First Kiss

by Richards

  I froze midstep. What were they doing together? The image of Jackson on Becca’s porch the other night flashed to mind. I should’ve plucked that chin hair when I had the chance. Could there really be something going on between them? First, they square-dance together in PE. Then they slow-dance together at the school dance. Then they ride on his church’s parade float in the festival parade. And now they were on the playground looking like a newly married couple. When I thought about it, Jackson had spent a lot more time with Becca than I had.

  As if to prove my point, she looked up at him and laughed, as if even his jokes were funnier. My stomach flipped over, climbed up my throat, and slapped my face from the inside.

  “C’mon,” I said. “Let’s get out of here before they see us.”

  “Don’t you want to go over there and say hi?”

  Ben could be such a naive idiot. “No, let’s get out of here.”

  My eyes stayed on the sidewalk until we got to Ben’s house.

  “What’s going on?” he asked once we were safely inside.

  “She dumped me for Jackson.”

  “What?”

  “Didn’t you see the way she was looking at him? And how he stood there looking all fatherly like they were discussing what to name their next child?”

  Ben led me to the fridge and got out two ice-cold root beers.

  “You might be overreacting a little bit. They were just standing on the playground talking.”

  “They were more than talking.”

  I tossed back a swig of the dark brew. Fizzing bubbles burned my throat as the sweet syrup slid down. Before long, I’d be lost in a sugar stupor. And then maybe I could forget, at least for a little while.

  “They were just standing there.”

  “I saw Jackson on Becca’s porch the other night.”

  Ben set his bottle down on the counter.

  “Hang on. What do you mean you saw Jackson on Becca’s porch? You didn’t tell me that.”

  “What was I supposed to do? Call you up and say, ‘Hey, Ben, thought you should know Jackson that giant gum wad is currently hanging out on Becca’s porch’?”

  “Yeah, that would’ve worked.”

  I lowered my root beer. Even with ice cream it’d never give me a sugar buzz big enough to forget what I’d seen. “Well, I didn’t, so shut up.”

  “It was probably nothing.”

  “It was probably everything.”

  “I’ll ask Kirsten.”

  “NO!”

  The last thing I needed was for Ben to go blabbering to his girlfriend about me being all paranoid. She’d tell Becca and then Becca would— What would Becca do? Confirm the rumor? Deny it? It didn’t matter. I knew what I’d seen with my own eyes. Why make things worse by triggering a chain of gossip bound to embarrass me even more? It was over, and I needed to face the truth of it.

  “Promise me you won’t say anything to Kirsten.”

  “Okay, okay, take it easy.”

  Yeah, right. You take it easy.

  The short walk home took forever. Mostly because my feet sunk into the sidewalk as I neared Becca’s house. What if they were inside? What if they saw me walking past and decided it was the perfect moment to announce their engagement? What if evil death monkeys fell from the sky, took me hostage, and forced me to watch the two of them holding hands by a crackling fire while sipping sparkling cider from matching crystal champagne glasses?

  No, I had not gone completely bat-poop crazy. Okay, yes, the zombie warlord had curled into the fetal position refusing to acknowledge me. And yes, a single tear may have gone rogue and made a mad dash for my chin. But, no, I had not gone crazy.

  And that’s when Becca’s father opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. No, he didn’t notice me. Except that he did. For a long moment, he stood and stared at the teary, mumbling crazy kid below on the sidewalk.

  “She’s not here,” he said at last.

  And then he turned and went back inside.

  Speaking of evil death monkeys.

  I arrived at work the next morning feeling about as awful as you’d expect after a fitful night of haunted dreams involving a werewolf, a chin-haired creature from the deep, and a fair-haired mermaid as lovely as she was cruel. In each nightmare, the fair-haired mermaid would call from somewhere far out at sea. I’d give in to the call and row out in a leaky rowboat only to discover a grumpy werewolf had joined me on the adventure. Every time the mermaid rose to the surface in greeting, the werewolf would howl, and then the creature from the deep would surface, grab one of the oars, and use it to bash the rowboat to smithereens. Then the three of them would swim off together, leaving me clinging to a chunk of waterlogged wood. Sweet dreams.

  The only saving grace was knowing Elsa would be waiting to console me. She had become like a big sister in the last few weeks. Someone I could talk to about things in a way I couldn’t with my parents or friends. Someone I could count on when times were tough. Someone who could bring the perspective I desperately needed, or at least a shoulder to lean on.

  “AHH, EVERYTHING’S RUINED!” Elsa wailed the moment I entered.

  So much for a shoulder to lean on.

  “What’s ruined?”

  She stumbled from behind the counter, her eyes wild.

  “EVERYTHING! IT’S ALL MY FAULT!”

  Her hands alternated between covering her eyes and clenching into fists.

  “I’M SUCH AN IDIOT, IDIOT, IDIOT! YOUR GRANDMOTHER’S GOING TO KILL ME!”

  By this point, I was totally confused and a tad bit frightened. I had seen people get upset, just yesterday I’d been a bit upset myself. But I’d never seen an adult have a complete meltdown. I approached her with my hands out in front of me like the park ranger in a documentary I once saw approaching a frightened wildebeest.

  “Elsa, take it easy,” I tried.

  She slumped back against the counter. Her outburst calmed to racking sobs.

  “I’m such an idiot,” she moaned. “Such a stupid freaking idiot.”

  Wow, and I thought I could be hard on myself. Cautiously, I sidled up next to the counter close enough to show support, but far enough away to stay outside her reach.

  “Elsa, what happened?”

  “This is what happened,” she said, pressing the play button on the store’s answering machine.

  Hi, Elsa. This is Brittany from Northwest Models. Thanks for your message last night. I’m sorry to say we’ll be unable to provide the models for your show this year. We never got the signed contract back, and our models are now booked for other events that weekend. Best of luck to you with the show. Hope we can work together again next year. Bye.

  Elsa pulled out a document from a folder labeled Fall Fashion Show and plopped it on the counter.

  “This is the contract they sent the day your grandmother broke her hip. I was supposed to sign it and send it back.”

  She sniffled, dabbing at both eyes.

  “But I was upset about your grandmother, and then I got caught up in all the other preparations.”

  The sniffling turned to more sobs.

  “And then Harley showed up, and asked me to his Fourth of July party, and then he brought me flowers, and I got all distracted and forgot to sign the contract and send it back. And now it’s too late, and the show is ruined, and it’s all my fault.”

  I wanted to tell her at least there wasn’t a grumpy werewolf haunting her dreams, but it didn’t seem like the time. “Are there other models you can get?”

  She blew her nose and tossed the tissue onto the growing mountain of other tissues in the garbage.

  “That’s all I’ve been doing since I got here. I’ve tried every modeling agency in the Seattle area. To them our little show is a joke. Only one would even give me a price, and it was outrageous. The store doesn’t have that kind of money. The show only happens because your grandmother and the owner of Northwest Models have been friends forever. She gives us a deal as a favor to support a local, wo
man-owned business. But I messed up and now everything’s ruined!”

  More sobbing ensued. I went so far as to pat her shoulder. A hug probably would have been appropriate, but I couldn’t bring myself to be that adultlike. The door opened, and Diane sauntered in wearing her sky-blue sweater and sporting a smile filled with summertime cheer.

  “How are my two favorite fashionistas?”

  The sobbing fountain formerly known as Elsa gave a weak wave. Diane stopped short.

  “Hang on a minute. What’s going on here?”

  She gave me a hip check that sent me sliding out of the way, then wrapped her arm around Elsa’s shoulders.

  “Does he have another girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “Involved in drugs?”

  “No.”

  “Doesn’t want a serious relationship?”

  Elsa dabbed at her eyes again.

  “It’s not about Harley.”

  “Oh. Your mom?”

  “No.”

  Diane turned her attention to me.

  “I’m out of ideas. What’s going on here?”

  “There’s a problem with the modeling agency for the fashion show,” I explained. “They can’t come this year.”

  “Because I messed up,” Elsa blurted. “It’s all my fault, and now the show is ruined.”

  Diane handed Elsa a tissue. “Oh, I see. Well, at least no one died or had their heart broken.”

  Elsa grunted. “This is what happens when I get involved with a man. My brain stops working right, and something bad happens. I should have known better than to let my feelings get in the way of my work.”

  Somehow that didn’t seem like an accurate depiction of what had gone down. Diane let out a laugh.

  “Honey, a man is like a sack of potatoes. Best kept in the cellar until you’re ready to toss ’em on the skillet, if you know what I mean.”

  That brought a giggle from Elsa for reasons no one seemed willing to explain.

  “When you gonna break the news to Rosemarie?” Diane asked.

  More tissues were called in to mop up the latest plumbing leak in Elsa’s face. At last she took a deep breath.

  “As soon as I find the courage.”

  Diane gave her shoulders another squeeze.

  “Take your time, honey. Take your time.”

  I got home that afternoon to find my mother busy in the kitchen packing a cooler.

  “Stu, your grandmother got out of the nursing home today. Your dad and I just got her settled in at her house. I’m putting together some frozen meals for her.”

  She handed me the cooler. It weighed more than my little brother.

  “I need you to take this cooler to her so I can get back to work. And I think she’d appreciate a visit.”

  Had my mother seen my biceps?

  “I can’t carry this all the way to her house. It weighs like five hundred pounds.”

  She sized me up with one of her famous where-did-I-go-wrong-as-a-parent? eye rolls.

  “Five hundred pounds is a bit of an exaggeration. You can use Tommy’s wagon if you like.”

  Seriously? She expected me to drag my little brother’s red wagon across town?

  “Can’t you just drive me there?”

  “No.”

  Negotiating with my parents is the worst. I ate a quick snack and then hitched myself to the wagon like a compliant ox heading out on the Oregon Trail. Actually, I pretty much just grabbed the handle with one hand and started pulling.

  “Have a safe trip,” my mother called as I plodded down the driveway.

  The slow journey to my grandmother’s house gave me time to contemplate whose life was more miserable: Elsa’s or mine. Elsa had just made arguably the worst mistake of her life. One that might send my grandmother’s store into a tailspin. I, on the other hand, was grinding my teeth away to the gums after realizing that the girl I liked was going out with the boy whose chin hair I hated most. So, which was worse? Being publicly ridiculed for ruining an annual tradition? Or being forced to watch Jackson and Becca laugh at each other’s jokes? The winner seemed obvious.

  About time the beads of sweat dripping off my forehead permanently blurred my vision, I pulled into my grandmother’s driveway and parked my brother’s cruddy wagon on the front lawn. The cooler banged against the door as I pushed it open.

  “Hi, Grandma!” I called.

  “I’m in the kitchen!” she called back.

  I found her whipping up a peanut butter sandwich.

  “Finally, I can make a meal for myself,” she commented.

  The cooler thunked on the linoleum.

  “Mom had me bring some meals for you to put in your freezer,” I explained.

  “That’s very kind of her,” she replied. “Though I told her I can get around just fine to make meals for myself now.”

  She went to work unloading the cooler into the freezer. Compared to the last time I saw her, she looked good as new.

  “Your hip doing better?”

  She patted it with one hand.

  “Still sore as the dickens. But I’m moving around pretty well now. And the doctor says it will only get better over the next few weeks.”

  She poured two cups of lemonade and motioned for us to sit on the couch in the living room. Watching her ease onto the couch made it clear that her recovery still had a ways to go.

  “Well,” she said, taking a sip of her lemonade. “What’s new with you?”

  Well, let’s see. My personal life was in shambles. A grumpy werewolf haunted my dreams. And I had just watched Elsa have a total breakdown at the store. “Not much.”

  “Is that right. Then why is your leg twitching?”

  Her broken hip hadn’t injured her vision. “I’m okay, really.”

  She set her lemonade on the coffee table.

  “You’re really a terrible liar. You gotta learn to control your leg if you want to be the strong, silent type. Or just man up and out with it.”

  “Elsa didn’t get the models booked for the show.” The words came out before I could stop them.

  “Say that again?”

  “She thought she had everything in place. Please don’t be mad at her.”

  My grandmother leaned back and closed her eyes. “Oh, Elsa,” she whispered. “You can be so endearing and so infuriating.” Her eyes opened and looked at me. “I wish your grandfather was here. I relied on his patience to keep me calm at times like this.”

  “Is the show really ruined?”

  She took a big swig of her lemonade.

  “Short of a miracle.”

  At dinner that night, my father went on and on about ideas he’d been dreaming up for next year’s parade float.

  “I know this is going to sound crazy, but I was thinking about a circus theme with acrobats and everything.”

  My mother gave him her everything-you-come-up-with-sounds-crazy look.

  “Where are you going to get acrobats? Are you planning to kidnap them the next time a real circus happens through town? As I recall, the last circus that rolled through was shortly before the First World War.”

  “We don’t need professional acrobats. Harley and the boys can do it. They’ll steal the show.”

  Trying to imagine my father’s friend Joe swinging through the air on a flying trapeze sent a shiver through me. It would take a trapeze made of military-grade steel to keep him aloft.

  “Couldn’t you just use the float from this year’s parade?” my mother asked.

  My father waved his chicken leg in front of him as if warding off evil.

  “Molly, we can’t just recycle the same marketing year after year. We’ve got to stay ahead of our fan base’s expectations. Keep the element of surprise.”

  “You have a fan base?”

  He took a bite off the leg. “You know what I mean.”

  I’m pretty sure what he meant was that I should be preparing myself for another round of parade embarrassment next year involving me in a clown costume, or wor
se yet, acrobat tights.

  After dinner, I hung out in the living room playing my favorite levels of Death Intruders 3. Somewhere between level eighteen, where the undead visit high school prom, and level twenty-one, where they sneak into the mayor’s mansion, I had a sudden idea strike me like a rotted hand. What if local women were the models for the show? If my father thought he could use amateur acrobats for his float, why couldn’t we use amateur models for the fashion show? The solution seemed too easy. Honestly, all they had to do was walk up and down the runway a few times.

  How hard could that be?

  I found Elsa the next morning slumped behind the counter. She looked like she hadn’t slept.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi,” she squeaked in response.

  That led to a long, awkward silence in which I kept waiting for her to say something and she kept staring blankly into space.

  “I had an idea that maybe could save the show,” I tried.

  The word show snapped Elsa out of her trance long enough to get off the stool and begin randomly straightening up around the store.

  “The show isn’t going to happen,” she said with calm finality.

  “But what if we used local talent for the show?” I continued. “You know, amateurs.”

  Elsa wandered from display table to display table refolding clothes that didn’t need refolding while avoiding facing me.

  “It’s too late,” she said, her voice drifting from someplace far away. “I’ve canceled everything and got the deposits back already.”

  I’d never seen Elsa so calm. It was creepy like something out of a horror movie right before a knife appears and blood spurts onto the screen. “But couldn’t the reservations be made again?”

  She stopped. “I broke up with Harley last night,” she answered in a voice even quieter than before. “I’m going to school in the fall, and one day I’m going to own this store and nothing is going to get in the way of that.”

  Whoa, I knew she was taking things hard. But I had no idea how hard. “Oh.”

  The rest of the morning stayed pretty much as awkward as it started. Elsa floated about the store like a forlorn ghost haunting the display tables while I hid out in the back room trying desperately to speed the clock up with my mind. After what felt like a haunted house eternity, the clock finally struck two, and I slipped out the front door and away from the ghostly spirit still roaming the aisles.