternoon of almost-but-not-really-holding-hands, it’s the most welcome feeling in the world. “Of course.”
We walk down Main Street hand in hand. It feels like something out of a fairy tale. Minus the birdhouse. I don’t think I ever imagined holding hands with a boy while also holding a birdhouse. But it’s perfect.
“So, yesterday was fun,” Brian says.
“Yeah, it was. That was a great idea.”
“Did you like the movie?”
I briefly consider lying and saying yes. But then I say, “It was good, but…I was struggling to focus.”
A smirk from him. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”
I laugh a little, embarrassed. “Well. You were holding my hand.” I steal a glance over at him, and now he’s smiling big.
“You liked that?” he asks.
“Don’t,” I tease. “Don’t get all weird!”
“What? I can’t be a little into the fact that you were a little into the handholding?” He’s still grinning.
I hold up our interlocked hands. “I’m holding your hand now and behaving like a perfect lady. Not at all distracted.”<
br />
I don’t want to admit out loud that I like how natural our hands feel together. Our fingers twine and it’s like they were meant to fit into each other.
He stops walking suddenly. Then he gets a look like he’s up to something. “Follow me,” he says. And he starts walking really fast, pulling me along behind him.
“Where are we going?” I ask as we leave Main Street.
“You’ll see,” he says. We take a left, then a right, and I’m following him excitedly, not really caring where we end up, caring only that he wants to be with me, and only me. “Here,” he says finally.
We’re behind the library, which is closed today to accommodate the festival, so it’s completely deserted. I’ve never paid much attention to what it looks like, but today, I notice the intricate stonework that makes up the façade; the arched windows; and the steeple on the roof, which gives it a churchy feel. I realize that this building I’ve visited literally hundreds of times is actually really beautiful—especially where Brian and I are standing, in a grassy area beside the back entrance.
“What’s here?” I ask, glancing around, noting only the weathered wooden bench, the budding trees that sway in the spring breeze.
“Us.” And he says it so simply that it nearly sucks the breath out of me.
My eyes meet his. “Us,” I whisper.
“Yes.” He’s facing me, looking right at me. I wish I could see what he sees. I know what I see: a beautiful boy, slightly taller than me so I have to look up at him, just so full of kindness and laughter, who is slowly starting to take up space inside my heart. He pushes a curly strand of hair out of my face, his fingers grazing against my skin, leaving goose bumps.
“Oh,” I say, softly, barely audible.
Brian steps closer to me. “Oh,” he whispers. We’re standing closer than ever before. It feels like something.
And then—he leans toward me.
It’s that moment. The moment. The moment before the kiss, the one I’ve been waiting for. My breath catches in my throat.
I feel my heart beating inside my chest. I feel the blood pumping through my veins. I feel the warmth of his breath before I feel his lips on mine. I feel, I feel, I feel—and then I feel our lips meet. And my heart bursts.
It’s the sweetest, gentlest kiss. The softest.
I’ve been kissed. My first. It’s just.
Oh.
It’s everything, even if it’s just a moment.
Brian pulls back the smallest bit, leaving our noses touching. My eyes are closed. I’m scared to open them for fear this will all be part of my imagination—that my dreams have gotten so good that they feel real, even when they’re not.
I can’t help it; I sigh.
Brian strokes my cheek. “I should have done that yesterday,” he says softly.
“It was worth the wait,” I whisper.
I want to live in this moment forever. Birdhouse in hand and all.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I’ve realized I was wrong.
The moment before the kiss isn’t the best part of a kiss. Don’t get me wrong: it’s pretty goddamn amazing.
But after an evening of kissing with Brian at the Spring Festival, I now know that the kissing is the best part of a kiss.
I spend most of my time thinking about how badly I’d rather be kissing Brian than doing anything else, like going to school.
But that’s okay. Because Brian is waiting for me at my locker on Monday morning when Amelia and I walk in. Like he and I are a couple or something. His face brightens when he sees me and I’m sure mine brightens when I see him, too. How could it not?
“Hi,” I say.
“Hi,” he says, leaning in to give me a quick kiss on the lips. Because we have different kinds of kisses now. Long kisses and short kisses, quick pecks on the lips. I am collecting all of these kisses. I could write a whole book on these kisses.
“Hi,” Amelia says, waving at us both and reminding us she’s there, too.
“Hey, Amelia,” Brian replies. To me, he asks, “How was the drive in?” Maybe an awkward question, but I kind of love that he doesn’t always have the right thing to say. Like maybe I make him a little nervous, too.
“It was good,” I reply, trying to open my locker. I mess up the combination, though, because I keep sneaking glances at him. When I finally get it open, I start to put my bag on the floor so I can unzip it and unload some of my books, but Brian offers to hold it. It’s such a couple thing to do. I say yes.
“I’m going to head to class,” Amelia says. “See you later?”
“Yes, definitely,” I say, though I’m grateful to be left alone with Brian. Once she’s gone, I look at him and give him my best coy smile. “Last night was good.”
He pulls me a little closer to him and smiles. “Yes. Really good. You want to hang out again tonight?”
“Yes,” I say, before remembering I’ve made plans. “Only I can’t. I’m going to Amelia’s.”
Brian looks a little disappointed but doesn’t say so. “Okay. Tomorrow?”
I nod enthusiastically. “Yes. Tomorrow!”
“Can I walk you to class?”
“Please,” I say, holding out my hand for him to take. He does, interlocking his fingers with mine. We start to walk down the hall. “You know, people will think we’re together now.”
“Well, we are, aren’t we?” Brian asks.
My heart flutters at that. I actually think that sentence in my head, too—My heart flutters—because I’ve only dealt with romance through writing for so long that I want to savor all these feelings I’ve only ever written about. I feel like I’m a character straight from a romance novel and I really, really like it.
I squeeze his hand. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”
In English class, I can barely focus. It’s giddiness. Again. But at least I get to let it all out during the free-write.
It’s during the rest of the class that I sort of drift off, spending most of my time gazing out of the window. It’s not like I’m at the level of doodling my name as Mrs. Brian Park or anything, but I am definitely thinking about Brian. I’m thinking about his lips. His eyes. His hair. The kissing.
It’s only the voice of Ms. Williams that jolts me back to reality.
“How are you, Charlie?” she asks.
I glance around the classroom to realize I’m the last one left. I missed the bell.
“Good. Spacey, apparently.” I let out an embarrassed laugh and start tucking my notebook into my bag. Ms. Williams smiles.
Please don’t ask me about the writing contest. Please don’t ask me about the writing contest. Please don’t—
“So, have you had a chance to get started on your submission for that writing contest?”
Well. Shit.
Obviously I’ve gotten started on my submission. But my follow-through has been less than stellar, especially these past few weeks. I’ve been preoccupied. And procrastinating.
“I’ve definitely started,” I say. “It’s the finishing I’m having trouble with.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, maybe I can help,” Ms. Williams says. “Why don’t you send me what you have and I can offer some notes?”
“Really?” I ask.
“Of course. You have my email address. Try to send it before Friday and I’ll take a look this weekend.”
“That would be amazing, Ms. Williams,” I say, standing up and slinging my bag over my shoulder. “I will. Thank you!”
I make a mental note to get moving on my submission. During a really slow history class, I even pull up what I have on my phone and take a crack at it, but I really need some dedicated time and my writing nook, which unfortunately I won’t get until later tonight after I’m home from Amelia’s. She and I have promised each other some serious bonding time and that’s a promise I don’t want to break.
In between my next couple of classes, I find myself searching for Brian, who I haven’t seen since before homeroom. But no such luck. I don’t see
him again until the afternoon in art class.
“Hey, you,” he says when I walk into the classroom. He’s sitting at his table, already set up with a palette of paints.
“Hi, stranger,” I say. “Where were you at lunch?”
“Sometimes I come into the art room during my lunch period to work on some things,” he says, and then a grin slowly spreads across his face. “Why?” He reaches out and tugs on my shirt sleeve. “Did you miss me?”
I playfully pull my sleeve away from him but wish he’d grab at it again. “No. I was just wondering.”
“Well, Just Wondering, you should join me tomorrow. At lunch. It’ll be nice.”
“Yeah?” I pretend like I’m thinking it over, even though I’ve already made up my mind. “I guess I could probably use a little extra time to finish my horse painting, since I’ve been working on it for about a hundred years.”
“Hey, you said that. Not me.”
Mr. Reed walks into the classroom and I realize I should already have gathered my painting and supplies. Amelia’s sitting at our table and she’s already working on her piece.
“So?” Brian asks. “Lunch tomorrow?”
I grin. “Yes. Definitely.”
After school, I’m a smidge disappointed that I don’t have to work. It would have been nice to see Brian, maybe goof off in the back together. Kiss. Definitely kiss. But instead I’m with Amelia at her house, and I remind myself that that’s a different kind of great.
We’ve got our homework spread out in front of us like we’re going to do it. But we’re obviously just going to talk instead.
“Did you and Kira have fun at the Spring Festival?” I ask.
Amelia’s all smiles at the question. “We did.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a Polaroid photo, which she hands to me. It’s her and Kira, both of them wearing flower crowns.
I can’t help but smile as I study it. “You two look happy.” I hand it back to her. “Really happy.”
Amelia looks down at it, then says, “I mean, I can’t speak for her, but…I am.” She looks up at me. “Can I be honest? I think…I think maybe what I felt with Sid wasn’t what I thought it was. I mean, I was infatuated with him, of course. But I don’t think it was love. With Kira, though, I think I really could fall in love. The real kind. Actually, truly.”
Fat Chance, Charlie Vega Page 21