17 First Kisses (8 page)

I shake my head at her and shrug my shoulders, trying to get her to understand that I didn't plan for him to come over here. I'm completely innocent in all this. But then a buzzer signals the end of the half, and Luke asks if I want to go to the concession stand. I check the sideline.

Megan is watching.

But he's looking at me with question marks in his eyes, and it seems so silly to say no, so I find myself nodding my head and following him up the stairs. Megan's mouth falls open.

I'm dead.

I mean, I am seriously going to catch hell for this later. I sneak a sideways glance at Luke's dimples. It's worth it.

The line for the concession stand is long because it's half-time. “What was it like living in Germany?” I ask while we wait.

His eyes light up. “One of the best experiences of my life. I got to see all these things I'd read about in books. And I learned how to speak German.” He brushes his coppery hair away from his face. “But the best part of living in Europe was we got to visit all the other countries on weekends and holidays because they're all right there. Russia is a train ride away. France is right next door.”

I contemplate how wonderful it would be to have France next door instead of Alabama. “That sounds amazing. I would kill to travel to Europe.”
Or anywhere that's not here, really.

“Then we should go.”

“Yeah?”
Ohmygosh, he said “we.” Wait. Didn't he?

“Yeah. We could do a backpacking trip. This summer or something. I know how to plan one pretty cheap.”

That's an affirmative. He is definitely talking about doing this together, and it isn't just my over-romantic imagination.

“Okay, let's pretend we live in the kind of world where my parents would agree to that. What would we do on this backpacking trip?”

“We'll start off in Germany because I know every place to go there. And in Capri, we'll charter a motorboat so we can go swimming in the Blue Grotto, even though you're not supposed to. And then we'll go to the southern coast of Spain, where we'll drink sangria and stay up all night dancing. And we'll end in Paris, because you have to end in Paris, and I'll take you to the best
macaron
shop, and we'll have a
macaron
feast for breakfast while we sit on the Pont des Arcs and watch the sunrise.”

Luke. Wants to go to Europe. With me. And do all that romantic stuff he just said. This whole staying-away-from-him plan? Not going to work. I realize Luke is looking at me and waiting for a response.

“Yes. Yes to all of it. I'm in.”

He gives me a wink that sends my heart soaring into the atmosphere. “Assuming we live in the right kind of world?”

“Yeah. Assuming that.”

I'm not thinking about my parents, though. I'm thinking about Megan. I am so totally screwed. Because I am really,
really,
REALLY starting to like this guy. And the more time I spend with
him, the more I realize I won't be able to let her have him.

The rest of the game passes by in a blur, and Sam finds me when it's over. “Hey, we're going to get pizza at Shorty's now,” he says, even though I already know about the pizza plans. He looks pointedly at Luke. “Do you want to come?”

“Sure. Hey, thanks, man.”

Sam smiles at me, probably thinking he is paying me back for helping him with Amanda. He probably forgot Megan will be there too. He probably didn't see her glaring at me for the duration of the second half. So he doesn't realize we're headed for an extra-large disaster.

 

Kiss #5 xoxo

It never occurred to me how much time and energy girls like the Crownies spend on things like color-coordinated accessories and hair maintenance. It's exhausting. The summer after seventh grade, I get a vacation from being girly in the form of Oak Hills Soccer Camp. For four glorious weeks I can play soccer, hang out with Sam, and not worry about clothes and makeup. When I get to camp, I realize it's swarming with cute soccer-playing boys, but I've taken a stand. I will not break out my makeup until the end-of-camp dance.

My resilience is tested the very first week when I meet Alex Martinez. It's a match made in soccer heaven. He's the best boy at camp. I'm the best girl. Is he the cutest boy? Maybe not. But being good at soccer makes him seem so to a bunch of soccer-obsessed girls. We show off on the field if we spot him on the sideline, take circuitous routes to the dessert station so we can squeeze by his table in the dining hall, and talk about him in our bunk beds after lights out. So far, all this talking and effort has amounted to absolutely squat. Alex has shown zero interest in any of the girls at camp (although we dissect his every word and gesture for hidden meaning).

Three weeks into camp, I'm having one of those days where you feel like the luckiest person on the planet. To top it off, I score the game-winning goal at the end of the scrimmage.
Could today get any better? I collapse in the warm grass on the sideline and roll around like a puppy. It is the perfect day! I yank off my cleats and grab my flip-flops from my bag.

Underneath them is a small, folded-up piece of notebook paper that I know wasn't in there before. Alex smiles at me from across the field, and chill bumps pop up all over my forearms even though I'm still soaked with sweat from the game. I open the note.

Meet me at your cabin after everyone else goes to dinner.

I read the words again and again to make sure they're real. Then I tear off down the path to the girls' cabins so I can make first shower. Alex Martinez! I have so much to do. The other girls will just die when I tell them. But I'll have to save the news until after. I can't risk one of them giving me away.

I bound up the rickety wooden steps and drag my suitcase out from under my bed. The bottom is littered with all the things I didn't think I would need until the end-of-camp dance: mascara, a blow-dryer, pear-scented body lotion, the one dress and one skirt I brought. But if I use any of this stuff, my bunkmates will know something is up. Girls' voices start funneling in through the screen door, so I run to the shower and yank the plastic curtain closed.

By the time I finish showering, the room is a frenzy of getting ready. No one cares when I pull on soccer shorts and a T-shirt.
No one notices when I wad the makeup and lotion into my towel and step outside. I hop the porch railing and tiptoe behind the bushes lining the side of the cabin. The girls inside jabber on about everything from today's scrimmages to boys to whether we'll get ice-cream sandwiches at dinner tonight. I crouch underneath the window and apply my lotion and makeup. The tiniest bit of mascara and lip gloss is all I'm brave enough to use without a real mirror and Amberly's help.

Even at soccer camp, girls make getting ready a huge ordeal. My muscles ache from being curled up like this. It's Lindsey who's taking forever. If I pull a hammy two days before the tournament because she's taking an hour trying to make her pores look smaller, I'm going to punch her in the face tomorrow. After what seems like an eternity, I hear the last girls leave. I count to one hundred and then hobble around to the front door, rubbing my legs as I go.

I try on my dress. Then my skirt. Then my cutest pair of shorts. Then the skirt again. The dress. Shorts. Skirt. Shorts. I finally settle on the shorts because I don't want to seem like I'm trying too hard, even though I am totally trying my absolute hardest. I'm just shoving everything else back in my suitcase when the door creaks. I nudge my suitcase under the bed with my foot.

Alex stands in my doorway looking cute as ever in a T-shirt and shorts. He's nice and bronzed from playing soccer in the sun, and his eyes are the color of chocolate.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey.”

He walks over to the bunk bed and settles beside me on my sleeping bag.

“Nice shot today.”

“Thanks.”

I think he wants me to do something, but I realize I've never had a boy kiss me before, unless you count that time in second grade. I've been doing all the kissing. So I sit back and wait to see what Alex will do. He watches me for a little while, his black hair falling into his eyes. He pushes it back over and over again, a move that frequently sends girls at camp into fits. But he doesn't speak or move any closer. Hey! I think Alex Martinez is nervous about kissing
me!
Finally, he gulps like a cartoon character and says, “You look pretty.”

“Thanks.”

He goes from zero to kiss before I know what's happened. One second, he's sitting a foot away from me on my bed telling me I look pretty. The next, we're kissing. And we keep kissing. For a really long time. Longer than I've ever kissed anyone else, anyway. FYI, the world's longest kiss happened at a kissing contest on Pattaya Beach, where this Thai couple kissed for fifty-eight hours and thirty-five minutes. Which sounds wildly romantic until you realize there is no way they went fifty-eight hours and thirty-five minutes without peeing.

After a few seconds, I remember what Megan said about how much cooler it is with your eyes open. So I open them. I see Alex's eyes squeezed tight shut. I see a wrinkle of
concentration between his eyebrows. And just past his left ear, I see Sam standing on the porch and staring at me through the screen door, looking like someone ran over his puppy. My eyes open wider. Alex's tongue continues to poke around in my mouth.

“I was coming to get you for dinner,” Sam says.

At the sound of his voice, Alex and I jump back from each other like two magnets pushed together at the wrong end. Sam clomps off down the stairs and into the woods. I look at Alex, then to the door.

“I gotta go.”

I take off after Sam, leaving Alex sitting on my bed, still shiny and dazed from our kiss. Sam has a head start, but he's got at least seventy pounds on me, and he's lumbering through the trees with all the grace of a seasick rhinoceros. I catch up quickly.

“Sam!”

He ignores me.

“Sam, stop!”

He keeps running.

“We can keep this up as long as you want, but we both know I can run faster and longer than you.”

He finally barrels to a stop and slumps with his back against a pine tree. His cheeks are bright red, and there are rings of wetness spreading at the neck and armpits of his green T-shirt.

“What?” he pants.

“What's the matter with you? Why are you acting so weird?”

“Nothing. Just cause I didn't want to stick around and watch you suck face with that pretty boy.”

Sam wipes at his sweaty cheeks. It hits me how red and veiny his eyes are, and that pitiful expression from earlier flashes in my head, and I realize he's not just wiping away sweat.

“I—I don't understand.” And I don't want to. Because there's only one logical explanation for him crying over me and Alex, and it means the end of me and Sam.

“I ran away because—”

“Sam,” I whisper.

“I couldn't stand to see him kiss you because—”

“Don't.”

“Because I like you, okay.”

And there it is.

“And not just as a friend. And not just as this awesome chick I play soccer with and tell jokes to. I really like you. I want to be the one sitting on your bed kissing you.”

I can't even look at him. Why did he have to ruin everything?

He picks at the bark of the tree behind him. “But you'll never feel the same way about me, will you?”

“No,” I say sadly.

There's no coming back from this. We'll never be able to act the same, like this never happened. We'll never have our easy comfortable friendship again. I've lost my best friend.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

I
have never cared so much about a chair. A battered wooden chair with red poppies on the cushion. It is right beside me, and it is empty. And nothing would make me happier than to see Luke sit in it. He said he'd meet up with us for the post-game victory dinner, but he still isn't here.

The seats at our small-tables-pushed-together-to-form-one-long-table at Shorty's pizza joint are filling up fast, and while it may seem like people are sitting at random, don't be fooled. A strategic move for love or popularity is being made with each set of cheeks that hits the cheap plastic cushions. On my left, the empty chair, with my purse on the seat. On my right, Megan, guarding an empty chair of her own.

I grabbed her the second I got to Shorty's, so I could explain
what happened with Luke. But then a bunch of other people showed up, and neither one of us wanted to have that conversation in front of half the football team. Megan hissed, “It's fine, Claire. Game on.” And we've been covertly guarding our chairs ever since.

“Hey, girl.” Britney moves toward Megan's seat.

“Hey.” Megan puts her hand on Britney's shoulder and whispers, “There's an empty seat by Buck.”

Britney smiles. She sits across from us instead, with her chair angled in Buck's direction. A bell jingles, and Megan and I both glance at the front door to find that this time, it actually is Luke. I move my purse as he approaches the table. Our eyes meet for a second. That's when Megan makes her move.

“Luke! Come sit by me.” She pats the chair beside her.

Luke falters midstep. “Uh, sure.”

He takes the seat by Megan, and I have to give my empty chair to Amberly. We're waiting for our food when Britney throws a fat envelope onto the table.

“I got my senior pictures back from Palmer's Photography today. They're awful.”

I pull the pictures from the package and flip through them one by one. They
are
awful. The poses and everything are overdone and unnatural, almost like those horrible glamour shots that were popular when Sarah was in high school.