The ABC's of Kissing Boys (7 page)

The passenger seat was empty, so either Kyle was here alone—or he was meeting someone. (Or someone was hiding from me?)

I jumped into the driver's seat of my mom's SUV, hoping to find Tristan hunkered down in the back, but no such luck. I started the engine, backed up and did a U-turn to head back to the road, driving little- old- lady slow, looking at every bush and tree. Finally, close to the main road, Tristan jumped out of some brush. Every thing sort of warmed inside me, like when you first saw your cat that hadn't come home the night before.

I braked, and he climbed in beside me. I didn't even wait for him to put on his seat belt. I gunned it.

“You were great,” I said. “Kyle never saw you.”

“Who was that guy?”

“Chrissandra's boyfriend. Oh, Chrissandra is—”

“I know her name. I don't even go to DHS yet, but I've heard of her.”

“So, yeah, you understand why it was critical that she didn't see us together. Or hear about it.”

Gravel crunched under the tires as I slowed to a stop at the lip of the main highway. Another set of headlights appeared from the direction of DeGroot, turned toward us and cruised on in.

The car's headlights highlighted our faces before moving on, giving us one good look at the person behind the wheel.

One very familiar, very popular and very shocked Chrissandra Hickey.

I was screwed.

Improvement
:
Your kissing
technique will benefit from practice—try
running your tongue along your lips when no
one is looking.

I
don't think I slept that night. Okay, there were some moments where the edges of reality went fuzzy, but the usual trappings of comfort, escape and rest were nowhere near my twin bed.

Basically, I couldn't shrink from the fear that Chrissandra had seen Tristan and me and that it would change everything. That I'd stepped over her no-turning- back line and therefore was now unworthy of her trust and friendship. That I'd be eternally banished, to join the people susceptible to her vacant looks, dismissive shrugs or, worse, her incessant teasing.

Grasping at the hope that I could still wriggle my way out, I worked up excuses about why Tristan was in my car, some far- fetched and some that hinged on sane. When the light finally seeped in around my drapes, it was gray and thick—a perfect accessory for the sleep-deprivation headache I now had. It seemed a lot easier to hide under the covers than to go downstairs and risk the hell of facing this day.

•

To my shock, I didn't get a single call or text message that day, or the next. And I admit to deciding that no news was good news. That somehow, Tristan and I had dodged a bullet.

Since he got bogged down by a day at his mom's, it wasn't until Sunday night—with the clock ticking toward the first day of school—that we were able to meet up again.

I told my parents I needed to take a walk to clear my head for school. And that's pretty much what I did. Just not alone.

Strolling toward the harbor, passing the usual twilight joggers and dog walkers, Tristan and I kept a respectable distance from each other. We were both well aware that, despite our lip locks, this was just business. We didn't need to be close, to touch, to connect. We just needed to get our stories straight, and figure out how to best spin them.

“Okay,” I told him, breaking the silence. “You accidentally left the wristwatch your mom gave you for eighth- grade promotion out on the shore. And you paid me to drive you back there to get it.”

“I don't wear a watch.”

I shrugged. “Well,
yeah.
Not anymore. Because we couldn't find it.”

He looked unconvinced. “How about you're teaching me to drive?”

“Do you even have your learner's permit?”

“No. Which is why we went out to a remote part of the lake.”

“In the dark?”

“We got a late start.”

“Hmmm … not bad,” I said, wrinkling my nose in consideration. “But we gotta say you're paying me. Like you came to me this summer and we negotiated the deal.”

“Twenty bucks a session.”

“ Twenty- five,” I said, just to be ornery.

A grin touched his mouth. “You take cash?”

“Only unmarked bills.”

We got to a bench and sat down. “The good news,” I went on, “is that I didn't get any calls this weekend asking about you. Making me think … hope … wish that somehow Chrissandra only saw
me
. And that if she mentioned me to Kyle, he said I was alone.”

“Maybe,” Tristan said, but his frown told me his heart wasn't in his answer.

“People's eyes naturally go to the driver first; plus, she
was
driving kind of fast.”

“Yeah, but at six feet, a person's kind of hard to miss at any speed.”

“You're not
that
big—”

“What—you think that because I'm a freshman, I'm automatically invisible?”

I let out a little laugh. “Yeah, that's it.” I nodded toward a lady walking a beagle. “Like right now, she thinks I'm wacko and talking to myself.”

He rolled his eyes, but a smile snuck through.

“To keep things safe until we know what Chrissandra saw,” I went on, “don't come by my locker or say anything to me at school until I make the first move, okay?”

He paused, then did this exaggerated bow, which made me uncomfortable on a number of levels, one of which was the fact that it called attention to us. “Oh, yes, madam, I am to maintain the lowest of profiles.”

“That's right, Sparky.”

He frowned. “Okay, but when you work things out with your friends and finally
do
recognize me, I want it to be good. Like a big hug. And then you have to add something like if only I was a couple grades ahead, you'd totally jump my bones.”

“What?”

“Well, wouldn't you?”

“Jump your bones? No way!”

“You mean you haven't liked these lessons, even a little bit?”

I crossed my arms. “It's work.”

“Along the lines of cleaning the latrine at summer camp or SAT prep?”

He had me there. “Not
that
bad.”

“Okay, then.”

“Okay,” I said, not sure exactly what was okay or what we'd agreed on but knowing I owed him some kind of compromise. And the fact that I had no friends to share the news of his so- called hotness with pretty much took care of my end of the deal.

•

Morning came all too soon, and with it, the start of my junior year.

Cruising the halls in my first- day- of- school finest— which I prayed covered my quaking knees and cam ouflaged my sweating armpits—I felt that sort of light- headedness that comes from running too hard. But instead of giving me the certainty that all would be normal again once I caught my breath, my gut told me things were going to get way worse before they ever got better.

Amazingly, I made it to my locker without incident. CeeCee Stevens, who for the third year in a row had the locker to my right, turned and smiled. She tended to reinvent herself every few months—a new hair color, tattoo or piercing, and for her last birthday, perky new boobs—but the one thing that stayed the same was the gap between her two front teeth.

“Hey, Parker. Have a good summer?”

I wanted to scoff, to tell her that I'd endured countless hot, humid soccer practices, only to end up like the ball itself, kicked offsides. But I kept my head and simply nodded and asked about hers.

“Not bad,” she said, “other than an unbearable family vacation that ended with me nearly jumping out of our van in the wilds of Wisconsin in order to hitchhike home.”

I managed a smile, relieved that she thought I could relate to pain- in- the- butt relatives being the worst of a girl's problems. When I was enduring the worst possible pain—being cast off by my friends.

Inside my first- period class, Español Tres, I chatted with a couple of guys I'd known since sandbox days. Then a girl from my last year's Spanish class plopped down beside me—giving me the impression once again that someone was happy to see me.

I tried to smile back, but I'm pretty sure all I did was stare. At her, at the two guys and around the room. I mean, was I missing something?

I quickly took inventory:

I was the athletic girl whose skills had been put to the test and then had been ruled substandard.

I was the popular girl who'd been shunned by her popular crowd.

I was an eleventh grader who'd almost/sorta (oh, God, I hoped not) been caught in a compromising position with a ninth grader.

Why weren't they giggling and staring?

If this had happened to someone last year, Chrissandra would have been on this like white on rice, making up sidesplitting jokes and encouraging Elaine, Mandy and me to one- up her. All in good fun, of course—but maybe not so great to the one being made fun of.

Was it possible that I'd misunderstood the speed of gossip? That no one knew yet? Had I been overruled by the news of some hot hookup or breakup?

The thought was almost too good to be true, but I was anxious to find out. While Señora Trujillo took attendance, I decided to tempt fate. I leaned toward the girl beside me casually and whispered, “Did you hear Rachael Washington came back to soccer and basically took my varsity spot?”

She lifted her brow. “Yeah. Sorry. But you'll make it next year.” A tinge of sympathy crossed her face, but then she looked back at the teacher, who was now reading off
S
surnames.

“Parker Stanhope?” Señora Trujillo called out, interrupting my confusion.

“Aquí!”
I answered, then threw an anxious glance around the classroom. Nope, not one snicker, not one craned neck, not even a curious glance.

I was just … regular old me. Not a freak of nature, not socially nonexistent—not worth gossiping over. It was like people couldn't care less if I played on JV or varsity. If I had friends or not. It was like I didn't matter.

And I wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not.

•

I got through my first few classes in a daze. Mandy waved to me from the other side of the room in chem, and I got the feeling from the upward tilt of her nose that she was quite happy we'd all been seated alphabetically, so that she didn't have to deal with the quandary of whether to be seen talking to me.

Needless to say, I was super-surprised to find her waiting for me in the doorway after class. Although her innocent looks were usually weighed down by heavy streaks of blue hair dye and eye shadow, her baby face still made her look like someone your mother would let you stay out late with. I knew—from experience.

“You're … okay, I hope,” she said with a concerned frown.

I managed a nod while studying her eyes, wondering why she was letting herself be seen with me. Was she breaking ranks? Could I have a true friend in her after all?

We fell into step together with the rest of the lunch crowd, toward the junior- class corridor.

“You know, I think it sucks that you didn't make varsity,” Mandy suddenly said.

I swallowed and nodded—not a comfortable combo— and we rounded the corner to my locker. I dug for a response but came up empty.

“You're such a great player, Parker. Like that goal against Cleveland last year …”

My gaze traveled a few feet—to see Chrissandra and Elaine and a couple of other girls from last year's JV team huddled in front of a locker.

My locker.

Chrissandra looked me straight in the eye and beamed, her bright blue eyes glowing. Kyle's letterman jacket hung almost to the hem of her frayed jean shorts, with the lowest snaps closed. I knew she thought this look made her legs look longer and sleeker, but the opposite was closer to the truth. Though there wasn't a person at D.H.S. who'd dare tell her.

“Surprise!” she announced, then led a group step-away.

My insides warmed, like seeing the ball you just kicked get past the goalie into the net. Surely my locker would be decorated with bows and heart- shaped Post-its, like we'd occasionally done to celebrate birthdays and game- winning plays. Surely they'd decided to take me back—okay, surely Chrissandra had—and to stand by me through thick or thin.

Maybe Luke and I wouldn't even have to go through with our kissing- booth charade.

The last girl moved away. But nothing sparkly or Day- Glo or eye- catching jumped out on my locker at all. Just something dangling from a string from my vent.

I took a step closer, everything inside me tightening.

A pacifier.

Like you'd give to a baby. If you happened to have one in your family. Or as your new boyfriend.

Jawbreaker
:
There's just
nothing better than a kiss that uses every
last facial muscle.

“W
e figured a pacifier was
just
what you needed, Parker,” Chrissandra asserted, her eyes still gleaming. “Seeing as how you're dating a baby.”

The world spun before me, like in those first few moments of a Google Earth search. From somewhere— the West Indies or New Zealand or hell—came a chorus of laughter.

And while I told myself that this was all an act— Chrissandra had warned me that they'd be coming off as bitches—I also knew the game had changed a lot since that phone conversation. I'd been caught with a freshman. And that was the ultimate deal breaker.

“No,” I said emphatically, “I don't like him like that.”

“Like what?” Chrissandra said. “Clothed?”

The girls laughed.