The ABC's of Kissing Boys (19 page)

“Hey,” I said, rushing up to her. “Wow, huh?”

But Becca just let out a weary sigh. “Don't worry about it, Parker, you're off the hook.”

“Hook? Huh?”

“With me. You don't have to go slumming anymore. I get it that you have your popular, important friends back. And that there's no more need for me.”

X Marks the Spot:
A mouth might form a perfect O, but X marks
where the magic happens.

“N
o, Becca,” I said, begging, gasping, freaking. “Please, don't do this.”

People were moving away from the kissing booth now. The big show was over. But for those in the know (meaning me), the real drama was just beginning.

“Don't do
what?”
she drawled slowly, like each word was painful. “You're on varsity. It's what you wanted. I— I'm happy for you.”

I didn't believe that for a second. “Look,” I said, stepping in closer. “You're the best friend I could ever have. And you proved it by taking me back and sticking by me when nobody else would.” I shifted my weight. “I'm going to play varsity because I love soccer and want to play against people who are great. But it won't change a thing between us.”

“Until Rachael tells you otherwise.”

I made a face. “She's not going to do that. And if she did, well, I've learned to stay away from people like that.”

“You didn't ignore Chrissandra when she told you to drop me.”

I paused, memories flying through my head. What? Chrissandra never said any such thing. Like Mandy and Elaine, she never even knew Becca existed. Chrissandra was just so cool during our first JV practices, I jumped at the chance to be part of the circle around her.

My flaw. My fault.

“What I did,” I said, scrunching my face apologetically, “I did on my own. I moved on. I thought you had, too.” When she didn't speak (and I thought my throat might close with regret and guilt), I added, “I'm really sorry. That's all I can say right now, and hopefully you'll stick by me and let me prove my friendship to you.”

I could see doubt flashing in her eyes.

“I haven't given you any reason to distrust me since we talked at your house, right?”

“Well, no …”

“So believe me when I say I am your new- and-improved friend—who thinks before she acts.”

A small smile tugged at her mouth. “New and improved?”

“Look, Becca, I've been the outcast and I've been the popular girl. Sure, popular was better. But you know, outcast wasn't so bad, either. Not with you by my side.”

“Don't go getting all mushy on me, Parker,” she said, and laughed.

“Friends?”

She let out a long sigh. “Yeah. Let's go toast that with some serious chocolate.”

“Okay, just let me say goodbye,” I said, and nodded toward my brother and Luke, who were chatting with some former teachers. “I'll catch up with you.”

Clayton was engrossed in conversation, but Luke slipped away the moment I got close.

“Thank you so much,” I said, and gave his arm a playful punch. We were
done
with lip locks.

“My pleasure,” he said, then turned his back entirely on Clayton. “Hey, I don't know if it was those Starbursts or the cherry stems, but if that were an SAT exam, I'd give you the full eight hundred.”

I laughed. “Thanks. I guess I'm a fast learner.”

“I guess you are.”

“Or I'm just cool like that.”

Luke got called back into the conversation with Clayton. Leaving my words to echo in my ears.

Making me realize,
Right phrase, wrong hottie.
And also that Tristan had mysteriously disappeared.

I searched, but after another disappointing sweep of the fairgrounds, I came up empty. So with a heavy sigh, I went to find Becca.

•

Over a Tater Tot hot dish that night, I explained to my parents, in broad terms, that there had been a shake- up on the soccer teams and that I'd been moved up to varsity.

I expected congrats, and maybe the clinking of glasses. But instead, I got a nod out of my dad and a “That's nice, honey” from my mother.

“Come on,” I said, my gaze bouncing between them. “This is what I've wanted. What I've been working for with Clayton and Luke.” I almost added “and Tristan,” but why rock the boat?

“Did you and Luke do that kiss in front of everyone?” my mom asked.

So much for keeping the waters calm. “Yeah, but I'd already been put on varsity by then, so it wasn't all that important.”

My father's head jerked up. Fire lit his eyes. “You subjected this family to dealings with the Murphys for something you consider ‘not all that important’?”

I tensed. Oh—I got it. This wasn't about me; it was about him. Him and Tristan's dad again.

“Your father,” my mother said, her hand tightening around her glass, “consulted a lawyer today. Arbitration was suggested, a legal sit- down with Mr. Murphy and attorneys.” She rubbed her thumb against her first two fingers, indicating the spending of big bucks.

“He also said we could sell the place and move,” my dad grumbled, and shoveled some food into his mouth, probably to hold back some choice words about that idea.

I couldn't imagine moving—especially over something so ridiculous. I stared at my mother, the Tater Tots suddenly a lump in my stomach. “Maybe the sit- down isn't such a bad idea, if it's a one- time thing and gets all the problems out in the air?”

Dad looked up again. “Sure, and I can't wait until it comes out that my daughter has been using his two-years-younger son for
kissing
lessons.”

“One year younger.” My words slipped out, like somehow that made a difference.

My dad glared, and I didn't really blame him.

Struggling, I went for another tactic. “Well, Dad, it's sort of like a
Romeo and Juliet
thing. Even though the parents were enemies, that didn't mean the kids couldn't be together.”

Something like horror creased my mother's brow, while a vein throbbed in my dad's neck.

“And look how well that turned out for their families, Parker Elizabeth!” He exhaled, loudly and noisily. “At this rate, we're going to end up broke and living out of our car.”

I tried really hard not to roll my eyes.

“Honey, please,” my mom said, touching his arm. “Your blood pressure. Worst case, we'll sell and move.”

“I don't want another house. All the time and energy I put in around here, I've got this place damn near perfect. Besides, it's my home, my castle, my kingdom….”

I'd seen my father go emo over Mr. Murphy plenty of times. But this was different. I was tempted to find him a hooded sweatshirt and an iPod and tell him to go chill.

When the doorbell rang, I leapt from my seat. And when I spotted Tristan through the beveled glass, holding a colorful bouquet of flowers, I slipped outside and closed the door as fast as possible.

“I had to guess at the kind you liked, and the color,” he said.

It took me a moment to understand—to connect it back to that practice with Emma and Marg. My primary focus for the time being was to get Tristan away from my dad and my house. Now.

I grabbed the flowers, then his hand, and tugged him toward the street. “They're beautiful. But come on, my dad's home and this is no place to be if you want to live through the night.”

Yummy
:
Kissing is an effective
calorie burner, so go ahead and get an extra
ice cream mix-in on your date.

A
s we headed out toward the harbor, it took me a few moments to realize that I was still holding Tristan's hand. And that I didn't want to let it go.

“Thanks so much for the flowers,” I said, remembering myself and my manners. I dropped his hand to touch a petal in the lively mix of colors and varieties.

“I know you told me never to buy them, but I wanted to do something to celebrate you making varsity. And since I didn't know your favorites …”

“You got me one of each.”

He exhaled a laugh. “Yeah, go with that.”

We arrived at the grassy hill and settled onto the bench. It was the same place we'd sat just over a week ago, debating whether Chrissandra had seen us together in my mom's SUV. And while that seemed like a lifetime ago, I could still tap into that night and those feelings, how anxious and worried I'd felt. And now here we were, with all that behind us. Well, sort of. One thing I knew was that he deserved my thanks and my full attention, so I scooted closer, until my hip was practically against his. “Everything's been so crazy. I don't know if I thanked you for all you did. I never could have pulled it off without you.”

“You're welcome, but sure you could have.” He stretched his arm around the bench behind me. “You were an incredible kisser, Parker, better than any of those girls from camp, right from that first moment.”

I turned and looked up, challenging him. “No way.”

“Way,” he said, and a grin touched his lips. “Nobody ever made me feel the way you do.”

Now
he was playing with me. I blew out a disgusted sigh. “Oh, come on…. What about Emma? When you kiss her …”

“I don't kiss her.”

“Okay,” I said, steadying myself, “but when you
do.
…”

“I told you the other night, there's nothing between us. That hasn't changed and isn't going to.”

Something lit inside me, and I felt the heat travel up my cheeks. Then suddenly, he was eyeing me with those dark, probing blues.

“Why all this Emma stuff, anyway?”

I shrugged, my shoulder bumping his. “Well, every time I turned around, you two were together … and then you broke it off with me—well, you know,
fake
broke it off—”

“Exactly.”

I scrunched up my face. “Huh?”

“The whole thing was getting too confusing. The kicker,” he said, and looked off at the harbor lights, “was the day you pulled me into the alcove. I thought you wanted to be with me for real. Then that girl showed up, and suddenly you're laughing and running off like we'd gotten caught. I realized it was all a scam to get seen. And I felt pretty stupid.”

“No, no, not a scam,” I said, touching his arm. “I didn't know anyone would find us. And I really
did
come to you for … relief. See, I'd read on the Web that kissing was a great way to kill stress. And I was freaking over stuff Rachael had said.”

I smiled real big, hoping he'd buy in. But he kept looking straight ahead.

“But it wasn't about kissing
me,
Parker.”

“Yeah,” I managed, swallowing hard, knowing I owed him this much, “it
was.”

He turned toward me and met my eyes. “Are you into me?”

This was so awkward. Worse than awkward. Catastrophically awkward, terminally awkward, or a-phrase-that-has-not-yet-been-invented awkward. The deep- seated feelings trapped inside me belonged to the fake Tristan and Parker, not the Tristan and Parker facing each other on this bench.

But I just had to say what I'd suspected for a while and known for certain while kissing Luke. “Yeah, I am.”

His arm inched forward, settling across my shoulder, comforting me.

Wow.
What to do now, though? We existed in different worlds. He had his friends. And I was just getting mine back.

But maybe not if I admitted I was in love with a freshman.

Was that threat for real? And if so, how ironic was that? In order to keep what Tristan had helped me earn— varsity- level respect, on the field and off—I had to deny my feelings for him and walk away.

It wasn't fair.

Lost in thought, I lolled my head back against his arm. He tightened his hold around my neck, which only made things more confusing.

“You've become important to me,” I said, knowing I had to at least try to explain. “I mean, I know I joke with you and call you Sparky and stuff, but that's sort of my way of keeping my distance. Since I knew this thing,” I said, and wagged a finger between us, “could never really happen.”

I willed him to nod, to agree. To make it easy. But it was no surprise when he simply arched a brow. Nothing about Tristan had ever been easy.

“Here's the thing,” he said instead. “What if I was of a different race? Would that keep you from dating me?”

“Well, no …”

“A different religion? A citizen of another country?”

I shook my head.

“That would be discrimination, right?”

“Well, yeah …”

“And not dating me because I'm a freshman isn't?”

“I didn't say—”

He cut me off with a frown.

My shoulders slumped in his hold. He
so
had my number. “Look, Tristan, I promise I'll really talk you up in school, okay? You'll land an A-list ninth grader in no time.”

“Give me a break! You're not getting this at all.”

My heart seized up. Yeah, I was getting it. That was the problem. Like, Cupid's-bow-through-the-heart getting it.

“I ‘broke up’ with you the other day,” he said, exhaling, “because I couldn't keep pretending not to care. And I was afraid if it went on any longer, I'd get all angry or jealous or
something.
And we'd end up as stupid as our fathers, mad- dogging each other from across the street.”

A horn honked somewhere nearby, and a chill was settling into the evening air. But all I saw, all I felt, all I heard, was Tristan. I couldn't imagine him not being in my life, couldn't imagine not being able to turn to him, to talk to him.

To kiss him.

“So if we can't date, and we sure as heck don't want to be enemies—friends is basically what's left. So, what,” he said, and huffed out a sigh, “we shake hands and walk off?”