Every Rose (7 page)

“Lorraina, I don’t ask you for much. I’m asking for one kiss so that you will prove to yourself, once and for all, that you have feelings for me. It’s time for a shove.”

I have tears in my eyes. I just don’t get why our friendship is not enough for him. He always tries to mess everything up. If I kiss him, it will be awkward. He will see that, feel that. Then, we won’t be able to be friends anymore. I tell him of my musings.

He offers me a challenge. “It will be anything but awkward. You will feel. And we will act like nothing ever happened until you decide otherwise. I promise.”

Maybe if he sees that I don’t have these allegedly hidden feelings, he will back off. I move towards him. Am I really going to do this? “Don’t touch me,” I tell him. He barely nods. I recognize the look he gives me. It’s the same look I give a skittish horse that I’m trying to coax. “Don’t open your mouth,” I insist. This elicits a little laugh from him. He quickly squelches it and takes a deep breath before closing his mouth.

I’m standing directly in front of him now, looking into his deep brown eyes. They twinkle with what seems like anticipation. The whites around his eyes are a gray-blue. Interesting. He’s interesting. I notice how long and thick his dark eyelashes are. Pretty. He’s pretty.

I close my eyes and lay my hands on his chest. This little move feels very intimate. I lean in. I feel my lips touch his for the briefest of moments. His lips are so soft and full. I move my lips over his for a moment, relishing the feeling of—I pull back quickly. His eyes are closed. His arms have dropped to his side. He looks so serene that it freaks me out. I grab the door handle and swing the door open, ducking under his now extended arm. He deftly avoids getting hit by the door.

I move quickly towards the front of the house, looking back over my shoulder to see if he pursues me. He’s still standing in the bedroom. His back is towards me. I stop and watch as he runs his hands through his hair. He wavers on his feet. He turns slightly, leaning on the door. His back slides down the door until he is on his knees. His head falls forward as he expels his breath.

I take a shaky breath and continue to my mom’s car. I buckle up, feeling like the most powerful woman on earth. A secret smile escapes me. I brought him to his knees with my kiss? How? What will this mean for our friendship? Do I want more with him? I’d kissed other boys before, but that kiss felt different from any other. I liked it. I touch my lips with my fingertips. They felt tender and overly warm. If he asked me to be his girlfriend now, I don’t think there is anyway I could deny him. He would be able to see right through me. I feel as though our kiss has branded me.

As always, Michael was true to his word. Weeks went by, and he never mentioned our kiss, acted like it never happened. What was I supposed to do with that? Did he not feel what I felt? Did he finally realize that I wasn’t all he’d made me up to be? I couldn’t bring it up. I was too embarrassed.

As I journal about our one and only very chaste kiss, I reread the entry. My eyes linger on his words.
“And we will act like nothing ever happened until you decide otherwise. I promise.”

“Oh,” I say aloud and feel like a veil had finally been lifted to reveal the true nature of what had transpired between us. True to his word, he had been waiting for me to make a move. He promised me that he would never bring it up. I had to be the one, and I was too much of a coward. I was always such a coward when it came to him. His intensity scared me. I was also afraid that I would never be able to live up to the ideal person he had built me up to be.

All of those fears caused me to lose seven years with him. After that kiss, we only hung out a handful of times before he dropped out of school; and he would only reappear in my life sporadically over those next few years. I think about my one failed relationship since then and all of the heartache that one person had brought me. I think about how often I felt so lonely and desolate and how I’d actually always had true, unconditional love staring me in the face. I had been more loved and cherished than probably any other person had ever been. Instead of wrapping myself in all of this and reveling in those feelings, I had taken his love and acceptance and affection, balled them up with both hands, and tossed them aside as I had all of declarations. I’d been such a fool. Resolute, I vow I will remedy that.

Chapter Nine

When Push Comes to Shove

I glance at my watch. He would be here so
on. I’m giddy with anticipation yet fraught with nerves. I pick up my book, flip to my bookmark, and dive into the story. It’s like a pool without any water. I land smack dab on the concrete. It is dry and without feeling. I throw my head back on the little love seat and smile. I can only think of him and our past and what may lie ahead. Our far too brief time together seems so very precious at this moment. I allow myself to indulge in another memory and reach for my journal.

“Did you hear what he was suspended for this time?” Sheryl asks me.

“Er…No.” I answer hesitantly. Do I want to know?

“Smoking in the boys room,” she singsongs.

I chuckle. “I’m not surprised. I think he wants to get thrown out of school. He hates it. It kills me, though, because he is so freakin’ smart. He could do well if he wanted to, and I have to work my butt off for my A’s.” My frustration with him shines through.

“Yeah, it’s not fair. He has that bad boy thing down to a fine art, doesn’t he? He’s troubled and untouchable but gorgeous and talented.”

“You think he’s gorgeous?” I ask incredulously.

“Um…Y
eah, all the girls do! They just won’t admit it because of his reputation. Pretty much everyone adores him.”

“I thought they were fascinated with him because of his reckless nature and behavior.”

“Well, that too.” She waves her hand around in the air. “It’s all a part of his bad boy persona.”

Oh, am I the only one oblivious to his looks then? I never really paid that much attention to them. I mean, I didn’t think he was hideous or anything. He was just Michael. Flawed but good. Off limits to me but the most grounding force in my life. I was pretty sure that he had once again forgotten his obsession with me as we currently in a good, friendly place—emphasis on the friendly.

“He is pretty cute,” I admit. “But he is more than just that. I wish everyone could see that. I mean, he’s kind and thoughtful and sincere.” I look over her with a startled look on my face. Did I just say all that aloud?

I flush, embarrassed by my admission. She gives me a strange look. She is used to me shutting down on the subject of Michael. I’m usually too irritated by his antics to discuss him.

………………………………………………………

That night, I went to the baseball field for practice. I was pitching for our mock scrimmage—first string vs. second string. I, of course, was second string. I saw Michael climbing into the bleachers. He sat down and started talking to one of the other girl’s boyfriend. I had
pitched a no-hitter up until this point, trying desperately to be noticed by our coach and be declared a starter. I was sick of warming the bench for the first few innings. Michael and I make eye contact. I grin and try to refocus on the situation at hand. I pull it in with a deep breath, bring my arm back, and release. It’s a pretty pitch, I think. Straight down the middle, but is it too fast to be hit? My answer is the crack of the bat as it slams into the ball. Shit! I watch in horror as it soars over the entire field, dropping flawlessly behind the fence. Home run. Shit! Shit! Shit! I glance over at coach and he’s nodding his head as if to say, “Yep, I knew it. You’re not ready.” I guess those four perfect innings were effectively wiped from his memory with my one screw up.

I refocus and finish the inning without another incident. After our end-of-game pep talk/gripe session, the girls and I meet Michael and the other boys in the bleachers to watch the next game. He has a handful of bubble gum and a Coke for me. That was the least he could do since he’d ruined my perfect game! I tell him so. He laughs at me.

“I can’t help it if you find me distracting,” he mocks. He suddenly finds his fingernails very interesting. I notice he is chewing on his bottom lip.

“You’re acting funny. What it is?” I ask as I blow a bubble. Sudden fear cripples my movements. Did Sheryl tell him about conversation on the bus that afternoon? Oh, crap. Yes, I’m willing to admit to myself that I think he’s great and has potential. No, I’m not willing for him to know that anytime soon. I’m just not ready for the all-consuming force that is Michael, and I know this.

He puts his finger through my bubble, popping it, takes a steadying breath, and grabs my hand. Oh, this is not good. “I have something to show you actually.”

“What?” I demand.

“Well, I don’t want to show you here. Can we go over to the playground? There’s hardly anyone over there.”

We make our way to the playground. I’m sweating bullets by this point. What is it that he wants to show me? Is he going to try to kiss me? I’m covered in red clay from sliding. I know I probably smell bad since I’ve been sweating for the last two hours. I have a huge wad of gum in my mouth. Oh, and I have my baseball cap on. Can’t take that off—hat hair. Please, please, please don’t try to kiss me, I will him. These are not ideal conditions for my first kiss.

He leads me to the backside of the playground and hops on a swing. He proceeds to show me how high he can go. The metal starts to click loudly as it protests the unknown height it is being forced to endure. I tell him he’s going too high and making me nervous. That is not why I’m nervous.

“You care for my safety?” he asks. I give him a bland look. “Watch this.” He propels himself from the swing at the highest possible point. He lands skillfully on his feet with his hands out to the side for balance. “Ta da!”

“Aren’t you amazing?” I tease coolly. “My mom’s gonna be here soon to pick me up. Are you gonna show me or not?”

“Well, I don’t want you to get mad, but I know you’re gonna. I’m just hoping you won’t be mad for too long. I can’t take another two months of silence.”

This worries me. It must be bad. He’s usually not hesitant about his antics. He plunges headfirst and the consequences be damned. “Well, are you going to keep me in suspense much longer?”

He grabs my hand with one of his and with the other begins to roll up his shirtsleeve. Oh my gosh! He’s gotten a tattoo. What an idiot. He’s only fifteen. How’d he get a tattoo? Isn’t there some kinda law against that?

“Really, Michael, a tattoo? That’s what you occupied your time with while you were suspended? What were you thinking?” I ask dryly.

Not answering me, he finally completes the rolling up of his sleeve so that I can see it. I move closer so that I can see what he’s gotten. It’s small. It looks like writing. Not at all what I had expected. He turns toward the light a little so that I can see it better.

I am finally able to make it out. I hear my sharp intake of breath. I jerk my hand from his and am jogging away. I hear him call out to me to stop. Oh, hell no. I’m not stopping. I’m crying and he will not see me cry!

From out of nowhere, his arm snakes around my middle, pulling me to him. “Ssh, ssh…It’s not that big of a deal.” He lays his forehead on my shoulder, and his free hand strokes my ponytail. He soothes me for a few moments.

I’m crying harder than I thought. I wipe my arm across my face and choke back another sob. “How could you? How could you go and put my initials on your arm? It’s forever! Don’t you get it?!”

“I’m very aware of how long it will be there. That’s the appeal.”

“Nice,” I sneer. I spin out of his arms, and I look at it. It’s hideous. It looks fresh. It’s definitely homemade. My initials stare back at me, taunting me—
LD
. I absolutely hate my initials. I rear my fist back and land a punch on the offending letters. “Hey, dumbass! Do you know what LD stands for?” I shout over his groaning.

“What?!” He grits his teeth and looks up at me inquiringly, holding his arm. “Lorraina Dabney,” he answers
matter-of-factly.

“How about Local Dummy or Learning Disability?” I raise my eyebrow at him, waiting for this realization to kick in.

“I don’t care. No one’s going to give me shit about it.”

“Well, I’ve gotten shit about it my whole life. What makes you so special?”

“No one messes with me. And everyone will know exactly who it stands for.”

“Yeah, even my dad?” I sneer.

“Oh…” His head drops.

“Yeah, oh! I guess you didn’t consider that, did you? He’s gonna freak and probably try to kill you.” I’m ranting I know, but I can’t seem to stop myself. “You’re so over-the-top! Why can’t you be like a normal boyfriend and draw my name all over your notebook or your room or something a lot less permanent and obvious?”

His head shoots back up, and there’s a look of wonder on his face. “You want me to be your boyfriend?” I roll my eyes heavenward. Of course, that was the part he heard!

“No, not now! You’ve just further proven that I can’t trust you to behave in a normal manner. This is NOT normal!” I screech.

I leave him standing there, wondering about my strange behavior. He’s probably thinking does she or doesn’t she. “She” doesn’t even know.

When I get home, I get cleaned up quickly and sneak out to call him. I really don’t want to speak to him at the moment, but I have to know what he will tell people.