Firsts (35 page)

“Nope,” I say, blotting my lips against a piece of tissue paper that Faye presses against them. “I’ve spent enough time pretending to be somebody else’s fantasy. Tonight, I’m just going to be myself. I think Zach will approve.”

Faye narrows her eyes. I can see a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“It’s not about what you’ve got on top. It’s about what you have on underneath. Let me guess. Leather and lace.”

Angela pretends to cover her eyes and hide her head, but I can tell she’s laughing. I tug at the corner of my shirt, exposing an unembellished nude bra strap, and see Faye’s face fall again.

“That’s, like, the world’s most boring bra,” she says. “If this is a real date, he probably wants to see your boobs.”

I bend over to rummage under my bed for my Cons. “Really, Faye,” I say. “It’s a first date. I’m not that easy.”

Angela claps. “I think this is great,” she says. “You found someone you really like.”

Faye plops down on my bed. “Well, I want details later,” she says. “I’ll be expecting a late-night phone call with all the specifics.”

The doorbell rings. Seven o’clock—right on time.

I grab my purse off the back of my chair and head for the door. “I don’t think so,” I say with a grin. “I think the whole school has heard enough about my love life. From now on, the rest of it will take place behind closed and locked doors.”

42

I’m nervous to see Zach. Nervous because I have never actually been on a real date, and nervous because I hope I’m okay at it. I’m just about the furthest thing from a virgin, but I guess there are some things that are still virgin territory for me.

But Zach makes it easy. Kim has already answered the door by the time I get downstairs, and Zach is standing in the foyer wearing a button-down shirt and carrying a bouquet of flowers. Daisies, not roses. They’re the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen.

“For you,” he says, handing me the bouquet.

This time I don’t chuck them at the bottom of the stairs. I let Kim put them in a vase. Later, I’ll bring them to my bedroom and leave them on my nightstand. Flowers from my boyfriend.

“Ready?” Zach says, placing his hand on my lower back and guiding me to the door.

“Ready,” I say.

“I’ll have her home by curfew, Mrs. Ayres,” he says as he opens the door for me.

Kim idles in the foyer, and I wait for her to make an embarrassing comment, but for once she doesn’t. “You kids have fun,” she says instead. I glance back at her and for the first time in forever, I don’t scowl or roll my eyes or blow her off. I meet her eyes and smile. Because Kim might suck at being a mom, but she’s the only one I’ve got. Maybe she’s trying, in her own misguided way. And I guess I can understand something about that.

I look up the stairs one more time, and there are Faye and Angela, standing on the landing, waving at me. And in this moment I have never felt more normal, more like a regular girl going on a date with a boy she likes.

I have never felt luckier, either.

Zach leads me down the driveway to where a white sedan is hidden behind my Jeep and Kim’s convertible. “I borrowed my mom’s car,” he says. “It’s a hunk of junk and it only goes one speed, but it should get us there in one piece.”

I smile. “It’s perfect,” I say.

He holds my car door open and shuts it gently once I get in. He lets me pick the music on the radio and reaches for my hand as he pulls away from the house.

“Where to?” he says. “What big adventure did you decide on?”

Zach let me design our whole date, not because he’s indecisive but because he knows I like to have a plan. But I think I’m about to surprise him.

“Actually,” I say, “I do have an idea. Keep driving. Straight for the beach.”

Zach raises an eyebrow. “Are you trying to get me out of my clothes?” he says. “Because if you wanted to see me naked, there was already this video that went around.”

I punch him in the arm. “No, silly. You’ll see.”

When I finally tell him to stop the car, he gives me a quizzical look. “This doesn’t look like a fancy restaurant,” he says. “Or a movie theater, or bowling. So where exactly are we going?”

“Well,” I start, “I was kind of in the mood for milkshakes.”

And this is our date. It’s not fancy or over-the-top or adventurous or even what most people would describe as romantic. But to me, it’s perfect. My life has been dramatic enough. We order milkshakes and French fries, and I eat in front of Zach without feeling self-conscious at all. He makes me laugh and finds little ways to touch me, in places I never thought I’d like being touched. On my wrist, on my knee, on the tip of my nose.

We even sit on the same side of the table.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he says as we walk on the beach afterward. “California will be awfully lonely without you next year.”

“There’s always phone sex,” I say, bumping up against his shoulder. I take a deep breath before what I’m about to say next. “Or you could just come with me. Go to school somewhere it snows in the winter.”

Zach hasn’t let go of my hand, but now he squeezes it gently. “Mercedes Ayres, is it possible we’re driving the same speed for once?”

A smile twitches at my lips. “Well, you know. I’m trying this thing where I go a bit slower. Like a minivan, instead of a Mercedes.”

Zach stops and pulls me toward him and traces the shape of my face with his finger. A month ago, I wouldn’t have let him. It would have been too intimate, too meaningful. But today, I don’t pull away.

“You can’t be a minivan,” he says. “I love that you’re a Mercedes. But I’ll do my best to keep up with you.”

“You already are,” I say, brushing my lips against his and letting him lift me off the sand.

Here’s the thing. I can’t make up the speed limit any more than I can take back time. I can’t fix what has already happened to me, and I certainly can’t fix what happened because of me. But what I can do is drive beside the somebody who is beside me now. I could drive away in a few months like I planned and start fresh. Or I could stay here and love the people I’m with and the life I have with them. Maybe Zach and I will be together forever, and someday we’ll tell our kids that we were high school sweethearts, a much tamer version of what really happened. Maybe we’re soul mates. Maybe we really have come together to make each other stronger, like sodium and chloride. Or maybe a year from now, we’ll be on opposite sides of the coast and decide we’re better off as friends. But all those maybes aren’t important, because I can’t control them.

I can control what happens in the chemistry lab. There’s a formula and an equation, and I know exactly what the reaction will be when I mix one thing with another. Life, not so much. Love, not at all. No matter what elements you combine, you really have no idea what happens next.

It’s scary not knowing what comes next.

But not knowing might also be the best part.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Writing is something you mostly do by yourself (or in my case, with an entitled Chihuahua on your lap), but publication is a journey that involves a whole team—and I’m lucky enough to have the best team of all.
Firsts
would still be a Word document on my computer if not for several supremely wonderful people to whom I’m eternally grateful.

First (pun intended!), a million thanks to my rock star agent, Kathleen Rushall. This has all been possible because of you, and your fearlessness and unfailing positivity made this process not only less stressful, but a whole lot of awesome. Thank you for sharing your great instincts and your listening ear, for your words of encouragement, for believing in this book (and in me), and for making my dreams reality. I’m so very thankful to have you in my corner.

To my brilliant editor, Kat Brzozowski: thank you for taking a chance on Mercedes and turning
Firsts
into the best book it could ever be. You are full of amazing ideas and understand me and my book in a way I never could have imagined anyone would. Not only that, but working with you has been incredibly fun—I’m glad we were able to bond over haikus and nostalgia for the Backstreet Boys. (I’m still Team Brian.)

Before I had an agent or an editor, I summoned up the nerve to enter a contest called Pitch Wars. Massive thanks to Brenda Drake for organizing this contest, because it played a huge role in
Firsts
getting out in the world. Thank you to Evelyn Skye for teaching me the fine art of pitching and supporting me at every bend in this crazy road to publication. Enormous tackle hugs to Lori Goldstein, who saw the potential in an edgy manuscript and continues to provide guidance and advice whenever I need it. Lori,
Firsts
wouldn’t be
Firsts
without you. I never thought when I entered Pitch Wars that your mentorship—and friendship—would last long after the contest ended, and I’m so happy it did.

To Emily Martin, my fabulous critique partner, thanks for being everything—an honest critic, a passionate cheerleader, a trusted confidante, and a good friend. Your sharp eye helped
Firsts
become a stronger manuscript, and your willingness to read over anything I write is appreciated more than words can say.

To the members of The Sweet Sixteens and Sixteen to Read debut groups—thank you for being so welcoming, supportive, and enthusiastic. You’re all so talented and kind and I’m honored to be sharing this journey with every single one of you. Group hug!

Thank you, or should I say
grazie
, to Taryn Fagerness, foreign rights agent extraordinaire, for bringing
Firsts
to new audiences around the world.

To the amazing people at Thomas Dunne Books/St. Martin’s Press who helped
Firsts
become an actual book—you have made me feel like the luckiest writer out there. Special thanks to Karen Masnica and Michelle Cashman for your stellar marketing and publicity efforts, and to Danielle Christopher for designing a gorgeous cover I still can’t stop staring at. To Kristin Roth, thanks for being so incredibly perceptive and polishing
Firsts
to a shine.

To Fernanda Viveiros at Raincoast, thank you for handling the Canadian sales and events for
Firsts
.

To Amanda Maciel, Caisey Quinn, Jennifer Mathieu, and Lori Goldstein (again): thank you for your generosity in providing blurbs for
Firsts
. I admire your writing so much and your support means the world to me.

To my fourth-grade teacher, Ms. Parrack—thank you for always looking excited when I asked for more paper to write on because my stories were taking on a life of their own.

My friends and family all deserve a huge round of applause. Thank you to Tory Overend and Lauren Badalato for keeping my secrets and loving me even when I’m a hermit. To my in-laws, Jim and Doreen Flynn, thank you for taking such an interest in my writing (Dad Flynn, you and your blacksmith may be on to something). To my brother-in-law, Jermaine Shakes, for your optimism and faith that good things will happen. To Erin Burns, my sister and best friend, for sharing a thousand inside jokes, being proud of me no matter what, and always wanting to celebrate my successes with wine and shopping.

My parents, Denis and Lucy Burns, were my very first supporters. They always knew I wanted to be a writer and gave me everything I needed to make it happen. Thanks, Mom and Dad, for being there through the highs and lows, for putting up with all of my crazy whims, and for supporting me in every way possible. You taught me that the most important thing in life is to try, even if you fail. I’ve fallen down many times, but because of you, I’m never afraid to get back up. You’re my heroes.

Last, but definitely not least, thank you to my husband, Steve Flynn, for marrying and loving a writer who spends an awful lot of time with made-up people. Thank you for not getting mad when I spend hours holed up in my office, for buying me the best desk chair imaginable, for our walks and talks in the woods, for endless pots of coffee, for endless hugs, and for just being you.

And to all of you, my readers—thank you for being the reason I do what I do, and for giving me the chance to do it. I couldn’t be happier to be sharing this first with each and every one of you.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

LAURIE ELIZABETH FLYNN
became hooked on writing in the fourth grade, when she repeatedly bugged her teacher for more paper to write her stories on. She later went to school for journalism, where the most important thing she learned was that she would much rather write fiction than report the news.

Laurie has also worked as a model, a job that took her overseas to Tokyo, Athens, and Paris, and spurred her obsession with all things fashion. She and her husband, Steve, divide their time between London and Ontario, Canada.

Laurie can mostly be found at her writing desk with the world’s most spoiled Chihuahua on her lap. Laurie drinks way too much coffee, snorts when she laughs, and times herself when she does crossword puzzles.
Firsts
is her debut novel.

You can visit Laurie’s Web site at
www.laurieelizabethflynn.com
or find her on Twitter at
@laurellizabeth
. You can sign up for email updates
here
.