First Kiss

by Richards

  He frowned at the hesitation in my voice.

  “Hang on a minute. The show is just getting started.”

  He guided me over to where a trailer with what looked like a car engine had been parked next to the barn. He flipped a couple switches, then yanked a pull cord.

  “The electric panel for the house wasn’t big enough so I brought in a gas-powered generator to add lighting to the main part of the barn,” he yelled over the roar of the engine.

  I walked back and peeked through the barn doors again. Lights hanging from the rafters lit up every inch of the interior, which suddenly seemed like a bad idea. The new lighting revealed the barn in all its naked glory. By glory I mean decrepit, skanky, falling-down glory. The graying wood walls bowed out as if the barn were slowly sinking to its knees. Cobwebs hung everywhere. A single rat stared from its perch on one of the rafters.

  “I still got a bit to do to get it ready for guests,” Harley said.

  A bit to do? Did bulldozing and building a new barn count as a bit? How had I not noticed before what an ugly old barn Harley owned?

  He guided me to his workshop and swung open the door to reveal the next chamber in his house of horrors. A wooden divider split the room in half. His sculptures had been lined up along the walls and jammed around his workbench. There was barely enough room left for more than a couple people to undress without colliding. All in all, it looked like a perfect bunk room for miniature-sized cowboys, but not for adult-sized models changing clothes during the show. How they and their clothes would fit would take a Christmas miracle.

  “Nice, huh?” he said. “Separate changing areas for the guys and gals.”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  He grabbed my shoulder.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. There’s one more thing you gotta see.”

  He led the way out of the barn and around the corner to an open area between the building and an unused pasture. The ground had been scraped bare in a perfect rectangle.

  “This is where the Honey Buckets are going to be lined up.”

  “The what?”

  Harley clapped me on the back.

  “You know, the porta potties that people can use when they need to go to the bathroom. There will be a whole row of them right here. I made sure it was a location downwind from the barn. Don’t need any unwanted smells wafting in during the show,” he said with a laugh.

  A sinking feeling pulled my stomach down to my knees. It had been my idea to move the show to Harley’s. What had I done? The image of people in suits and gowns traipsing about a collapsing barn filled with rats and without indoor plumbing made my stomach squeeze tight. How could I have been so stupid? Don’t get me wrong, Harley was the person I’d most like to be when I grew up, but the idea of him hosting a fashion show in his moldy old barn suddenly seemed beyond crazy. I understood now why my grandmother and Diane had been against it. They must have been out of their minds trusting me and the handlebar-mustached rebel without a clue standing next to me.

  “So, what do you think?” Harley asked.

  I think our only hope was to torch the place and use the insurance money to buy a used circus tent. “Looks great.”

  His shoulders visibly relaxed.

  “I’ve been a bit worried about whether I could have it ready in time,” he admitted. “There’s still a lot to do, but now that the hardest parts are done, I can relax a little.”

  The last thing he needed was to relax. Sometimes panic is a good thing. Especially when you have one day left and a new barn to build. “That’s good.”

  I lay in bed that night reviewing the evening’s revelations. Harley’s barn looked like a frontier house of horrors. The models would only be able to change if they stood on top of each other. And if the sights and smells proved to be too much, guests could retreat to a Honey Bucket and spend a few minutes relaxing on a plastic toilet seat suspended above a pit of raw sewage.

  It was time to admit the truth: the show was doomed.

  I arrived at the store the next morning with the weight of the world wrapped around me like a Darth Vader cloak.

  “Hey, Stu,” Elsa bubbled as I entered. “Can you believe the show is today?”

  Nope. Harley needed at least another century to have his barn ready, possibly a full millennium. “Yeah, exciting, huh?”

  She literally twirled with excitement.

  “The town is buzzing! Seems like everyone is coming. Several of the restaurants are hosting special brunches before the show. And did your grandmother tell you we’re sold out of formal gowns? And Stefan’s store sold out of suits. It’s becoming the social event of the season. The day is going to be AMAZING!”

  Oh, it was going to be amazing, all right. Barn-collapsing, rat-swarming, Honey Bucket–dripping amazing. “Yeah, can’t wait.”

  “Harley told me he took you out to his place last night. How did it look?”

  Her eyes were so excited, and so sincere. What was I supposed to say? “Great. Looks great.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad! It’s all coming together beautifully!”

  My grandmother arrived, followed by Diane and company.

  “Stu, good to see you,” my grandmother said. “And I hear you’ve been out to Harley’s.”

  Not her, too. How much longer could I hide the truth about the disaster-in-the-making brewing at his barn? “Yeah, it’s looking good.”

  Apparently, at least a little bit longer.

  “Good to hear. We’re counting on him coming through for us today.”

  Yeah, about that.

  “Well,” I started, “he’s been working nonstop to get ready.” That much was true. “But it won’t be the Taj Mahal.” I think that summed things up pretty well.

  My grandmother brushed off the last sentence with a shrug.

  “At this point, as long as it holds everyone and doesn’t fall down, I think the show will be a smashing success.”

  Oh, it was going to be smashing, that was for sure.

  We went to work loading the clothes into the U-Haul truck my father had scrounged along with all manner of accessories including tape, scissors, an iron, safety pins, and even my grandmother’s sewing machine.

  “You never know when a seam is going to tear apart at the last moment,” my grandmother explained.

  By noon, everything was loaded, checked, rechecked, and, at last, ready to go.

  “There will be plenty of help unloading at Harley’s,” Elsa said. “And your mom is meeting us there to set up the changing area. Why don’t you go round up your troops and make sure everyone is there no later than two p.m.?”

  Really? I didn’t have to be there when they saw Harley’s barn? Maybe their desire to strangle me would have cooled off by the time I arrived.

  “Hey, dude,” Ben said when I showed up on his doorstep. “You’re early. Everyone else won’t be here for at least an hour.”

  “Perfect,” I replied, helping myself to the sandwich he was holding. “I’m starving, and I need a break before we head to the show.”

  Ben poured a couple glasses of lemonade and motioned for me to take a seat on the couch. He piled a mound of Oreos on another plate and slouched down next to me.

  “It’s going to be pretty awesome,” he said, spraying chunks of Oreo out of his mouth like Cookie Monster on Sesame Street.

  “What?”

  “The show.”

  “Oh yeah, except for when the barn falls down.”

  “Maybe they can give everybody hard hats to wear during the show.”

  An Oreo chunk landed in my lap.

  “Or maybe we can all wear Iron Man suits,” I suggested. “That’d be pretty cool.”

  I flicked the chunk off and grabbed the last cookie off the plate.

  “Yeah! That’s it!” Ben agreed. “We can all wear Iron Man suits and after the show we can fly around and fire rockets at each other.”

  I shoved the last cookie into my mouth. “If only we had a couple hundred Iron Man suits.”

&nbs
p; “Or at least rockets.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Ben downed the rest of his lemonade.

  “You may want an Iron Man suit to hide in when you walk down the runway with Becca—and Jackson.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Seriously, how’s that gonna work?” Ben asked.

  “Seriously, I don’t know. Maybe he’ll accidentally fall off the stage and break a leg or something.”

  “That’d be cool.” Ben scratched his chin. “The thing is, I don’t even dislike the guy.”

  I couldn’t help but nod. “I know. There’s nothing worse than being friends with the guy you hate.”

  “For real. I still hope he breaks his leg, though.”

  “Me too.”

  Ben carried the plates into the kitchen and dumped them in the sink.

  “You going to Becca’s party?”

  Leave it to Ben to bring up the thing I’d been avoiding thinking about.

  “Don’t suppose she canceled it?”

  “Nope.”

  Dang, so much for hope.

  “I don’t know. I guess so.”

  “What did you get her?”

  “Nothing yet.”

  He giggled, but not the funny sort of giggle.

  “Dude, you are the worst boyfriend ever.”

  “Shut up. I’m not even her boyfriend.”

  He shook his head.

  “Dude, your life is messed up.”

  He had that right.

  Becca, Kirsten, and Jackson arrived right at 1:30. They took turns making a grand entrance as if the entryway were a catwalk.

  “Do I intrigue you?” Kirsten said, striding past with haughty coolness.

  “Do I defy you?” Becca purred through pouty lips.

  “Do I destroy you?” Jackson added, subtly flexing his biceps as he joined them in the living room.

  Ben bounced out the door, then took his turn making an entrance.

  “Do I disgust you?” he said, posing with his shirt unbuttoned.

  Not to be outdone, I exited, before reentering with my own shirt unbuttoned.

  “Does he still disgust you?” I said, posing next to Ben.

  We all broke into giggles.

  “This is going to be awesome!” Kirsten exclaimed.

  “We’re going to rock the show,” Ben agreed.

  “Heaven help us,” Ben’s mother said, entering. She waved us to follow her out to her SUV.

  The ride gave me time to think about what lay ahead. And time for the horde of butterflies in my stomach to whip up my stomach acid into a nervous froth. For starters, everyone was bound to hate the barn and, in turn, the fool who suggested it. On top of that, I would most likely be forced to follow behind Becca and Jackson on the runway like their grumpy stepchild. And to top things off, as soon as the show ended, I’d be forced to attend Becca’s birthday party and publicly admit that the only present I had brought was the sound of my hand slapping my own forehead.

  “Everything okay?” Becca asked as we turned into Harley’s driveway.

  Perfect. Never better.

  We stepped out of the SUV into a swarm of activity. Workers carried white folding chairs into the barn from the back of a truck. More workers set up little tables dotting the courtyard outside the barn. A catering truck unloaded shiny metal serving trays and white tablecloths onto long tables rowed next to their truck. And a group of teens were being given instructions how to direct cars into the parking area behind Harley’s house.

  “Hey, glad you made it,” Harley said, crossing from the barn to greet us.

  His demeanor seemed chipper, but he had circles under his eyes and he was wearing the same clothes I’d seen him in last evening.

  “How are you holding up?” Ben’s mom asked.

  Harley gave her a tired grin.

  “Well, things took a little longer than I expected. Kinda stayed up all night to get everything done.” He ran a hand through his greasy hair. “But it seems all good now.”

  Elsa trotted up and patted Harley’s back.

  “Wait till you see what he did,” she said, beaming. “He’s such an artist.”

  So far, things weren’t going at all like I’d expected. Elsa was grinning. And no one yet had attempted to strangle me. Maybe the afternoon held hope yet.

  Elsa ushered us to the barn. On the way, she gave us an overview of what we were seeing.

  “The caterer is setting up over there,” she said, pointing. “They are going to have meat and cheese plates, steak skewers, artichoke dip, and a vegetable medley that is simply divine.”

  Her arm swung to the tables dotting the barn’s entry.

  “The tables are for people to eat before or during the show. They’ll be covered in white satin tablecloths with folding chairs for seating.”

  She stopped before we reached the barn doors and gathered us close in a conspiratorial huddle.

  “But the real surprise will be when people enter the barn.” She spread both arms like a circus showman. “Behold this year’s fall fashion show venue!”

  She stepped aside and motioned us forward. The moment our eyes adjusted to the dim light we gasped.

  The overhead lighting had been removed. In its place strings of dangling lights hung from the rafters, twinkling like tiny stars in the celestial barnyard heavens. Along the back wall of the barn a runway had been constructed with a center section that extended through the middle of the barn, allowing the models to walk out into the crowd. Rows of white folding chairs filled the areas on either side of the runway. And around the perimeter of the barn, Harley’s sculptures had been placed, each lit from beneath so that they glowed like mythical sentinels guarding the show. Harley had been busy since I left, inhumanly busy.

  “It’s beautiful,” Kirsten whispered.

  “Like a fairy wonderland,” Becca added.

  “So cool,” Jackson agreed.

  “Dude!” Ben said, punching my arm.

  Whatever concerns I’d had about the barn melted away. Harley was a genius. How had I ever doubted him?

  “Stu!” my grandmother called from the stage. “You’re here just in time. The models are about to get a modeling lesson from my good friend Aruna.”

  We joined the gang of other models including Diane and company and the meat float crew. My grandmother directed our attention to the dark-haired woman standing beside her on the stage.

  “As I was saying, Aruna owns Northwest Modeling and agreed to help out by giving you all a modeling lesson before the show. Please give my dear friend your undivided attention.”

  Aruna stepped forward with her hand outstretched in a gesture of welcome. Despite looking about the same age as my grandmother, her every movement held the graceful precision of a ballerina and her skin glowed a deep orangey brown as if she had just arrived from some faraway tropical kingdom.

  “I’m honored to be here today,” she said. “And to give you a quick lesson in runway modeling.”

  “She’s beautiful,” Becca whispered.

  Aruna strode a few steps down the runway, then turned back.

  “If you can remember these three tips, you’ll do great today,” she said. “First, think tall as you walk. Second, keep your eyes forward. And third, have a little attitude, but also have fun with it.”

  She strutted back looking every bit like a real runway model.

  “Well, at least I can do the third one,” Joe commented.

  Aruna brought us up onstage. We formed a line, then took turns walking the catwalk. It was one thing to talk about being a model. But completely different to actually walk down a runway trying to keep your cool. Especially when your cool lacked a few things like cool hair, cool biceps, or cool gorilla-strength antiperspirant.

  My first turn on the catwalk looked more like an inmate on death row heading to the electric chair.

  “Try relaxing your shoulders,” Aruna prompted. “And let your arms swing freely. And show a little attitude.”

 
Frankly, it took all my attitude to even be up on the stage.

  “Like this?” I said, yanking my shoulders down and forcing my arms away from my sides.

  She gave my grandmother a thin-lipped smile.

  “Yes, better. A little more relaxed would be great.”

  Yeah, right. I could already feel the crowd’s eyes boring holes into me and there wasn’t even a crowd yet.

  At last, the lesson ended, and we took a break for some much-needed fresh air. A line of cars stretched out of Harley’s driveway and around the corner of the road. Couples of all ages in suits and gowns milled about the catering truck or stood gaping at the interior of the barn.

  “That was awesome!” Ben said, beaming like a modeling idiot.

  “Yeah, we’re gonna work the crowd into a frenzy,” Kirsten said, beaming just like Ben.

  Easy for them to say. They hadn’t broken their nose square dancing in front of the whole school. I excused myself from the group and sauntered over to one of the Honey Buckets to settle my nerves. Being trapped in the stinky compartment in no way helped. After a few minutes, I staggered back outside. And that’s when I discovered Diane pacing behind the Honey Buckets looking pale and a little green.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure I can go through with this,” she moaned, dabbing at one eye. “I’m not built to be a model.”

  “Me neither,” I agreed. “I was freaking out just doing the practice runs.”

  “Really?” she asked.

  “Yeah, the last time I had to be up in front of people I broke my nose and bled all over my dance partner.”

  “No wonder you’re nervous,” she consoled. “And I thought I had reason to be scared.”

  “What do we do?”

  She wrapped an arm around me and squeezed.

  “I don’t know. Just keep going, I guess. Just keep going.”

  Just before showtime, Elsa ushered us into the dressing room. With Harley’s artwork removed, it had enough space to fit everyone, so long as we gave Joe one end to himself. Even with the door shut the noise of the crowd buzzed around us.

  “The crowd’s even bigger than we expected,” Elsa said, gathering us around. “During the show, I’ll be at the door calling out who’s up next. Make sure you’re ready when it’s your turn.”