17 First Kisses (14 page)

I have a new level of respect for my mom. In the eleven
months since he was born, she's become an expert on his condition—he has bronchopulmonary dysplasia, which means his baby lungs look like they've got emphysema. She keeps the house hospital-grade clean so he won't get sick. She keeps track of
everything
. His diet. His schedule of medication. His physical therapy. The never-ending string of doctors and specialists. She has dedicated her entire being to taking care of my baby brother.

Sometimes one thing can happen that makes everything else you think about someone shift. Timothy was that one thing for Mama and me. He made me see that she's more than just some beautiful southern flower that Daddy picked. She's tough and smart and she cares so much. And now, when she looks at me, I feel like she sees the things I am instead of the things I'm not. We've never been closer.

My mom comes back with the medicine, and I hand Timothy over so I can start on the dishes. With Sarah away at school most of the time, and Mama and Daddy always at the hospital, I have to be another grown-up in my house. I don't mind. I would do anything for that kid.

“If I marry Chase, and you marry Corey, we'll be sisters!”

Megan emits a high-pitched squeal and practically pulls my arm out of its socket to get me over to the seats Amberly and Britney have saved. Her other hand points toward second base, where the boy I'm supposed to marry is leading off.

“There's just one flaw in your plan,” I say. “I've never even
talked to him.”

“Like it matters. We'll fix that after the game.”

We take our seats on the butt-numbingly hard bleachers, and Megan cheers for her boyfriend, a senior and one half of The Collins Twins. By dating one of them she has cemented her position as the most popular girl in the freshman class, and probably for the rest of high school. Corey is still single, and prom is approaching, which is why I'm watching a baseball game in a sundress instead of jeans. I feel like such a phony. But I'm not the only one. Girls in makeup, big hair, and what passes for trendy dresses in this town pack the stands so they can stalk, er, watch the team. They probably don't even know what a shortstop is.

“I still can't believe you're dating Chase Collins,” gushes Britney.

Megan grins. “I told you. I can get any guy in this school.”

Chase Collins isn't just any guy. He's six feet, two inches of blond-haired, green-eyed daydream material. So is his brother Corey. Although, even though they're identical twins, Chase is the hotter one. I think it has something to do with the semivacant look constantly plastered on Corey's face. Chase slides into home and, after he slaps the red dust off his thighs, turns toward the stands and blows a kiss to Megan.

“He's so romantic,” she says. Her voice is flippant like it always is, like Chase is a new handbag she's showing off, but her eyes give her away. She watches Chase Collins walk to the dugout like her heart is straining with every step he takes away
from her. I've never felt that way about anyone.

“So, what do you think of Corey?” Megan says, as if I'm supposed to be able to tell if someone is my soul mate by watching him play baseball.

“He's all right.” I think back to earlier today, when this guy Tanner who sits across from me in math was tapping out a drumbeat on his desk. He winked when he caught me looking. “I kinda like this guy in my geometry class. Tanner Walsh.”

Megan taps on the side of my head with her knuckles. “Hello. He's a band nerd. And besides, he's a freshman. Freshmen can't take you to prom. And I really, really want you to go.”

Band nerd or no, Tanner is hot. She's right about prom, though. I don't want to be the only one of my friends not going.

So a month later, here I am. In a pastel prom dress. Eating dinner at the Melting Pot with my two best friends (Britney didn't get a date) and a guy I've only spoken to once before today. Corey, my date, sees a basketball hoop in every fondue pot. He lobs a strawberry across the table.

“He shoots . . .” Plunk goes the strawberry into a vat of chocolate. “He scores!”

He leaves his shooting hand hanging in the air, wrist bent, the way people do after sinking a ball. No one notices. Amberly tries to talk to her date, a baseball-player friend of The Collins Twins, but he seems more interested in checking his phone for sports updates. Chase and Megan feed each other bites of
cheese- and chocolate-dipped food from the ends of their skewers. Corey is annoyed with the lack of spectators.

He beams his brother in the face with a brownie bite. “Dude. Stop being such a fag.” I wince at his word choice.

“What the hell, dude? I have a girlfriend,” says Chase.

Megan glares at Corey, then raises her eyebrows at me as if to ask,
Is your date seriously throwing food in a nice restaurant?

I roll my eyes to say,
Yes, I can't believe he is so immature.

Amberly and her date miss the entire exchange because she finally manages to get his attention by licking chocolate off the end of a banana. As soon as dinner ends, we catch a limo to the hotel room (a suite, actually: two separate bedrooms), where Corey pops open the cooler to reveal Bud Light and Boone's Farm. He tosses beers to the guys.

“We've still got an hour before prom. Drink up. Okay, ladies, who wants some . . .” He glances at the label. “Blue Hawaiian?”

“Me!” Amberly already has a plastic cup from the bathroom, unwrapped and ready.

“All right, Amberly! Way to be first to step up to the plate. Who's next? Megan? What about you, Claire?”

I shrug my shoulders and accept a cup of Boone's Farm, my first real alcoholic drink. It's electric blue and tastes like candy. Just before it's time to go down for prom pictures, Amberly, Megan, and I realize we have tongues the color of Smurfs, so we cram into the bathroom to de-blue ourselves, while Amberly fusses with our already-perfect hair and makeup.

The boys booked the suite at the same hotel as prom, so all
we have to do is walk downstairs with our mouths full of Life Savers mints. In the darkened ballroom, a DJ presides over the floor while dancers get blasted with strobe lights and rap music. Megan walks in with her shoulders thrown back and her hand on Chase's arm like it's a freaking Hollywood movie premiere. The rest of us are close behind them, and we find a table for our clutches and jackets before making our way toward the sounds of DJ Beat Blizzard.

The actual prom part of prom is much more fun than I thought it would be, probably because Corey and I spend it dancing and not talking. It passes by in a blur, until I'm dizzy from the Boone's Farm and the dancing. Then the official part is over. It's time to go upstairs to our hotel rooms and hang out until Megan and I have to be at her house for curfew.

“Hey, we should do something next weekend,” says Corey. “We could go muddin'.”

“Mmm,” I say, nodding so it kind of seems like I'm saying yes.

      
muddin' (noun)

      
1: The driving of a truck through fields, swamps, etc., generally by a person of hillbilly descent, until said truck is covered in mud (truck is usually falling apart and often sports a rebel flag and/or gun rack and/or camouflage bug guard).

      
2: Something Claire Jenkins will never do.

“Here, have another Boone's.” Corey tries to push a full cup on me.

“Oh, um, no thanks, I don't want to get sick off all the sweetness.”

“C'mon, Claire, get in the game.”

“I'll take it!” Amberly grabs the cup and chugs like she spent prom in a desert.

Shrugging, Corey guzzles another few beers. I don't know when it happened, but we're all alone now, sitting side by side on the queen-size bed. At some point, Megan and Chase went to the other bedroom and locked the door. Amberly and her boy never came back from the bathroom.

“You look hot,” Corey says.

He lays a ham-like hand against my cheek and smushes his face against mine. The kiss is all wrong. His lips cover mine, stretching over my whole mouth and leaving a ring of saliva. His mouth tastes like beer. I know I should be ecstatic. I got to go to prom with a senior. I am currently making out with one half of The Collins Twins. Any other freshman girl would be memorizing every detail so she could tell her jealous friends at school next week.

Corey's hands start to wander. Ewww. Don't get me wrong. I totally want to do more than just kiss. But not in a hotel room at prom with a guy I barely know who has beer breath and hairy knuckles and speaks almost entirely in bad sports metaphors. I want to do all that stuff with someone special. Someone I'm head-over-heels in love with.

He shoves a clumsy, sweaty hand down the front of my dress, and it is my cue to get out of this situation. Now. I try to
push his hand away, but he doesn't let me.

I giggle uncomfortably. “Stop it.”

But he doesn't.

“You know you want to. Stop teasing me.” His other hand slides down to my butt.

Ugh. What a jackass. This guy is seriously starting to piss me off. But then noises that sound suspiciously like sex drift toward me from the bathroom, and my annoyance shifts to panic. Is he expecting me to have sex with him?! I thought the whole sex-at-prom thing was only on TV. I don't, I mean, I can't, I mean, I'm not ready for this. Especially not with him.

“Corey, stop it! Seriously.”

He keeps grinding all over me. He's really not listening. But he wouldn't do
that,
would he? He'll stop. He has to. But he hasn't stopped yet. What if he . . . ? This could get ugly. My right leg is about the only part of me not pinned underneath his hulking body. I slide it outward and upward, my heel scratching against his hip.

“Oh, yeah,” he moans.

He probably thinks I'm trying to wrap my leg around him. I'm not. I rest the spike of my heel on his thigh. And then I give him one more chance.

“Please. Stop. Now,” I say through gritted teeth.

He responds by trying to wedge his hand farther between my dress and my boob.

“Huh!”

I kick into his thigh, concentrating on projecting every
ounce of soccer strength down my leg and into that spike heel. Success! I feel cloth rip, his soft skin and hard muscle. Most importantly, I feel him retract his offending body parts. He scrambles off me with a howl and lands on the hotel floor, where he curls into the fetal position with one hand holding his thigh.

“You fucking bitch. I'm bleeding.”

I stand over him with my hands on my hips. “I told you to stop. Asshole.”

I need to get out of here. Fast. The anger is fading, and once it's gone, crying is inevitable.

“What's going on?” Megan and her date appear in the doorway, and Corey's face changes. He realizes he's about to be exposed for the Neanderthal he is.

“I can't believe you guys set me up with this
baby.
She doesn't even go to second base.” He runs a hand through his hair and stalks to the door. “I'm gonna see if Kirsten's still pissed at her date. At least she puts out.” He turns back to me. “Call me when you're ready for the big leagues, Claire.”

Then he slams the door. Megan's at my side in a second.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. Can we just go?”

“Of course. David's supposed to pick us up soon anyway. It's almost midnight.”

“What about Amberly?” I jerk my head toward the moans coming from the bathroom.

Megan frowns. “She told me she might spend the night
here.”

So we go downstairs and we wait outside for her brother. I rub my hands up and down my arms and wonder if that's what it's always going to be like. If guys are always going to want more than I'm willing to give them.

David finally pulls up in his old Accord. He and Megan have the same golden hair and wide blue eyes, but the waif look isn't as attractive on a boy. Since he's a senior, he should be at prom instead of chauffeuring his little sister, but he wasn't feeling up to asking any girls.

Once we're both sitting in the backseat, it's safe for me to bawl my heart out. I cry so hard I get the hiccups. I don't bother holding back in front of David. We've been spilling everything in front of him for years now. He studies me with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation.

“Is she going to be okay?”

Megan nods and hugs me close. David cruises down the highway in silence. He's as quiet as she is outgoing. And quiet is a really polite way to say he's socially awkward to the point that people wonder if he's autistic. People can never believe he's Megan's brother. And make no mistake, he is Megan McQueen's big brother, not the other way around. She's the girl every guy dreams about dating and every girl dreams about being (or tripping in the hallway), and he's the nerdy genius kid who never talks. He's much better when he's around us, though.

I finally stop crying enough to speak. “I'm so stupid. I didn't
realize prom meant sex.”

“No, it doesn't,” she says. “I didn't have sex with Chase.”

“You didn't?” Hiccup.

“I don't wanna know,” says David. “Especially not while I'm driving. La-la-la-la-la.”

Megan cups her hands over his ears like earmuffs. “No. I just gave him a blow job.”

“Ah! I still heard that. I'm scarred for life.”

She rolls her eyes.

“So, that's it?” she asks me. “He wanted to have sex and you said no?”

“Not exactly. He wouldn't stop, so I had to kick him off the bed.”

“What! I can't believe I set you up with that clown. I had no idea. Chase is so sweet.”

When I tell them the whole story, David is shocked and Megan is seething. “That
asshole.
I hope it leaves a scar,” she says.

“I hope you know you did the right thing, Claire,” David says gently.