Kiss List (11 page)

Sam must have seen the transformation in my eyes because he could not hold himself back any longer. He kissed me with the passion of a starving man finding the last bit of sustenance on the planet.

I was alone in a locker with one of the most gorgeous guys in school and he was only wearing a pair of spandex shorts. I felt all his energy and affection pour into me. I couldn’t help it. I savored the feel of his hard perspiring body against mine.

No. This wasn’t right. I pushed his lips away. “Stop,” I said. “I can’t do this. Not until Dylan himself tells me there is no hope for us. I’m dating him. I can’t cheat on him.”

And then I started to cry.

Sam held me in his strong arms. I cried into his chest. "Sam, do you think I'm a bad person?" I said as tears rolled down my cheeks.

"Of course not," he said softly.

"I do," I said.

He held me like that for what seemed like an eternity as we waited to be set free of the locker and into the shackles that Missy had created for us.

The night custodian freed us from the locker nearly two hours after we had been locked in. I was just relieved that she didn’t speak English very well. She seemed to think that the whole thing was Sam’s fault and she said some nasty-sounding Spanish things to him in a raised voice. I noticed, though, that she couldn’t help letting her eyes linger on his scantily-clothed body.

“Eyes on me. Hey, over here,” I said loudly to the woman, finally getting her to tear her eyes away from looking at Sam’s spandex-clad butt. “It’s okay. I’m fine, okay? Estoy bien. It was just a joke. There’s no need to tell the principal what happened.”

Sam got dressed and gave me a ride home. That smarted a bit – a sophomore with his own car while I, a junior, had to beg rides. I knew that not having a car was insignificant compared to the torture I was about to go through, however.

I told my father that I had stayed late at Alyssa’s house studying and had eaten dinner there. I barely managed to make it to my bedroom when I got a call from Coach Dumfy on my cell phone demanding to know if I was okay and at home. I assured him I was and said that I had heard some prankster was sending around weird texts about me. After a while I think I mollified him and he told me to get some sleep and hung up.

I tore open my laptop and searched for messages from Dylan or for any sign that he was online. There was none. I waited for an hour and then finally gave up and closed the computer. I would have to find a way to corner him at school to talk to him.

I didn’t get much sleep that night. Thoughts of Dylan, Sam, Graham, and Missy swirled in my head. I felt so alone. I desperately needed my girls but they had abandoned me. I couldn’t go back to them now and tell them they were right and I was wrong. If I did I’d have to explain everything. No, I was on my own.

The next day Dylan avoided me like the plague. Every time he saw me walking towards him he took off in the opposite direction. He looked like a wounded animal. It was a far cry from the usual bubbly demeanor he exhibited at school and people quickly started to notice. Of course, I was the first one they blamed. I got scowls from several of the boys on the soccer team and Dylan’s other close friends.

“What happened?” Aaron asked as he fell in step beside me as I left an afternoon class. “Dylan looks like a train hit him and then backed over him again.”

I sighed. “He didn’t tell you anything?”

Aaron shook his head.

 
“Some people played a prank on me,” I said. “They made it look like I was with another guy but I wasn’t. I swear. I’ll admit that I did some things I shouldn’t have but I didn’t cheat on Dylan. I know I haven’t been the best girlfriend and I’d understand if he wants to break up with me because of that. He’d be perfectly within his rights to. But he needs to at least hear me out. If he still wants to break up after we’ve spoken, I’ll understand.”

Aaron gave me a sideways look. “Well I’m not a relationship counselor but I guess I can give him the message,” he said. “Just tell me one thing: are you okay? You seem like you’re in some trouble and over your head. Do you need help?”

Yes! I wanted to scream the word at him and let him fix my problems. He couldn’t, though. If he tried to Missy would release the photos and that would hurt Dylan even more. “No,” I said. “It’s fine. I’ve got everything under control. Just please tell Dylan that I’m sorry and ask him to give me the opportunity to explain myself.”

Dylan found me before the last period of the day. I had never seen him look sadder.

“Dylan,” I said, “I’m so sorry. Please just trust me. It was all a misunderstanding. One of the girls pulled a prank on me and locked me in a locker with Sam Queen. It was my fault for getting into that situation in the first place but I never meant to hurt you. I promise you that there’s nothing going on between Sam and me.”

Dylan was quiet for a while. Finally he stopped in the middle of the hallway and said, “I know I’m not being completely fair to you. I guess I just can’t really believe that I’ve got as amazing a girl as you as my girlfriend. I mean, I just feel like... like you are going to find someone better. Whenever I see you with other guys or hear that you’re with them I assume that you’ve found that better person and are moving on.”

“Dylan,” I said, “you can’t think like that. You’re not being fair to yourself. I think a real relationship happens when two people love each other so much they want to only be with each other. I know it can hurt if you love someone and they love someone else, but that just means you aren’t meant to be together and that there is someone else out there who is better suited to you. That’s what dating is all about: experimenting on how well you work with other people. You can’t go through the dating process being afraid that each new relationship won’t work out. You have to expect that many relationships will fail until you find your one true soul mate.”

“Right,” Dylan said sourly. “Then you marry that person and have kids and find that you can’t stand her and get divorced.”

“I know your parents’ divorce is hard for you to go through,” I said. “I don’t know why their relationship didn’t work out. Maybe they weren’t right for each other to begin with and they just forced it. Maybe one of them changed or they just grew apart over the years. Sometimes people can love each other but disagree on other issues like money or how to spend time or how to raise kids. I don’t have an answer to that. I’ve only had one parent to watch growing up. I just know that you can’t let it damage the way you look at love and your own relationship. This is not going to work out if you don’t give me some space at times or if you keep looking for ways that I am cheating on you. I have made mistakes – too many, recently – and I will probably make a lot more. If they’re too much for you and they start to make you hate the time you are spending with me, I’ll understand if you want to break up with me. Just please don’t break up with me because you’re worried that I’ve cheated on you or might cheat on you one day. I haven’t cheated on you and we can’t enjoy ourselves if we let the fear of what might happen control us. The worst that can happen is that we do find that we are not compatible for whatever reason and then you should be happy because it means that, as much as you love me, there is someone out there that you will love even more.”

I paused to take a breath. People thronged around us on either side, pushing us closer together. Dylan looked into my eyes and then burst into a sheepish grin. “You know,” he said, “you’re really smart. I’ve got a smart girlfriend.”

Then we kissed, not caring who saw or what anyone else thought. There were a few giggles and snickers and oohs and aahs and someone yelled “Get a room!” but I didn’t care. The noise washed over me. This boy cared about me, and for now that was all that mattered.

State. The day finally arrived. We had beat Rosedale to earn a spot in the tournament. Then we kept on winning. Gradually, day after day, we worked our way through the brackets until today. The championship. This was no ordinary championship game, however. For the first time in years a Lakeville team was facing off against a team from Churchill for a state title. The entire town had rallied behind us and the pressure could not have been more intense. Dad was even taking time off work to come to the game. We were 1-1 with Churchill in the regular season. Now anything could happen.

The weeks leading up to the championship game had been filled with blissful happiness. Dylan and I seemed to have reached a new level of trust and communication in our relationship. Even though the boys had been knocked out of the state tournament early, Dylan had rallied behind me and shown up to every one of my games to support me. And then there was Missy. She hadn’t said a word or so much as acknowledged that I existed since she got back to school. I avoided her as much as possible but was stunned that she didn’t reach out to me or threaten me or anything. She and Graham continued on like they had before as if nothing had happened. Maybe she was willing to forgive and forget? I doubted it, but I still savored the moment of peace I seemed to have miraculously achieved. I didn’t even see Doug, thus preventing me from having to commit a homicide on school grounds.

My girls also started acting nice to me again. Payton came over and muttered an apology and then we were all eating together at lunch when we could and hanging out after school like usual. No one mentioned the kiss list or Missy and I was happy for that.

Even Sam started being friendly. One day at lunch he actually ditched his boy posse to eat at my table. The looks on the girls’ faces bordered on outrage but he was very polite to them and they did not openly go after him for starting the cafeteria fight. It might have been an uneasy truce but I was willing to take anything I could get.

And so now, with matters of the heart settled, it was time for me to do what I did best: soccer.

Dad woke up early in the morning to make me a special breakfast. I nibbled at some of the eggs and toast he prepared but for the most part I stuck to my cereal. Coach
Dumfy had warned us not to change up our routine too much. Thankfully, I didn’t have to go to school. The coach had excused us for the entire day so we could prepare. Good thing too; there was no way I could have focused. All the other students technically had to go to school but no one was actually going. They were all having their parents call them in sick or just skipping. This was like a Chloe Walker party. If you missed it, you would be left out of conversations for months. No one was willing to undergo that kind of social suicide.

As much as I tried to focus, I couldn’t help but be awed by the spectacle when we arrived at stadium where the game was being held. Girls’ soccer does not always get a lot of attention but from my vantage point on the bus it looked like half the state had shown up. Television cameras were visible over the heads of throngs of people. When they saw our bus, thousands of fans dressed in the Lakeville Pirates’ red and black colors exploded in cheers. The rest of the girls and I bounced up and down excitedly in our seats. Alyssa was sitting beside me and I hugged her tightly and hoped that she would get an opportunity to play. Championship games didn’t come along very often.

“Look!” Alyssa cried. “There’s Dylan!”

I followed where she was pointing and let out a startled and excited whoop of joy. Dylan and a bunch of other boys from the soccer team were shirtless and had painted their bodies bright red. In the middle of their chests they had painted black letters. It was impossible to see what it spelled when they were all milling around but I saw the letters G, P, I, E, S, and O and an exclamation point so I guessed it was probably “Go Pirates!” or something along those lines. I had seen boys do that for football games but never a girls’ soccer game. I was overwhelmed by their support. Dylan had a P on his chest and was waving excitedly at the bus. I waved back even though there was no way he would be able to pick me out through the windows.

When we pulled up near the locker rooms the mob tried to rush the bus. A flustered Coach Dumfy, hurling a mixture of thanks and curse words, had to physically hold them back with his arms while we darted to the locker room. It was too much excitement for the soccer boys to contain. I saw Dylan, Aaron, and the boy’s goalie Noah Cafferty hurl themselves at us. Coach Dumfy managed to block Dylan and push him back into the crowd. As Coach Dumfy was grimacing and wiping the red paint from his hands and shirt, however, Aaron and Noah split and darted past him.

Noah seized Lindsey Ramen and planted a big slobbery kiss of her lips, covering her face with red paint. “
Eww!” she screeched but he was already sprinting away before she could slap him. “I’m going to kill you, Cafferty!” she bellowed after him.

Aaron slid to a halt in front of me with a big grin on his face and spread his arms wide as if about to go in for a hug. “If you touch me with those arms I will end you,” I said. He just laughed and let his arms drop by his sides. I frowned at the letter on his chest. “What letter are you supposed to be?” I asked. “It looks a bit like a deranged P.”

Aaron looked down at his chest. “It’s supposed to be a capital R,” he said.

“Well it’s backwards,” I said, “and it doesn’t really have an extra leg to be an R.”

“Cafferty, that idiot,” Aaron said, shaking his head.

“He drew it?” I asked with a laugh. “I’d understand why it’d be backwards if you did it, but why would he make it backwards?”

Aaron rolled his eyes. “He’s just an moron,” he said.

I looked him over. Even his face was red so that the whites of his teeth and eyes and his blond hair seemed unnaturally bright. Somehow, though, he still managed to hot in an entirely different color. His face was gorgeous and his grin infections and his abs...
oh, those abs. I could have spent the rest of my life looking at those abs. It was more than that, however. He projected this cool, carefree vibe in everything he did. He actually made it look cool to be painted fire-engine red. I felt lame not being a different color.

“Look,” I said, “we have 10 minutes before Coach
Dumfy starts his rah-rah speech. Do you have some extra paint? If you are willing to put all that on the least I can do is fix you up.”

Aaron shrugged. “Yeah, I’ve got some in my pocket,” he said. “I guess it’d be good if we spelled ‘Pirates’ correctly. I can do it, though.”

“It’s fine, unless you aren’t comfortable having a girl touch you,” I said, teasing him.

“Girls feel me up all the time,” Aaron said cockily. “I’m used it to. But what girl are you talking about? I thought you were offering to do it.”

“Very funny, pretty boy,” I said. I looked around. My teammates were filing into the women’s locker room inside the stadium to my right. To my left I saw the sign for the men’s locker room. “Come on,” I told him. I grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the men’s locker room.

Luckily, the men’s locker room was unlocked and empty. Aaron walked to the bathroom sink and set two canisters of body paint on the ledge by the window. Then he turned on the sink and stuffed some paper towels under the facet so they got soaked with water. He started to wipe the black letter paint off his chest and stomach but the towels dripped water, leaving trails of droplets down his body. He tried to brush the water away and rub the paint back into place but just succeeded in coating his hands in red paint and obscuring the lines even more.

“You’re making a mess,” I said. “You’ve got too much water. Here, let me do it.”

Aaron stopped scrubbing as I grabbed and watered some paper towels. I made sure to squeeze out the water first and then I walked up to him. He looked like he wasn’t quite sure what to do so I didn’t wait for an invitation. Instead, I touched the paper towels to his skin to begin scrubbing.

He jumped a little. “That’s cold!” he said accusingly. “You could have used warm water, you know.”

“
Don’t be a baby,” I said as I scrubbed him down. It felt like I was pulling a wet rag across a washboard. Now I knew why some people used the term “washboard abs.”

“
Hmph,” Aaron grunted in annoyance. I ignored him and kept scrubbing. I had never touched him like this before. It felt... good.

“Okay, that’s better,” I finally said. I threw the paper towels in the trash and rubbed my hands together to warm them up. “Want to make sure my hands aren’t too cold for your sensitive skin,” I said. Aaron glared at me as I squirted red paint into my hands but he didn’t say anything.

Now for the interesting part. I reached out and gently placed my hand on his chest. I spread the paint across his pecs where I had wiped it off the top of the R and then wiped it down his abs. His abs felt incredible. How could someone have something so hard over his stomach? Stomachs were supposed to be soft and squishy, not hard like a rock. I loved feeling the warmth coming from his body as my fingers slid across his skin.

“You look like you’re enjoying this,” Aaron said with a cocky smirk.
“Figures.”

“Oh, get over yourself,” I said. I finished wiping the red paint on him and gave his stomach a little slap. He doubled over for a second in surprise.

“You’re cruel,” he said.

“And you’re being a
wuss,” I said as I washed the red paint off in the sink and squirted black paint into my hands. I rubbed them around and then walked back to Aaron.

“Tell me, how much better do you like my body than Dylan’s?” Aaron asked playfully as I carefully applied the black paint.
“Off the record, of course. For the most part. I mean, I might tell Dylan and a few hundred other people, but that’d be it.”

“Well let’s see,” I said. I squinted my eyes as I tried to get the lines right. No wonder Noah had experienced so much difficulty. Trying to draw a letter on Aaron’s ripped body was like trying to trying to draw on a jagged rock. The artist had to be very careful and I doubt another boy would have been comfortable touching Aaron for as long as I was. “I like Dylan’s hair. It’s got character.”

“Looks like a dirty mop,” Aaron said. “Next?”

“His eyes are cute,” I said. “They’re this really sensitive deep chocolate brown.”

“The color of mud,” Aaron said. “Nine out of ten girls prefer blue.”

“Is that a fact?” I asked in amusement.

“Yup,” he said. “Personal experience.”

“So you actually get shot down 10% of the time?”

“Don’t be silly,” he said. “I said nine to account for sampling error. What else?”

“Hmmm... he’s got great abs. I like nice abs on a boy.”

“Uh, hello?” Aaron said as he looked at me and back down at his abs several times with raised eyebrows. “I’ve definitely got D. Myers there. Anything else?”

I struggled to stifle a giggle. “Well, there is one place where he is very impressive,” I said as I filled in the last bit of the R. I stroked his abs a little lower than I needed to, going bellow his belly button and halfway down to the waistband of his shorts. I glanced down meaningfully.

Now Aaron’s eyebrows climbed even higher. “What are you saying, Miss Anderson? What other parts of my boy Dylan’s body are you familiar with?”

I waited until I had finished the R and then I leaned in close to him. “His thighs,” I said.

“His thighs?”

“Oh yeah,” I confirmed.
“Dylan’s got very strong, manly thighs.”

“Are you kidding me? The boy’s got chicken legs.” Aaron pulled up his shorts, careful not to get any paint from his hands on them, and revealed muscular bulges on his legs. “This is what a real man’s thighs look like. Honestly, I’m beginning to wonder why you aren’t my girlfriend instead of his.”

“Well,” I said, suddenly having a thought, “there is one more thing about Dylan that I find quite appealing. He’s got a very cute butt. I’d have to make sure that your butt was just as cute before I could ever be your girlfriend.”

Aaron gave me an exaggerated eye roll. “Come on, I’ve got the best butt in school,” he said. He planted both hands on his behind to emphasize his point.

“Well now you’ve got two hand prints on your butt that should certainly call attention to it,” I said, pleased.

Aaron’s eyes widened. “You tricked me!” he exclaimed. He stuck out his hands like he was going to touch me with them.

“No!” I squealed. “Aaron, don’t!” I giggled and dodged around him while he pretended like he was trying to plant hand prints all over me.

I couldn’t believe it. Aaron had always seemed cool and serious. I had never seen this playful and funny side of him before. All of a sudden he was dropping his guard with me. Was it because I was dating a friend of his? I had noticed that it was easier for some guys to goof around with their friends’ girlfriends because there was no need to worry about a relationship forming. Maybe Aaron finally felt like he could be himself with me without me interpreting it as flirting or a romantic overture. Or was it something else? Was he actually into me?

Aaron finally cornered me against the wall and lunged forward like he was going to put his hands on my cheeks. At the last second he split his hands so they landed on either side of my head. We both laughed. I looked up at him. I was inches from his chest and face. Close enough to kiss. My smile slipped from my face. He looked down at me and his smile faded as well.