17 First Kisses (15 page)

His words make me cry all over again.

When we were in the hotel room, all I could think about was getting Corey off me. I reacted on pure adrenaline. But now, in the quiet safety of David's car, I wonder if I overreacted. I mean, I did want to kiss him. Well, I thought I did.

“I don't know,” I say. “I keep thinking, did I really need to kick him? I could have told him I would tell my parents. I could
have screamed for help. I know you guys would have heard me and everything, so I guess I was safe the whole time, really, but it didn't feel that way. For a second there, it felt like he was going do anything he wanted and no one and nothing was going to stop him and it didn't matter that I didn't want him to. And I panicked. He's probably telling everyone I'm crazy right now.”

“Hey.” Megan grabs my hand and makes sure I'm looking her right in the eye. “David's right. You did exactly the right thing. He's the one that's wrong for even putting you in that position.”

I nod, and even though I'm still second-guessing my actions, I keep coming back to the same point. No matter what I did, no matter how I handled it or how many alternate scenarios would have worked out better, I didn't let him do it. I chose what happened to me. Not him. Nothing else is as important as that.

As soon as we pull into Megan's driveway, a rap on the window startles me. It's Sarah.

“Where have you been? I've been texting you for forty minutes.”

“Sorry, I—” I don't really want to talk to Sarah about what happened with Corey. “But it's not even one yet.” My first thought is I've been busted for drinking at prom. But I can tell from Sarah's face it's something much worse. “What happened?”

“It's Timothy,” she says. “He stopped breathing a little while ago, and they had to rush him to the hospital. I'm supposed to
bring you and Libby now that you're back.”

“Do you want us to come too?” Megan gestures to her and David.

“It's probably best if it's just family right now,” Sarah says. “But in the morning?”

Megan nods. “We'll be there. Call me as soon as you know anything.”

“I will,” I tell her. Then I bolt toward the house in my bare feet and sequined dress. “What's wrong? Is he going to be okay?” I ask as Sarah runs alongside me.

I picture Timothy, his apnea monitor going off, his tiny chest still. We've had scares like this before. Everything always turns out fine.

“It's too soon. They haven't told Mama and Daddy anything yet. But. Daddy had to do CPR.”

“What? No.” I cup my hand over my mouth. He never had to do that any of the other times.

I change clothes as quickly as I can.

“I already put Libby in the car,” Sarah calls from the bottom of the stairs.

She drives like a woman possessed, but it still feels like an eternity before we get to that hospital waiting room. We find my parents holed up in a couple of garish purple-and-yellow patterned chairs. Coffee cups in their hands. Stricken expressions on their faces.

“How's he doing?” I ask.

Mama shakes her head.

“We haven't gotten an update yet,” says my dad. “They're doing everything they can.”

It's the most frustrating answer you can get. I feel powerless. I wish I could be doing something. Anything. When I was in that hotel room with Corey, at least there was something to fight against. My sisters and I squeeze onto a couch that has no business holding three people. There's nothing to do now but wait and hope and pray. Sarah holds me, and I hold Libby, and we cry salty tears into each other's hair.

Finally, a man in a white coat approaches my parents. I don't like the look on his tired face.

“Stay here,” Daddy says quietly.

He and Mama follow the doctor to an alcove off the main waiting room, while Sarah and I watch anxiously. Libby doesn't notice because she's fallen asleep in Sarah's lap. I can't hear them from where I am, but I concentrate on the doctor's lips, and the first words he says are “I'm sorry.”

Mama lets out a wail that makes people stare. Daddy has to wrap an arm around her to keep her standing.

“No.” I shake my head and repeat it over and over as the tears fall fierce and fast down my cheeks. Sarah sobs so hard her whole body lurches. This isn't what was supposed to happen.

My parents come back to us as different people. Broken people. Mama can't speak, so Daddy does his best to tell us why we'll never get to see Timothy smile again.

“His lungs just gave out,” he explains. “With the
infection . . . they were just too tired to breathe anymore.”

It's like someone sucked all the air out of the room. It can't be true. Timothy can't be dead. But I know by the way the light has gone out of my parents' eyes that he is.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

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S
omeone is making turnip greens. It's the first thing I notice when I get home from school—the smell is unmistakable, kind of like body odor but in a strangely appetizing way. I follow the scent into the kitchen, where I find my mom wearing a cherry-print apron and stirring a huge pot of greens. There's a ham bone inside for flavor and a single whole pecan because she swears it neutralizes the bitterness or some crazy thing. Mmm. I can't wait to pile hot sauce on them.

“Hey, Mama. Those look delicious.”

“Thanks, sweetie.”

We completely sidestep the fact that this is the first meal she's made in two years that didn't come from a cardboard box. I'm just relieved the Walmart incident is in the past and the good days
outnumber the bad ones now.

“Take a look at the table. I printed out some proofs from when I photographed your friend Glenn.”

I flip through portrait shots of Glenn on his front porch and action shots of him at a football game.

“They're amazing.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. Why else do you think everyone at school is tripping over themselves to get an appointment with you?”

Ever since my mom's photos of Megan hit the school, Lily Jenkins senior pictures have become the must-have senior accessory. She's taken almost a dozen now. Mama turns back to the stove to check the beeping oven and eases out a heaping dish of gooey homemade macaroni and cheese.

“You made mac 'n' cheese too?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“I better put these pictures away so we can eat.” I start to clear the table.

“I thought we could eat in the dining room, all four of us. Can you and Libby set the table? And maybe slice up some tomatoes too?”

“Sure.” I race upstairs to Libby's room with the goofiest grin on my face.
She's okay again!

“Libs.” I throw open the door. “You won't believe this.”

She's sitting cross-legged on her bed with her stuffed elephant, Mr. Heffalump, wrapped in a stranglehold of a hug.

“Is everything okay?”

She nods.

I lower my voice to a whisper. “Guess what. Mama's making dinner.”

“I know.” Libby squeezes Mr. Heffalump tighter.

I scoot onto the comforter beside her. “You do? Then why do you look so sad?”

“What if I said the wrong thing or did the wrong thing and it ruined everything? I was scared to break the spell. So I hid.”

“Ah. I know how you feel.” Those weeks after Walmart tore me to pieces on the inside, and with every high comes the fear of the next low. I give her and Mr. Heffalump a bear hug. “But we have to enjoy every second of this like it might not happen again. Because it might not. We have to hope for the best. Now come on. We're setting the table.”

We hop up. Just as we reach the door, I see my mom coming upstairs, so I stop Libby and put a finger to my lips. From where I'm peeking through the hinges, I can see her knock on Dad's office door, see her open it when he says, “Come in.” He turns in his desk chair and almost drops the papers he's holding when he sees it's Mama, and in an apron, no less.

She looks at him almost shyly. “Can you come down for dinner in a few minutes? We're having turnip greens and macaroni and cheese.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. I'll be right down.”

The smile on my dad's face when my mom asks him to come down for dinner breaks my heart.

I drive us to Buck's Hawaiian party in Britney's 4Runner. It's my night to DD. My friends and I spent the last hour decking ourselves out in various combinations of luau gear from the Party City in the next town over. Megan has unleashed the big guns, aka her boobs. She's wearing seashells over them. I am at a serious disadvantage tonight.

Amberly lets out another melodramatic sigh from the backseat. “I don't know if there's anyone out there for me. Y'all all get to see guys you like at the party tonight. You're so lucky.”

“Lucky? Megan and I like the same guy, and the last time that happened, it about wrecked our friendship.”

The car goes silent. We don't usually mention how things are going with Luke. He's the dimpled, dreamy-eyed elephant in the

Megan saves us by changing the subject. “How are things going with Buck?”

“So good,” replies Britney. “We've been on a few dates, but they've all been amazing.”

“Have you had the DTR talk yet?” I ask.

      
DTR talk (noun)

      
1: abbreviation for “Define the Relationship talk”

      
2: A talk, usually initiated by a girl, that involves the dissecting and classification of a relationship, e.g., friends with benefits (the optimal outcome of the DTR talk for a male) or exclusively dating (the optimal outcome of the DTR talk for a female).

The fact that Megan and I are acting so interested in Britney's
fledgling relationship with a guy we think could be the missing link is a testament to how much we don't want to talk about Luke.

“Not yet. But maybe tonight. Neither of us have been seeing anyone else. I think it could be the night he asks me to be his girlfriend.”

The party is already pretty packed when we get there. Everyone clusters around Buck's pool and the keg. I scan the crowd, waiting for my Lukedar to ping, but he isn't here yet. Megan heads straight for the table of mai tais. I think she's nervous about seeing Luke, and, let's be honest, I'd be anxious too if seashells were the only thing separating my boobs from the rest of the world.

“Hey, Buck,” she calls as she garnishes her Solo cup with a pink umbrella. “Awesome party. I love the theme.”

“Hey, thanks!”

Megan smiles back at him, but she's already launched into a discussion with a girl from the cheerleading squad on which type of waterproof eyeliner is best for pool parties. How does she do that? She can make anyone feel important or special. I can't talk to people I don't like without my face giving me away, so I sidestep Buck when I grab a Coke from the mai tai table. Unfortunately, he notices.

“What? No mai tais for Yoko?”

I roll my eyes and keep walking. “That hasn't been funny since tenth grade.”

Buck goes back to macking on Britney, while his best friend and sidekick, Jimmy Marcus, creeper extraordinaire, weasels around yanking at girls' bikini straps. If Jimmy is within a
two-mile radius, double knotting is a must.

I spot Sam sitting in the hot tub with Amanda Bell, one arm flung around her shoulders, and I feel like a proud mama for helping him get his first girlfriend. A pack of guys jostles me to the side so they can set up a flip-cup table. After what happened at my house this evening, I'm not in a wild party kind of mood (I'd rather enjoy my natural high), so I weave through the crowd by the pool to get back inside.

The inside of the house is just as packed, though, with people and animals. Not live ones—Buck's dad is one of the most prominent taxidermists in the Southeast. And since Buck lives in one of the nicest neighborhoods in town, stuffing dead animals is more lucrative than you might imagine. I squeeze past a couple of raccoons and an ungodly long line for the bathroom before finally making it to the front porch.

I sprawl out on the porch swing and relax. It's good to be alone for a minute. I rock back and forth and watch my pointed toes pass more planks of wood each time the swing soars outward. My mom cooked an unbelievable dinner tonight. And I saw my dad squeeze her hand when he helped her wash the dishes. I smile so hard my face hurts.

“Claire?”

I almost spill my Coke all over myself. Luke makes his way through the logjam of cars in Buck's driveway.

“Hey.”

“What are you doing out here by yourself?”

“Oh, um, I had kind of a strange night at home.”

He sits next to me on the swing. “What happened?”

For an instant, I panic. Almost no one knows the whole story about what my home life is like. I've tried to hide it from everyone except my closest friends. But Luke fixes me with kind blue eyes, and I feel my resolve melting.

“My mom has some problems. With depression.” I bite my lip, wondering if I should keep going. “I used to have this perfect family, but for the past few years, everything's been a big mess.”

“I'm sorry.”

“It's okay. I think things might finally be getting better. Tonight, she made dinner, and for the first time in a long time, we sat in our dining room and had dinner as a family.” I take a nervous gulp of Coke. “I know that must sound like no big deal.”

“No, I know what you mean,” he says. “My parents get in these really intense fights sometimes because my dad's such a jerk. I guess you might have figured that. Anyway, it can get scary, so I know what it's like to want things to be normal. Your dinner sounds great.”

I smile. “It was. We were stiff and awkward, like we weren't exactly sure what to do or what to say, and it wasn't like it used to be, but I'm so happy. To me, it was perfect.”