17 First Kisses (20 page)

“She looks great,” Sam says.

I grin at his compliment, more so than if it had been for me. “I know. These past few months have been amazing.”

“That's great.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Now, teach me how to do derivatives.”

It's these little things that keep happening. So small and seemingly insignificant that half the time I wonder if I'm making them up. But they happen so often I can't help but worry. Sometimes Megan is cold right after Luke talks to me. And she eyes us suspiciously if we so much as bump shoulders. Megan and I officially made up about the whole Luke thing weeks ago, but now she's
acting like she's the one who was wronged.

It's ridiculous. I'm the one sitting here at our lunch table waiting for the bell to ring so I can watch the guy I like waltz into the cafeteria and kiss someone else. Which happens right. About. Now. I avert my eyes during the Luke-Megan daily lunchtime smooch. He always stops by our table for a second before getting food. Today he flips a plastic chair around backward and plops down.

“Hey, Claire, are you ready for that calc quiz today? Just so you know, I already took it first period and it sucks.”

“I'll be ready by two fifty.”

“Ugh. It is just like Mr. Carnes to give us a quiz the day before Thanksgiving break. How'd you do on the test last week?”

I smile. “I aced it.”

“I knew it.” He elbows Megan. “This girl is a freaking genius.”

I can't help it. My smile gets bigger. Luke always has a compliment for me these days.

Megan's smile, on the other hand, is brittle. “Yeah. Claire's always been the smart girl. Hey, Luke, do you like this shirt?” She arches her back so her chest pokes out more than usual. “I can't decide . . .”

Luke is not immune. Her boobs are the equivalent of a tractor beam. “Yeah. Are you kidding? It looks really hot on you.”

“Aw.” Megan giggles and looks pointedly at me. “Luke says I'm the hottest girl in school, possibly the universe. Right, babe?”

“Uh-huh. Hey, I gotta get my lunch. Claire, call me if you guys scrimmage over break.” He heads to the hot-lunch line.

Megan frowns. “Actually, we're going to be hanging out with B and Buck a lot over break, so he may not be able to make it.”

Did she just glare at me or did I imagine that too?

I check my watch when I get to the food court. Amberly and I are meeting up for Johnny Rockets and shopping. Since Britney and Megan are so busy with Buck and Luke, we've been spending a lot more time together. The mall nearest Pine Bluff is over half an hour away, and it's still nothing like the one Sarah took me to in Atlanta, but at least it has an American Eagle.

Now that I think about it, I realize it's been months since I talked to Sarah. I haven't even told her about Mama taking my senior picture and everything. My call goes through to her voice mail. “Hey, this is Sarah. I'm probably out with my Pi Phi Angels or cheering for my Dawgs, so leave a message!” There is laughter in the background and in her voice. I sigh. Life is easy when you're Sarah. I leave a quick message telling her I have exciting news, then stuff my phone back in my purse because I see Amberly.

“Hey, you hungry?” she asks.

“Starving.”

We grab lunch and find a table near a window.

“Did your mom drop you off?” I ask.

She nods.

“Cool, well, I have Mama's car, so I can drop you off at your house after so she doesn't have to come back and pick you up.”

“Can we swing by Coach Davis's house on the way?” asks Amberly. She picks a piece of lint off her shirt while she says it,
like it's no big deal.

I am on her like a bloodhound. “
What?
Why?”

She rolls her eyes. “Chill out. He won't even be there. I'm just dog sitting for him.”

“Oh. How did that happen?”

She shrugs. “I saw him at the park with his German shepherd, and CoCo liked me
so
much, and Mike needed someone to watch her while he was away for Thanksgiving . . .”

“Wait. Mike? You call him by his first name now?”

“Calling him Mr. Davis makes him sound so
old.
He's only a few years older than us, you know.” Amberly is suddenly very interested in getting just the right amount of ketchup on her french fry. “So will you go with me or not?”

I'm not fooled for a second. As calm as she's pretending to be, the skin near her collarbone is turning red.

“Okay, fine. We can go. But you can't do anything creepy like roll around in his sheets or sniff his T-shirts.”

“Shut up.” She throws a fry at me.

“Seriously, though, is it weird having a crush on someone so old?”

“I don't think so,” she says. “I think that's why I'm attracted to him. Because he could really take care of me. I've never had someone do that before.”

I don't know what to say, so we eat in silence for a while. The way Megan acted at lunch the other day pops into my head.

“Hey, can I talk to you about something?”

“Sure. What's up?”

“Do you think Megan's been acting a little . . . weird about me and Luke?”

I expect her to act all surprised and ask
What do you mean?

Instead, she says, “Yeah. I do.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yeah. She gets jealous whenever he talks to you or anything. Plus, it sounds like he doesn't treat her all that well.”

“He doesn't?” That sounds eerily similar to what Sam said, but I
know
Luke is a good guy.

“Yeah, he was really sweet at first, but then it's like he got bored or something.”

“She never told me that.”

“I think she never told you because she's worried he might like you.” She stirs her milkshake with her straw. “And you know what else I think?”

I shake my head.

“I think Luke has a thing for you.”

“Oh.” It isn't my imagination. Amberly sees it too. Not that it matters, because he's with Megan. I fight to maintain control of my facial features, but I must be failing, because she looks at me with a sad smile.

“And you still have a thing for him too.”

“But I haven't done anything. And I wouldn't. I mean, Megan is my best friend.”

“I know,” says Amberly softly. “Just make sure you don't forget that. Because if you were the one dating him and she was the one who couldn't stop thinking about him, you'd want her to stay
away, right?”

I wince. “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”
But Luke and I are supposed to be together,
I want to say. So
it's different. Isn't it?

 

xoxo

I'm leaving the house for something other than school, soccer, or church for the first time in two months (it was supposed to be three, but my dad let me off early for good behavior). It's okay. Two months of hard time is totally worth all the changes taking place since my drunken harangue. Dad promised to spend more time with Libby and me—he actually ventures down from his office twice a week for dinner. And he tries to ask us about school and stuff too. But even though he's making an effort, I can tell he's forcing himself. Without Mama, he's just going through the motions of living, and it hurts to watch.

Mama has been seeing a therapist. Getting her to that first appointment was damn near impossible, but now she goes twice a month, and she attends a support group with other women who are dealing with similar stuff.

It's weird because she seems happy to go to group, but she still seems tired and depressed around us. It's like she's divided people into two categories, Before Timothy and After Timothy, and unfortunately, everyone in my family falls into the BT category. But at least the days she spends out of bed outnumber the days in bed now. So that has to be a good thing. I was hoping to get my mom back, though, and instead of a ghost who stays in bed crying, she's a zombie who watches soap opera after soap opera.

I get why it's so hard. Her life was amazing. I mean, sprinkled-with-fairy-dust perfect. She wasn't equipped to deal with what happened. Timothy's death made me realize the world can be a bad, dark, out-of-control place. Before something like that happens to you, it's like you're in this happy bubble. And with each good thing that happens and every year that passes, the bubble gets bigger and bigger. His death obliterated my happy bubble, and it must have been so much worse for my mom because her bubble had had time to grow so much bigger.

Tonight, though, I'm putting family stuff aside and enjoying my freedom because Tanner and I have a date (his parents are out of town, so he's making me dinner!), and I'm coming over a couple hours early because I have a surprise for him.

I text Tanner while I put on my makeup.

what are you doing?

sittin around the house, u?

Oh, good. He's there.

getting ready. can't wait to see u!!

me too

When I'm ready, I call Megan because she got her license last month and I don't turn sixteen until March. I'm quiet and distracted on the way over, barely able to give directions at the appropriate times. Megan slows as she approaches an
intersection.

“Is this where I turn?”

“Yeah. Turn right.” I smooth my dress to keep it from getting those sitting-in-the-car wrinkles. “And thanks for driving me.”

“No problem. My fee is that you have to tell me every last detail of the meal. I'm judging him by how he cooks.”

“Sure.”

I flip down the sun visor to make sure I don't have mascara flecks on my cheeks.

Megan gives me a funny look. “What's with you? You look fine. Better than fine. You look totally hot. It's just a date with Tanner—nothing new.”

Oh, but you're wrong.
I take a deep breath. “How did you know you were ready to lose your virginity?”

“OMG. Are you thinking about it? Because if you are, there's something I've got to tell you.”

“What?”

I'm so glad I asked her after all. I thought she had told me everything already, but if she has insider information, I need it. I've been so freaked this week I even searched for tips on Google in a moment of extreme desperation.

“It wasn't as perfect as I made it out to be,” she says.

My eyebrows rise practically into my hairline. “But you said it was the most amazingly romantic moment of your whole life.”

“Yeah. That's because I'm Megan McQueen, which means I have to have perfect sex on the first try. But really, parts of it hurt, and parts of it were pretty awkward. It was still romantic
and wonderful, or it would have been if Chase hadn't turned out to be such a d-bag, but don't expect it to be perfect.”

“Okay. Good to know.” I hear myself say the words so calmly, but on the inside I am in panic mode, my brain frantically running through scenarios where things go wrong. I took every precaution I could think of: I'm showing up early because the idea of losing my virginity after I'm full of food seemed problematic; I bought condoms in three different sizes; I shaved my legs.

“Hey, I didn't think you and Tanner had done, you know, other stuff yet. Have you been holding out on me?”

“No, you're right. We haven't.”

“Then isn't having sex kind of like . . . I don't know . . .”

“Like going from double-dog dare to triple-dog dare?”

“Yes.”

      
triple-dog dare (noun)

      
1. The most extreme of all dares in the following dare hierarchy: dare, double dare, double-dog dare, triple dare, triple-dog dare. By skipping from double-dog dare to triple-dog dare, one creates a “slight breach of etiquette” and “goes right for the throat.”

      
2. Popular culture: The scene in A Christmas Story where Schwartz triple-dog dares Flick to stick his tongue to a frozen telephone pole.

I shrug. “We haven't been able to be alone together for two whole months. So everything physical has been on hold, but we've been getting so much closer. You wouldn't believe the
phone conversations we have. Now I just want our physical relationship to catch up to our emotional one. Oh, turn left. This is his street.”

Megan eases her car up to the front of a blue house with a wraparound porch.

“Well, don't forget, you don't have to do
everything
tonight. If you feel like it's too much, just stop. If Tanner hasn't gotten any play for two months, he'll probably be ecstatic just to make out with you. And call me later!” she yells as I get out of the car.

I clomp up the driveway in my wobbly high heels. A cold January breeze whips at my bare legs, sending me into convulsion-like shivers. Oh, well. Today, looking hot is more important than being warm. Tanner's Jeep is in the garage. So is a red Civic that doesn't belong to either of his parents. Maybe one of the guys in the band got a new car. I weave between lawn tools and paint cans in the garage, thinking a jam session might throw a temporary kink in my plans.

I open the door to the narrow basement hallway connecting his room to the family room. Tanner's bedroom looks like someone exploded a laundry basket filled with dark jeans and band T-shirts. It's empty. And sure enough, I hear music playing behind the family-room door. The music sounds kind of girly, though. I'm totally going to harass them for listening to it.

I turn the knob. Tanner is slouched on the leather sofa with his head tilted back against the cushion, eyes shut, mouth open, legs slung wide. A girl kneels on the carpet in front of him, a blond-and-brunette-striped head of hair positioned over the
zipper of his jeans. It's pretty obvious what's happening, but it still takes me a few seconds to convince myself I'm seeing what I think I'm seeing.

“Tanner?”

His face morphs from bliss to fear in a nanosecond. His head snaps up. His eyes shoot open. The junior band girl jerks her head away, causing him to squeal in pain. She rakes a hand across her mouth and skitters away from him in a backward crab walk.