26 Kisses (27 page)

His smile dims briefly, but then he salutes me and climbs onto the bus. “Yes, ma’am.”

The hours crawl by. We’re past the midsummer rush, so Killian and I actually have some downtime, which we would normally use to gab our heads off. But he keeps bringing up new subjects, trying to get a conversation started, and when I try to respond, the words dry up before I can spit them out. By the end of the day, he’s given up and just blasts the radio.

As soon as everything is put away for the day, Killian grabs his backpack and heads for the Jeep.

“Killian, wait.” I hurry after him, catching a glimpse of Mel’s concerned face in the office window as I go past. “Hold on.”

He tosses his backpack into the backseat and turns to me, his arms folded. “It’s okay,” he says, not meeting my eyes. “I know what you’re going to say, and I’d just rather not hear it.”

“What am I going to say?”

He rolls his eyes. “That the other night was a mistake and you were drunk and it shouldn’t have happened. ‘Sorry, Killian, my bad. I think you’re a great guy, but I just want to be friends.’ ”

I stare down at my beat-up tennis shoes. “That was pretty much the speech I had planned,” I admit. “But it’s not the truth.”

“Oh yeah?” He leans back against the Jeep. “So what is the truth?”

I shrug and take a deep breath. “The truth is, I don’t want to be just friends.” Killian’s head snaps up in surprise, but I keep going, knowing that if I don’t say this now I never will. “I like you way too much to be just friends. You’re the smartest, most interesting person I know.”

Killian runs a hand through his hair. He’s not smiling now. “But?”

“But . . .” I drop my arms to my sides. “God, this is hard to say out loud. But I want to finish the twenty-six kisses thing.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. “I was a mess at the beginning of the summer, Killian. I could barely function. And it sounds crazy and desperate and I’m not even one hundred percent sure it’s the right thing to do, but something about this dumb task of kissing my way through the alphabet has helped me. I just want to finish it, to prove to myself I can do it.”

Killian laughs softly and looks down at the ground, scuffing his sneaker in the dirt. “Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“Okay.” He shrugs. “If that’s what you want to do, then go ahead.” He turns away, shutting me out.

“Killian.” I reach for him. “Come on. That’s all you have to say?”

He shrinks away from my touch as if I have electricity flowing through my fingertips and he’s scared of getting shocked. “Don’t.”

I cross my arms, panic rising inside my chest. This is the worst thing he could do—shutting down, freezing me out. “Please.” My voice cracks.

“You were my lifeline, Vee.” He stares off into the woods as he talks, his voice low, the words rushed. “You still don’t get it. I don’t have friends at Trawley. A year ago I was the short, weird guy in drama club. The
only
guy in drama club. This”—he gestures down at his tall, broad body—“all happened in the last six months. I’ve lived there my whole life, and no matter what I look like or what I go on to do in the future, those guys are only going to see me one way—as someone they can pick on.”

I stare at the ground, wondering how anyone could see Killian as less than he is—smart, talented, amazing. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need you to be sorry.” He clears his throat. “I need you to be there for me.”

“We’re friends, Killian. Of course I’m there for you.”

“We’re more than friends, and you know it!” A couple of people walking by look up at the sound of Killian’s voice, and he takes a deep breath, trying to rein himself back in. “I thought this year wouldn’t be so bad. School would suck, but then I would get to see you.”

I imagine what that would be like—Killian and I each going through our school days, fifteen miles apart, then meeting up afterward for ice cream or just to do our homework together. It sounds great, but it also sounds like another serious relationship. For the first time, I can kind of understand where Mark was coming from when he said he didn’t want to go to college still dating his high school girlfriend. “I can’t think about that kind of thing right now,” I finally say. “I’m just not ready.”

“Okay.” He turns away and climbs into the Jeep, clearing the tarp away with one angry swipe. He’s gone before I even have the chance to apologize.

debate team reunion?!?!?!?

The group text appears on my phone a few days later. I had forgotten about Zane’s invitation to the underclassmen debate team get-together but, apparently, he remembered to include me even without the help of his trusty planner. Responses from other team members start blowing up my phone immediately.

yes yes yesyesyesyesyesyes.

this is everything i need in my life right meow.

affirmative.

The plan is to meet tonight at the Dune Buggy, a terribly gimmicky ice-cream parlor near the dunes. I don’t really feel like going, but I need to get out of the house. Mel and Seth have been working nonstop on the album, and Killian has called in sick to work the last two days in a row. I’m starting to go crazy stuck inside my own head—even to the point where I asked Jeffrey to show me some tricks on his skateboard just so I would have someone to talk to for half an hour. Besides, I can’t pass up the opportunity to restart Twenty-Six Kisses. After all,
Z
is not a terribly common letter. I go for a quick run with Ryan before dinner, barely leaving myself enough time to eat and shower before I have to leave.

Mom even lets me take the car to the Dune Buggy so I don’t have to face the humiliation of asking an underclassman for a ride. Most of these kids can’t even drive yet, but I recognize Jason Winslow’s car, and Becca Fong’s. They’re already in line, along with a few other people from the team, when I swing open the door and step into the overly bright, sugary-smelling shop.

“Strawberry is clearly the superior flavor,” Zane says to Tracy, a small girl with braces that take over her entire face when she smiles. “The frozen strawberry chunks are certain to contain more nutritional value than whatever is in those lumps they call ‘cookie dough,’ which probably also contain uncooked eggs. If that’s not a public health hazard, I don’t know what is.”

“Hey,” I say, poking Zane in the side and making him jump about a foot in the air. “Stop that. It’s summer vacation.”

“Vee!” He turns to me, but his eyes immediately dart over my shoulder. “Your friend didn’t come?”

I think back to weeks ago when Seth and I ran into Zane on the beach. “Seth? No.”

“Too bad.” Zane turns back toward the counter and peers up at the giant chalkboard that lists all the flavors. “You know, maybe I will go for cookie dough after all.”

Tracy gives me a little side hug, giggling when I squeeze her back. “What are you going to get?” she asks.

“One scoop chocolate, one scoop pistachio,” I say automatically. Classic and delicious—and the Dune Buggy is the only place you can get pistachio ice cream that doesn’t taste like it’s overloaded with artificial flavors and chemicals.

The Dune Buggy is filling up with families and tourists. After everyone in our group has an ice cream cone in hand, we file outside and grab one of the few shaded picnic tables. I perch on the edge of a bench, pressed shoulder to shoulder between Zane and Becca, and try not to feel left out as the conversation revolves around who will be elected sophomore class president and which semester everyone is taking driver’s ed—everything I was worrying about two years ago. But last week my mom brought home a giant college guide, which I haven’t even opened, and soon I’ll be filling out applications and FAFSA forms and petitioning for scholarships, getting ready to leave Butterfield behind and start my real life. The thought is terrifying.

I nudge Zane. “One of the guys I’m working with this summer is on the team at Trawley.” Guilt flashes through me as Killian’s face pops into my mind.

“Oh man.” Jason leans in, his ice-cream cone tipping precariously. “You have to get the scoop from him. If we can take Trawley down, we could make regionals.”

Callie tosses her hair. “Maybe you could, like, flirt with him? And get some insider information?” She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and blushes.

My stomach jolts, and I shrug, hoping my face hasn’t given anything away. “Worth a shot.”

“You have to let us know how it goes.” Callie turns to her best friend, Jenn, and whispers in her ear. They both glance at me and break down in giggles.

Zane launches into a monologue about the ethics and conference-mandated guidelines of interacting socially with members of other teams outside the official debate season, which sends the group into a heated theoretical discussion about whether twins who had been separated at birth and reunited only after their debate teams competed against each other should be allowed to live together during the season or if they would have to wait until the championships were over to resume normal sibling relationships.

The sun drops lower and lower over the horizon, and parents start showing up in minivans and SUVs to pick up the kids who can’t drive. Soon it’s just me, Zane, and Jason left at the long picnic table stained with melted ice cream. I gather up crumpled napkins and the bitten-off ends of waffle cones and toss them into the trash.

“I’m going to take off,” Jason finally says. “But we should totally do this again.”

“Absolutely,” Zane says, and I nod.

“Do you need a ride?” I ask him.

“Nope.” He pulls out his phone and sends a quick text. “I think my mom is going to come get me.” His phone pings almost immediately, and his face falls. “Actually, I guess I could use a ride. I forgot she has yoga class tonight.”

I laugh and punch Zane lightly on the shoulder. “For someone who is so smart, you do forget things an awful lot.”

He grins. “Why do you think I carry that planner around all the time? I’m literally useless without it.”

“I promise never to give you shit about that again. The whole team would fall apart if you started missing practice.” I point across the parking lot. “My car’s over there.”

Zane stares out the window and hums along to the radio as we drive into downtown Butterfield, and he unselfconsciously drums his hands on his knees.

“I know you live around here somewhere, but you’ll have to give me directions,” I say as we get close to Mel’s neighborhood.

“Take a left here,” he says, and I turn onto a wide, tree-lined street that boasts some of Butterfield’s oldest and biggest houses. Zane lives in an enormous brick house with blindingly white trim around the windows and a half-circle driveway.

“Thanks for the ride, Vee,” he says, his hand on the door handle. “See you around.”

My mind goes blank. I have no idea how to make this happen naturally. I assumed Zane wanted to invite me to a mini-reunion because he had a crush on me, but right now he’s acting pretty much the way Jeffrey would if I gave him a ride somewhere. “Zane, wait,” I blurt.

He turns toward me, the passenger-side door half open. Zane’s eyes are a muddy brown-hazel combination, and I notice he has a smudge of chocolate on his shirt.

“Yes?” he says. He looks so young, and doubt flickers through me for just a second before I lean over and press my mouth to his.

I’ve kissed a fair number of guys by now, and usually when you kiss someone, you get some kind of response. They lean in, they stiffen up, they move away.
Something.
But Zane stays perfectly still, like he’s been frozen. I panic, totally unsure of what to do next. Rather than pulling away, I move my lips a little, desperately hoping he’ll get the idea and kiss me back so I can save face at least a little bit, but nothing happens. After a few excruciatingly awkward seconds I wrench my face away from his and drop my hands on top of the steering wheel.

“Well, I’ll see you around.” My voice is high-pitched and breathless, barely squeezing out of my throat as embarrassment closes itself around my vocal cords.

Zane clears his throat, settles back into his seat, and closes the car door.

No,
I think.
What are you doing? Get out of the car. Get away from the weird older girl who just assaulted you with her face.

“Vee . . .” Zane’s voice breaks, and he clears his throat again. “I really like you, you know, as a friend . . .”

“Oh God.” I drop my forehead onto the steering wheel. I’m about to get a patronizing let’s-just-be-friends talk from a fifteen-year-old debate team nerd. “Zane,” I say. “That kiss did not mean what you thought it did. Let’s just forget this ever happened, and move on with our lives.”

He sighs, and I glance over at him. He’s leaning back against the seat, eyes closed, face pale. A thought strikes me—has Zane ever kissed anyone before? Did I just steal his first kiss for my own nefarious purposes? I press my forehead harder into the steering wheel. This was such a terrible, terrible idea.
Stupid Twenty-Six Kisses. Stupid alphabet.

Zane takes a deep breath. “The thing is,” he says quietly, “I’ve never kissed a girl before.”

“Shit.” I sit back against the seat with a thump. “Zane, I am so, so sorry. I can’t even—”

“It’s okay,” he interrupts. “I’ve never kissed a girl before because I’m gay.”

I stop breathing. How did I not know this? Have I really been so preoccupied with my own life and with Mark that I missed the fact that one of the guys I strategized, practiced, and competed with all of last year is gay?

Zane must see the panic on my face because he says quickly, “No one really knows. Except my parents.”

I feel my face turning red. Even worse than stealing someone’s first kiss is forcing them to come out before they’re ready. “Zane, I am
so
sorry. I promise I won’t tell anyone—”

“Thanks.” He glances over at me and smiles. “I’m going to come out at school this year, but until then . . .”

“My lips are sealed.” I do the lock-my-lips-and-throw-away-the-key move and immediately feel like an idiot. I am handling this whole thing like a second grader.