by Ciara Smyth
“Why am I even up here?” I said indignantly. “Why didn’t you do it yourself?”
“I don’t know. I mean, you offered. I didn’t think it would be that difficult and then when you were trying so hard I felt too bad to say anything.”
I pressed my lips together and prayed for patience.
“I can see what you mean, though,” she said thoughtfully. “That’s quite the drop.” She rubbed her chin.
“Right, so we should find another way. We could fashion some kind of cat-trapping device.”
At that moment the kitten gave a loud meow of protest.
The girl shook her head and said matter-of-factly, “We’re going to have to jump.”
“You’re kidding,” I said.
She shook her head again.
“Hello? We’ll break something.” I put my hand on her arm to try to shake her out of this absurd determination to jump. She ignored me and stood, hands on hips like a superhero, surveying the distance.
Well, I wasn’t going to be dragged down with her.
“How about this,” I said. “You jump. And I’ll go back down this way and just sort of hang out and wait for you there.” I pointed at the relative safety of Oliver’s garden.
Why on earth was I even doing this totally unnecessary thing for a girl I had just met? (I mean, you know why, obviously. She was hot, and I was weak and pathetic, and the sensible part of my brain turned off, and all I could think about was (1) what it might be like to kiss someone with a lip ring, (2) if she had any other piercings, and (3) whether she’d let me find out.)
“I really think it’s only fair if we both jump,” she said seriously, rubbing her chin again. She shook her left foot and then her right as though she was limbering up. I put my hand on her arm to get her attention, but she still didn’t look at me. I wasn’t jumping. Nope. No way.
If I could get her to look me in the eye I knew I could convince her this was a bad idea.
She locked eyes with me then, with a glint in her eye that made me wobble precariously.
“Fine,” I said, admitting defeat.
She grabbed my hand and I felt a tingle up my arm.
“One,” she said, and squeezed my hand tight. “Two.”
“Maybe it isn’t a good idea to do this holding h—”
“Three!”
The girl jumped. I hesitated. Of course, she was still holding my hand, so I was dragged right into the air.
I landed faceup in a rosebush, groaning. Somehow, magically, the girl was standing upright, a gray kitten in her arms, and peering down at me. She looked almost confused about how I’d ended up like this. When I look back on it, I’m sure I lost consciousness for a few seconds.
“I’m gonna be picking thorns out of my bum for a month,” I groaned. Even as I lay there, I knew the alcohol was numbing most of the pain and I’d really feel it tomorrow.
The gray kitten meowed loudly and wriggled in the girl’s arms.
“Well, at least you got your cat,” I said, finally struggling to get up.
“About that . . .” she said, not quite meeting my eye. “It’s not exactly my cat.”
“What?!”
“So I saw her, in the garden, from the window,” she said, and pointed at one of the windows of Oliver’s house. “I thought she was lost. I came down to get her and she skittered under the bush.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, but she continued anyway.
“I was afraid she’d be out here alone all night and scared. She looked so tiny.” The girl lifted the kitten’s paw and moved it so it looked like the kitten was waving at me.
“Don’t be cross, drunk girl,” the “kitten” said in a surprisingly gruff voice.
I sighed and dusted myself off a little. I was now bleeding and covered in soil that smelled a little like the neighbors might use manure as a fertilizer. I figured my chances of kissing her in this state were rapidly dwindling.
“Well, she has a collar, so at least we can get her home, I suppose.”
“Um . . . yeah. About that.”
“I’m really starting to not like when you say that.”
“So according to this collar, she lives . . . here.” The girl spread her hands, indicating the very property we were currently trespassing on, and she bit her lip, waiting for my reaction.
“So basically by coming in here we have broken into the neighbors’ garden and tried to steal their cat?”
“Yes.” She nodded in agreement. “Basically.”
I made her say goodbye to the kitten and she kissed her on top of her fluffy head. I couldn’t bring myself to the same level of affection, but I patted the kitten on the head, and we stood side by side, watching it scamper off into the dark.
“Sorry you got hurt,” she said, turning her body toward me, her face level with mine, eyes wide and cheeks flushed.
“It’s not your fault.”
“It is.” She pushed a strand of hair back from my face. My breath caught.
“Yeah, I know.”
She looked at me, and the moment seemed to close in around us, dark and enveloping like a blanket.
Then a bright spotlight shone between us. Patio lights from the house. Instinctively I pulled the girl into the shadows as the owner of the house stepped out into his back garden.
“Who’s out there?” a sharp voice called out. “Marian, those bloody kids are at it again. Leave my fish alone.”
We stealthed our way around the side of the house, trying not to laugh too loud.
When we got back to the party, we lingered around the bottom of the staircase.
“Do you think I should be a vet?” the girl asked, out of the blue. “I mean I love animals, but there seems to be a lot of vet finger to pet butt action involved. But maybe I’d get used to that? Do you think I’d be good at it?”
“I don’t know you,” I said.
“Oh. Yeah.”
I wanted to ask if she wanted to get a drink, but we had already established that she didn’t, and even though the outdoor excursion had kind of sobered me up, I didn’t feel like getting drunk anymore. I bit my lip, trying to figure out some way to ask if she wanted to go somewhere alone that wasn’t too keen or embarrassing.
“Do you want to come up to my room?” the girl asked brightly, pointing upstairs. “We should really get you out of that filthy top.”
For a second she had a mischievous twinkle in her eye, the same one I saw on top of the wall. I felt the wobble again even though I was on solid ground this time.
“I’ll lend you a clean one,” she added, as innocent as apple pie.
3.
With her bedroom door closed, the noise of the party was faint and I couldn’t help but marvel at the difference. I could hear my dad cough in his bedroom if I was in the kitchen, but in here, even the end of the world would be muffled by the thick walls and doors. There was a sports bag on the floor with clothes spilling out of it, and the bed was unmade with rumpled sheets. The curtains were drawn and the girl turned on a bedside lamp. Mood lighting. I was onto a winner.
She rummaged around in the bag on the floor, throwing a pair of shoes in the corner and setting a bag of penny bubble gums on the bed. She found a plain T-shirt and tossed it at me.
I hesitated, not confident about unleashing my nakedness at this early stage, but the girl turned around to give me some privacy and I changed as quickly as possible.
“Are you decent?” she asked.
“Just about.”
“What about your cut?” She grabbed the gum before settling cross-legged on the bed.
“It’s fine.” It stung, but I didn’t want to leave the room to clean up.
“Pink or blue?” She peered into the bag.
“What flavor are they?”
“Pink flavor or blue flavor.”
“Of course. Pink, then.”
I perched on the end of the bed beside her and unwrapped my gum. It came with a temporary tattoo of the Road Runner.
&nb
sp; “Just what I always wanted. The Road Runner on my butt. The ultimate symbol of good taste.”
The girl laughed. “It’s your lucky day then.”
I peeled the plastic off the transfer and stuck it to my shoulder. Getting my butt out at this early stage would have felt kind of forward. She dampened a cotton pad with water from a glass at her bedside and held it over the paper.
I know it doesn’t sound like a scene from a romance novel, the kind with intense sweaty people on the cover, but when her fingers pressed against my skin, I felt wobbly again. It was like a current in my body had switched on. She leaned in close enough that I could count the freckles on her nose. Her eyes bored into mine, creamy brown ones framed by spidery black lashes.
She set the glass on the floor. There was barely space for light between us. Normally I am not shy about going in for a kiss, but for some reason, I was nervous. It felt different. Maybe I was imagining the tension, though it felt like you could almost see it in the air, like visible static between our bodies. I was almost sure this girl was a girl who was into other girls.
A little voice in my head reminded me that was against my rule. There was a whole addendum for it.
I thought about leaving.
“Your tattoo is really hot,” she said.
“The Road Runner has that effect on girls.” My words were nonchalant, but I was sure she’d be able to see my heart beating faster. She didn’t reply. She bit her lip, her lip ring disappearing into her mouth. Vaguely in the background, I was aware of the thumping noise downstairs, but the room was a bubble getting smaller and smaller until it was just the two of us. She didn’t move away. She ran her finger over my new tattoo and anything I might have said got caught in my throat.
“Are you going to kiss me?” she asked softly.
“I don’t even know your name,” I teased.
“Ruby.”
I couldn’t help but smile before I leaned in. I wondered if she could feel it in the kiss. Her lips were soft and parted already; her tongue tasted like bubble gum and Sprite. I could feel her lip ring, but it didn’t get in the way like I thought it might. My body twisted toward hers; her hands found my waist on one side and my neck on the other. It wasn’t like kissing those other girls. The ones who were tentative and giggling or the ones who went full force on my mouth but left their hands limp at their sides because my body didn’t interest them. I forgot what it was like to be kissed by someone who might want more than a kiss. I knew then that Ruby was definitely not experimenting. I should have been scared. I should have left the room. I should never have gone upstairs with a girl who made me wobble.
I told myself I could have this, just for now, and it wouldn’t hurt to let it go.
She pulled away, not so far that I couldn’t still feel her breath on my lips. The question in her eyes was, What more do you want? I answered by pushing her back on the bed and kissing her again, not just with my mouth but my whole body, hands exploring the dips and curves, our bodies settling into a rhythm, a delicious friction until we were breathless.
We didn’t “do it,” if that’s what you’re thinking. Not that I didn’t want to. I was a ball of energy ready to explode at the slightest touch (that’s a euphemistic metaphor for the prudish at heart in case you were wondering). I don’t know if she wanted more, but neither of us tried to remove any clothing or put hands or mouths anywhere . . . strategic (I’m trying not to be vulgar here, I hope you appreciate it). As much as I would have liked to do those things, I have a confession: I haven’t done those things before. Everyone assumed Hannah and I had sex because we were together so long, but she wanted to wait and so we waited. We waited until she realized she didn’t want to do anything with me at all.
Waking up the next morning with a groggy head, dry mouth, and bruised lips, but fully clothed, I was grateful we hadn’t gone too far. The memory of her body on mine felt like a tangible imprint on my skin. But I felt guilty too. My rule was just for me, of course, but it was important and I had the feeling I might have done the wrong thing.
Nothing a fry-up and a shower wouldn’t fix.
Ruby lay on her side, facing me, her hair sticking out in every direction and her lips as pink and tender-looking as mine felt. I didn’t know whether to wake her before I left. What would I say? I’m off now, thanks for the groping and inadvertent cat theft? If I left without saying anything then I’d be a cliché who sneaks out of the room because they’re too studly to cope.
The first option was uncomfortable, but the second one was downright pathetic, so I nudged her awkwardly until her eyes flickered open. I ignored how my heart sped up when she blinked a few times and fixed her brown eyes on me.
“I have to go now,” I said, pointing at the door for no reason at all. She rubbed her eyes and yawned before answering.
“Last night was fun.” A flirtatious note in her voice made me want to get back into her bed and do it all over again.
Full awareness of my morning breath kept me strong.
“It was. Er . . . my name is Saoirse, by the way.”
“I know.”
“How?” I couldn’t remember telling her my name and I really hoped that wasn’t an effect of the vodka because social binge drinking was one thing but blackouts were another matter.
“I asked who the girl nicking the vodka from the freezer was.”
She had asked about me. I tried to arrange my face to look like pretty girls asked about me all the time.
“By the way, it’s my birthday next week. We’re just having dinner here, but you should come.”
Most people would be embarrassed to invite someone they’d only just met to their birthday party. It screamed desperate. And yet Ruby didn’t look desperate or embarrassed. She looked like she was honoring me with an invite and yes or no would both be perfectly acceptable answers.
It took so long for me to say anything, she started to talk again.
“It’s Friday at eight. I can’t promise a wild night, but I can promise food. I think I heard my aunt talking about catering,” she said, rolling her eyes.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see her ever again. But if I went to this dinner, would she think we were a thing? Would going to the dinner mean that we were a thing? A thing was a precursor to a relationship. I’d already broken part of my rule by kissing her in the first place. I couldn’t go on a big rule-breaking frenzy and start a summer fling like some kind of maverick, consequences be damned.
“Um, I’m not sure. I’d have to check that my dad didn’t have other plans for us. Is that OK?”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
She didn’t even seem to realize I was making an excuse. Or maybe she did and she just didn’t care? I was confused. Did she like me or not? Did she want me to come or not? Why did I even care?
I tripped over her sports bag on my way to the door. Somewhere in all the confusion, I had lost my balance.
I was almost out the door when her phone rang and she sprang up.
“Mum? Is everything OK?” She sounded panicked. I paused, one hand on the filigreed brass doorknob.
“OK, no, I’m fine. It’s just it’s early there and I thought you were calling because something was wrong.”
I couldn’t conceivably hang around any longer without blatantly eavesdropping, so I turned the handle and stepped out of the room.
I stood on the landing of the Quinn house, getting my bearings. Why did she sound so worried on the phone? Why was her mum in a different time zone? And what about dinner? Should I have told her I wasn’t going to go?
My brain was swimming with questions. It was my own fault. I should have stuck to kissing straight girls. When I kissed them there were no questions because I was careful. Be up front about what you’re offering. Don’t get involved with anyone who might expect something more than what you are willing to give. That was important. Sure, I’d never said I was going to date Ruby or anything, but maybe I’d given her the wrong idea.
And yet i
n spite of my guilt, I couldn’t quite bring myself to feel the regret I was telling myself I should feel.
The house was quiet and my boots left grooves deep in the carpet on the stairs. I stepped over a body on the stairs and braced myself for sticky floors, empty bottles, beer cans strewn about, and the smell of a hundred sweaty, hormonal teenagers lingering in the air. But the sun that streamed through the windows shone on a pristine home you could use in an advert for cleaning sprays and furniture polish. Why did the magical cleaning pixies never come to my bedroom and sort out the pile of clothes under the bed?
I found said cleaning pixies in the kitchen, a team of brightly dressed women with rubber gloves, packing up supplies while Oliver handed over a wad of cash.
“Where did you come from?” Oliver smirked when he saw me.
“Oh, you know, around.”
I took a crystal tumbler from a cupboard that had definitely been empty last night and poured myself a glass of water from the tap. Oliver opened the fridge and handed me a chilled plastic bottle and put his hand out for my glass.
“Thanks, Oliver.” I grinned earnestly and put the bottle in my bag while sipping from the glass.
“See, I think you were with Ruby,” he said, tapping his fingers against the counter. “Which means you officially have to stop being pissed at me for stealing your girlfriend.”
“Oliver, first off, gross, you don’t own your cousin, and I especially hope that you don’t have the same feelings for her that I had for sweet, beautiful Gracie Belle Corban.”
“Circarelli.”
“Whatever. Besides, I’m over it. I just don’t like you.”
“You don’t like anyone.”
“Well, sure, I’m not suggesting you’re special or anything.” I put the glass down with a deliberate bang that made Oliver wince.
“Why is she here anyway?” I tried to sound casual. I mean, I was casual. What difference would the answer make to me? I was only making conversation.
Oliver gave me a withering look. “You two really didn’t talk at all, did you? Ask her yourself.”
I shrugged like I didn’t care enough to ask. Which obviously I didn’t. Because I didn’t ask.