26 Kisses (2 page)

It didn’t take long for Mel and me to become friends after she moved to our tiny Michigan town from New York City. When she showed up in my math class on the first day of seventh grade, with her chunky bracelets and awkward smile, everyone else thought she was a little weird. I thought she was the coolest person I’d ever seen. It wasn’t long before she started coming over to hang out at my house, and then I introduced her to Seth, who lives across the street and was basically my lifeline when my parents were getting divorced.

Together the three of us survived middle school and nervously edged our way into Butterfield High, but then I spent the better part of the past two years ditching Seth and Mel to spend time with Mark and his cross-country team friends. I can’t count the number of inside jokes, Instagram photos, homecoming dinners, and movie nights I missed with my friends because I was too busy with Mark. I guess I didn’t even realize how close the two of them had become, but it wouldn’t be fair to resent their bond now.

Mel turns on the radio and hums along to the guitar riffs as I reach into my pocket and feel for my leather bracelet, the twin of the one Mark is inexplicably still wearing. It’s worn smooth from nearly a year of use. I never took it off, not even to shower or swim—until the day he broke up with me. Now it stays hidden away, tucked into my pocket or bag but still always nearby. Mel would kill me if she knew.

I raise my arm to block my eyes as the tears start to flow, and it takes Mel a few moments to notice I’ve lost it again.

“Hey, whoa,” she says, turning off the music and resting her hand on my knee. “You okay?”

I shake my head. I’m not okay—not okay with the fact that Mark dumped me approximately eight minutes after receiving his high school diploma, not okay with the overwhelming feeling that my life has suddenly veered off course in a potentially devastating way, and, worst of all, because it is entirely unfair of me, I am not okay with the possibility that Seth now loves Mel more than he loves me.

“Vee, you did great. We shouldn’t have gone to the parade. We should have known Mark would be there.”

I rub my eyes and swallow hard, trying to hold it together. “I just feel really stupid.”

“I know, babe. But you shouldn’t. He’s the one who—” She sighs and drums her fingers on the steering wheel. “Never mind. There’s no point in rehashing what a complete, total, utter
asshat
Mark is.” She takes a deep breath. “I have to get over to work the Big Float. You still want to come?”

I don’t respond, suddenly exhausted. Mel’s dad owns Flaherty’s Float & Boat, the biggest boat rental company in the area, and he sponsors a free inner tube float down the river every year for Dune Days. Working the Big Float is a nightmare of yelling at kids who haven’t put their life jackets on properly, seeing all the people from high school I’d rather avoid during the summer, and splashing fully clothed into the river to chase after errant tubes. It is not on my list of favorite things to do, but I always go and help out to keep Mel company—and the fifty dollars her dad throws in doesn’t hurt. But today, just thinking about the chaos of the float makes my eyes well up again.

“You don’t have to,” Mel says. She lets go of the steering wheel and grabs my hand, shaking it until I open my eyes again. “Seriously, Vee. I’ll just take you home.”

With my brother over at my dad’s house for the weekend, my mom will go into overdrive on chores, then abandon the tidying and dusting halfway through when she gets bored. I’ll probably lie on the couch all afternoon, watching TV and repeatedly pushing Fat Snacks, my overweight cat, off my chest. Throw in some shameless stalking of Mark’s Instagram account, and it sounds like the most depressing day ever.

I clear my throat. “It’s fine,” I say. “I’m not going to abandon you.”

Mel glances over at me. “I don’t want to be responsible for you having a complete breakdown,” she says.

“I promise not to let the Big Float snap my fragile psyche.”

Mel grins and bounces in her seat. “Good. And you’ll get to meet Killian.”

I stare out the window at the post-parade traffic, unable to muster up any enthusiasm for the newest male summer help at Flaherty’s Float & Boat. Knowing Mel, she’ll have him smitten within two weeks and then will just play mind games with him all summer—something she does with boys more often than she’d like to admit, and which she blames on her fear of commitment. A group of people darts out into the street in front of us, and Mel swears and slams on the brakes.

“Stupid idiots!” She honks the horn and rolls down the window. “Go home, fudgies!” Mel’s intolerance for the vacationers who overrun our town every summer is legendary, but she secretly loves giving the tourists shit and would miss them if they were gone. She has even been known to intentionally give them bad directions or warn them about the sharks in Lake Michigan. Leaning on the horn, she swears under her breath and rolls her eyes at a family jaywalking through the intersection.

Despite myself, I smile.

The parking lot at the Float & Boat is already half full of minivans and SUVs, as well as families in their swimsuits and T-shirts, standing outside their vehicles, greasing up with sunscreen, and doling out beach towels. Mel pulls her car into a grassy area behind the office, bouncing over exposed tree roots and rutted dirt.

“I swear, this stupid float gets more crowded and ridiculous every year,” she says, pushing her sunglasses back into her tangle of dark hair. “Let’s go see what Dad wants us to do.”

Mel is on office duty since she’s the only one who knows how to use the credit card machine if people want to buy snacks or bottled water from the mini concession stand. After a heated game of Rock, Paper, Scissors with Mitchell and Heather, two of the seasonal employees, I’m relegated to the inner tube brigade. There’s no way I’m wearing my favorite shorts to go into the river, so Mel grabs the backpack full of old clothes she always keeps in the car and tosses it at me. I duck into the dark, spider-infested bathroom to change into her middle-school gym shorts and a Powerpuff Girls T-shirt, shoving my bare feet into a pair of crusty tennis shoes that have spent too many hours squelching through river mud.

“Beautiful,” Mel pronounces when I emerge, and grabs a very tall, solid-looking guy by the elbow as he walks past. “Killian! This is my best friend, Vee.”

Killian, as Mel has repeatedly mentioned over the past week, is pretty cute, with shaggy blond hair escaping from underneath a baseball cap and bright blue eyes. And, perhaps most important to Mel, he’s from Trawley, the next town over, so we don’t know anything about him, which I guess automatically makes him fascinating. I force a smile, already dreading the hours of discussion my best friend is undoubtedly going to want to devote this summer to the dissection and analysis of her every interaction with this guy.

“I am so happy to meet you,” Killian says, holding out his hand. I go to shake it, but he folds his fingers into a fist and bumps it against mine, giving me a goofy grin that reveals a small space between his front teeth.

“Um, yeah. Me too,” I say, shaking my head in bewilderment.

Mr. Flaherty hurries past, a clipboard held in the crook of his elbow. “People are lining up. Mel, get to the life jacket shed. You two”—he wiggles his fingers at me and Killian—“down to the water.”

Killian nods. “Yes, sir.” As Mr. Flaherty turns away, he winks at me. “Looks like it’s crunch time,” Killian says, taking off his baseball cap and setting it backward on his head. “Ready to get wet?”

“Heads up, Vee!”

A black inner tube rolls down the steep riverbank and slams into my chest, nearly knocking me over. I catch my balance and grab for the tube before it floats away.

“Okay,” I say, gesturing to three tween-age girls in tiny bikinis. “You’re next.” They pick their way over to me, squealing every time a weed brushes their feet, taking pictures with iPhones sealed inside Ziploc bags. They sit gingerly in their inner tubes, and I shove them out toward the middle of the river, wincing as one of the girls shrieks right in my ear.

“Have a good float,” I mutter as the current catches them. I pause for a second, hands on my hips, and try to figure out how many more people could possibly be waiting in line up by the life jacket station. It feels like I have seen nearly everyone from Butterfield in their bathing suits today—
not
necessarily a good thing.

“Vee!” Killian stands on the shore, shirtless. A hint of sunburn is starting to spread across his shoulders. “Sorry about that last one. My muscles got the best of me.”

“Whatever.” I kick some water at him. “Those girls might have been impressed, but I don’t go for gym rats.”

Killian pulls a ridiculous pose, his muscles popping in a way you generally don’t see on teenage guys. “Would you believe me if I told you I’ve never lifted weights in my life? I’m too lazy for that nonsense.”

“So how do you explain
that
?” I point at his bulging bicep.

Killian shrugs. “Genes. Luck. The fact that I grew six inches this year and am apparently turning into the Hulk.” He taps his chest. “Trust me, I’m a scrawny little pipsqueak at heart.”

I have to admit, he looks good—and not at all scrawny. But after a full afternoon of tossing sticky inner tubes at each other and trading good-natured insults, I think it’s safe to say I’ll probably never be able to set eyes on Killian without flashing back to the uniquely sickening smell of hot rubber and sunscreen. Mel can have him.

A couple of teenage guys jog over and splash into the river. “Killian Hughes! Dude, what’s up?” One of them holds out his hand for a high five but then pulls it away just before Killian’s palm meets his. “Gotcha.”

“Good one, Drew,” Killian says, his voice patient and measured. He pulls a couple inner tubes down from the rack and hands them to Drew and his friend. “Have fun.”

The other guy, a beanpole whose swim trunks are barely clinging to his bony hips, flashes a braces-filled grin. “Sweet gig, Kill. Getting to see who’s out and about in Butterfield? Any hot chicks?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Sure.” Killian turns his back on them and crosses his arms, squinting back toward the life jacket shed. “See you guys.”

Drew elbows his buddy in the ribs, and they toss their inner tubes into the river, hurling themselves on top of them and sending a spray of water over my shirt.

“Friends of yours?” I ask once they’ve floated out of earshot.

Killian snorts. “Just a couple of Trawley lowlifes.” He sighs and takes off his baseball cap, bending down to cup some river water into his hand and splashing it over his hair. “I don’t see anyone else coming. Want a break?”

“Yes, please.” I slosh my way over to the bank and flop onto the thick carpet of pine needles.

Killian joins me, slipping in the mud and splashing water everywhere as he tries to sit down.

I raise one eyebrow. “You’re like an elephant.”

“Nah.” He pushes his hair out of his eyes. “Elephants are more graceful.”

I close my eyes and try to ignore the shrieks and laughter from the people out floating on the river, concentrating on the birds in the trees and the branches rustling in the light wind. My body relaxes as a cool breeze caresses my face. This isn’t so bad.

“So, Mel said you guys are going to be seniors?” Killian busts my Zen moment wide open.

I take a breath and sit up. “Yeah. You?”

Killian nods. “Same. Me and the twenty others in my graduating class.”

“Wow, small school. Is that how you know those two?” I gesture toward the river.

Killian nods. “Unfortunately. And, if you can believe it, there are more just like them. That’s why I decided to get out for the summer and work in Butterfield.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I think there are guys like that everywhere.”

“Trust me.” Killian’s startlingly blue eyes lock on me. “Anywhere has got to be better than Trawley.” He looks away again and cracks his knuckles. “It’s total backwoods. Everyone only listens to country music. We don’t even have a movie theater.”

Ugh. Another reminder that I’m fresh out of a job for the summer. “I used to work at the Butterfield Big 6.”

“Oh yeah?” Killian leans back on his hands. “So you like movies?”

I stare out over the river, embarrassed to admit I only applied there because of my then-boyfriend, who turned out not to be that into me in the end. “Sure. You?”

“Totally. I’m in the drama club at Trawley. Not that that’s saying much, but . . . acting, plays, movies, improv, debate. It’s all awesome.”

I shoot him a look. “You do debate?”

“Is the sky blue?”

I pause, a little stunned. “Answering my question with another question—and one that requires an objective answer. Classic,” I say. “I’m on debate too.” I wrack my brain, trying to remember if I’ve ever seen him at a competition before. I would not have pegged Killian as a debater, but knowing he must be at least a little bit of a nerd automatically puts me at ease. I’m not like Mel, who can strike up a conversation with virtually anyone about anything and turn on her charm so that fifteen minutes later they’re best friends for life. But give me a topic to investigate, an argument to make, and I will run with it until I prove my point or die trying. That’s what I love so much about debate—it’s black-and-white. There’s a right side (the one you’re arguing for) and a wrong side (your opponents’). Not like real life, where everything is so much more complicated.