Kiss Me (9 page)

“You didn't have to party in a dorm room.” 

“True. So, a girl like that put Valium in his beer and when I stopped by to give him a kiss I walked in on . . .” I shake my head. I can’t even say it. 

He runs his thumb across the top of my hand. “It’s okay. I get it.”

“I found out that the Keats guy wasn't hooking up. He apologized for ditching me and that’s who I was with all summer.”

“You loved him?” 

“Yeah, I was crazy about him. All summer he told me loved me. Told me we'd be together forever. Then at the end of summer, he told me he was leaving me for a year to travel the world. Like, he told me and then was leaving a few days later. That’s why I'm done with love.”

“I don’t think you should be done with love. You just need a guy that’s not a dick.”

“If only boys came with warning labels. Like, yours would be: Do not kiss when drunk. Riley’s would be: I’m going to sleep with you and your best friend too.” 

He laughs lightly with me, but mostly he’s looking at me with his adorable face. And I just figured out why he seems sweeter than Riley. It’s his eyes. They are so expressive. It’s like all his emotions are mirrored in them. Last night they looked hurt. Jealous. Today they have ranged from naughty to thoughtful. 

“You haven't hardly eaten any pizza.” He holds a piece up to my mouth, so I take a bite of it. 

“You’re being awful sweet to me.” 

“I think that saying misery loves company is true. You're hurting as much as I am. Probably more.” 

“I guess at least I don't have to see them every day like you do.” 

He nods. “Is that why you came here? To run away?” 

How should I say this? What did I tell Riley when I was crying and blathering on? “No. My mom and stepdad announced they were moving to France. They gave me the choice of going with them or coming here.”

He grabs both my hands, pulls them up to his mouth, and kisses my knuckles. 

“I'm glad we were both at the cave last night.” 

Monday, August 29th

Why can’t it be both?

Ceramics.

Today is the first day of classes and uniforms. I always feel both excited and nervous on the first day of school but, so far, my classes seem to be okay. First period, I have History with Riley. Neither of us like mornings very much and I’m pretty sure our teacher agrees. He showed up about five minutes late with a very large cup of coffee. 

Second period is English with Katie, Dallas, and two guys named Jordan and Parker. Jordan is on the soccer team and has mischievous eyes. Parker plays tennis and seems very interested in Katie’s boobs. 

In third period Math, we were forced to sit in alphabetical order. Which put me right behind Logan, who was throwing all those passes to Aiden in the scrimmage. He took off his navy blazer and when he leaned forward to write, I could see muscles bulging across his back and shoulders. I can already tell Math is going to suck, but at least I’ll have a nice view.

It’s like what Grandpa always says about real estate.
Location, location, location.

I’m pretty sure I’m sitting on Park Place overlooking the back of Boardwalk.

I walk into fourth period Ceramics and am surprised to see Bryce and Jake sitting at a table in the back. They are the only boys in the class. 

I laugh and say, “You’re taking ceramics?” 

Jake laughs. “Haven’t you seen
Ghost
?” 

“Yeah?”

Bryce chimes in. “We needed a fine arts class and thought playing around in the clay with hot girls sounded fun last year when we signed up.” He waves his hand in front of him. “But, so far, no hot girls.”

“Oh, gee, thanks,” I tease.

“Well, besides you, of course,” Jake says. “But I think Whitney would kill me if she heard that.” Then he pats the empty stool next to him. “Sit here.”

“Do you like Whitney? I heard you’ve been making out with her a lot. At the dance. At the party.”

“We’ve been making out. And why not? She’s gorgeous.”

Jake is pretty much gorgeous himself, but he seems way too nice to be with someone like Whitney.

“What about her college boyfriend?”  

“He’s not here. So who cares? Besides, she’s going to break up with him.”

“You know Dawson’s still in love with her, right?” 

“Yeah, but we’ve talked about it. We’re not going to let it interfere with our friendship. Plus, she’s hot.”

Bryce grins. “I don’t know what Jake will do, but I know I’d step up my game for a shot at that.”

“What do you mean?” 

“She’s a hot piece, if you know what I mean.” Bryce pushes his elbow into my arm and grins again. Like I couldn’t possible know what he means and his grin somehow clarifies it for me. “And Jake isn’t the only one she’s been kissing.”

I look at Jake. “So, do you just want her for sex, or do you actually like her?” 

“Why can’t it be both?” he says simply.

I contemplate that. 

And come to the same conclusion I always do. 

Guys make no freaking sense.

After class, I walk with Bryce and Jake to the café and go through the lunch line with them.

Jake says, “Come sit with us.”

I follow him to
the
table. The table I swore I would never sit at again. 

I stand in front of it and look down. It’s just like any other long wooden table in the place.

We’ve celebrated holidays all over the world. Mom once told me that it doesn’t matter where you are, what matters is who is sitting with you. 

I think about who’s sitting at our table at my old school. I imagine Vanessa hitting on Cush. Running her long nails through his hair and telling him all the things she wants to do to him. 

“We don’t have assigned seats,” Bryce says to me, tearing me away from my thoughts. “Just sit anywhere.”

I don’t want to be rude, so I sit down next to Bryce and across from Jake. 

The boys are telling Tyrese about what a joke Ceramics class is going to be when Whitney, Peyton, and three other pretty girls sit down. The three girls all scrunch up their noses at me, like they just smelled sour milk.

Whitney gives me that you-don’t-belong-here look.

It’s a look I know well, having worn it on numerous occasions myself.

What the heck am I doing here? 

I’m trying to come up with a graceful exit strategy when Dawson sits down on the other side of me and whispers in my ear, “You look adorable today.” 

And I can’t help it. It makes me happy.

Mostly because I was a bit worried about how I look today. I’m wearing the little plaid pleated skort, a fitted blue and white pinstriped oxford, and the navy blazer. Then I have on white lace over-the-knee socks and navy suede Rag & Bone platform Mary Janes. My accessories are a combination of long gold and pearl necklaces, gold bangles, and a red leather Proenza Schouler bag. I adore the lace socks and the platforms, but no one else is wearing them. Whitney has on pantyhose—seriously, do people still wear pantyhose?—and a pair of navy square-heeled pumps. The leather looks buttery and expensive, but they still look like the kind of sensible shoes your grandma might wear to the country club. 

Make that great-grandma.

But I don’t care. I’m not trying to fit in. I want to be me. And this version of their uniform is totally my style. 

Whitney glares at me. 

Dawson is oblivious to Whitney’s glares. He puts his hand on my knee, touching the top of my socks, and says in his you’re-so-going-to-fall-into-bed-with-me voice, “These are especially sexy.”

I am about ready to tell him to stop flirting with me when Whitney speaks to Jake in a loud voice. “Oh, Jakey, I just love the tie you have on today. Is it Fendi?” Then she rubs her hand down the front of his shirt and looks at the back of his tie. 

She fawns over him and even gives him a kiss on the cheek. 

Her fawning is aimed directly at Dawson. She’s talking and flirting with Jake, but her eyes are on Dawson, who hasn’t looked at her once because his attention has been focused on me and Bryce. He tells us all about his morning classes, then starts talking about the kind of wheels I should buy for my new Range Rover. That conversation morphs into an animated one about all the hottest cars they have ever seen.

The lunch-is-over bell rings. 

I haven’t seen the Hottie today, but as I’m heading off to my next class, I spy him. 

He’s dumping his trash into a trash barrel. 

And looking way too sexy doing it.

But, still. 

I’ll be damned if I am going to speak to him. He hasn’t spoken to me or texted me since the dances. He turns in my direction and I quickly look away. I certainly don’t want to look like I’m creeping on him. 

That becomes an easy task when Dallas comes wandering over, throws his arm around my shoulder, and says, “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

As we’re walking, he goes on and on about how he was able to see up some girl’s skirt in his last class. And how her panties were bright neon blue, and how
She
just didn’t look like the kind of girl to wear neon blue
. 

Then he starts trying to guess the underwear color of every girl we pass. 

We get to my class and he says, “So what color are yours today?”

“I thought the whole point of your little game was to guess.”

“Hmm, do they match your socks, white and lacy?”

“Damn, you’re good,” I lie.

He grins big and walks off to class feeling all good about himself.  

I’m wearing red lace, really, but, shh . . . don’t tell. 

Mom always says red lace panties make you feel confident and sexy, even if no one ever sees them.

The back of my hair.

French.

I walk into French class and don’t see anyone I know, so I sit in a mid-row seat.

I feel my phone buzzing in my bag and take a peek at it. We aren’t supposed to use our phones during class, but I have a couple minutes before the last bell rings.

I see that Brooklyn has sent me a photo of himself. He’s in my favorite pair of Billabong board shorts and the only other thing he’s wearing is his leather cord necklace with the chaos symbol charm. I reach down and touch the tattoo on my hip, close my eyes, click my platforms together three times, and wish myself back home.

I open my eyes, see that I’m still here, sigh, and read his text.

B<3:  It’s hard being here in Zarautz. Everywhere I look reminds me of you. Of our summer of waves.

Me:  We did have fun there. Remember that night? When it was cold and we were the only two people on the beach?

B<3:  One of the best nights of my life. Do you have plans for this weekend? I’ll be in Long Beach, NY. Can you come?

Me:  I’d love to come.

B <3:  Can’t wait to see you. Love you.

I look up. Aiden is standing over me reading my texts. He makes a
hmphhh
sound and sits down in the seat right behind me. 

I sure hope the back of my hair looks okay.

And I know I went on to Science, Drama, and Soccer after that, but all I have been able to think about are four things. 

1.)  The back of my head is going to have to look sexy
every
day. 

2.)  Why didn’t Aiden talk to me? 

3.)  Is he done playing me? And, if so, why didn’t I get played with?

4.)  I’m seeing Brooklyn in six days. 

I think about how Garrett thinks Vincent will go to great lengths to find me. 

I text Brooklyn again.

Me:  Do you think it’s safe for me to see you?

B<3:  I’ll have security. My dad will be there. I really don’t think he’s gonna fly all the way to NY on the off chance you might be there. 

A lotta rage.

5:45pm

Dance team practice is over. Normally, we’re supposed to be done at 4:30, but today was super long. Peyton marches up to me, grabs my arm, and says, “You went out on a date with Dawson? After all I did for you?”

“All you did for me?”

“I got you to try out for dance. I put in a good word for you in soccer. And you go after Whitney’s ex?”

“From what I understand, a panel of judges decided who made the dance team, not you. And if you put in a good word for me about varsity soccer then I appreciate it, but I’m assuming a coach would not play me if I didn’t earn it, and I fully expect to earn a starting position.”

“Fine. What about Dawson?”

“What about him? We went out for pizza. Big deal.”

“He kissed you. Everyone saw.”

“So? Why does Whitney care? She’s made out with both Bryce and Jake. Which I find interesting since she has a college boyfriend.”

“She’s done with the college boy. She’s just moving on.”

“Well, maybe she should let Dawson move on too.”

“Oh, trust me, he’s moved on plenty.”

“No, he hasn’t. He’s hooked up, yes. But he hasn’t moved on. He hasn’t dated anyone even close to seriously.”

“You think he’ll be serious with you?”

“Absolutely not. We’re sorta becoming friends. We have a lot in common.”

“And what about my brother?”

“What about your brother?”

“He likes you.”

“No, he doesn’t. He did all that dances for points stuff and we had a great time, but it’s been two days and I haven’t seen or heard from him. Well, he is in my French class, but he just sat behind me and didn’t say a word to me. He hasn’t texted me, talked to me, nothing! And it’s not my fault he frickin quoted Keats, and I froze. It caught me off guard! He can be super romantic one minute and a stupid dick the next. He knows where to find me and, so far, he has not found me!”

“Well it doesn’t help that you’re making out with Dawson!”