Hot (8 page)

T
he sound of skates on the rink is like the sharpening of knives. I shiver as I stand inches from the glass separating me from the ice.

Clack, clack, clack, clack.

The team bangs their hockey sticks against the ice in unison — their way of clapping, Noah explained to me. This signals the end of practice. I stand out of the way as the guys, hulking in their stinky equipment, hop over the wall to the bench, then lumber in their skates to the locker room.

I wait. Boys laugh deep, sporty laughs. Shoulder pads thunder as they fall on the floor and locker doors squeak open and shut. I pull my phone out of my bag and flip through my messages. I think of texting Emma, but don’t want to be on the phone when Noah emerges. It’s Tuesday, and we’ve barely seen each other all week. He plays away again this weekend so I’m taking advantage of his rare afternoon practice. I thought we could at least walk home and do homework together.

“Hey, short stuff.” Randy ruffles my hair as he walks by with a group of seniors.

“Hey, Randy.” I smile.

Peter taps me on the shoulder, turns, and smiles as he exits the glass doors into the lobby with a cluster of players. What Noah
said about being a hockey girlfriend has come true. I feel welcome here. No one gives me a hard time, and as far as I know, no one gives him one either.

The rink’s empty. And there’s Noah, walking out of the locker room with the coach. Slung over his shoulder is his enormous hockey bag. It looks big enough to stash a few dead bodies in it. His other hand rakes his hair wet from the showers. I can’t stifle the smile that overtakes my face.

“Right, Coach,” he says.

“This weekend, I’m counting on you.” The coach whaps him on the back.

Noah nods and walks directly up to me and kisses me on the cheek. “Hey, gorgeous.”

“Why is such a pretty girl hanging out with such a ruffian?” The coach laughs.

I peek out from behind Noah and shrug.

“Coach, this is my girlfriend, Lindsey. And don’t ask her things like that. She might realize what a mistake she’s made.”

“Nice to meet you, Lindsey.”

“Nice to meet you.” I shake his hand.

“See ya, Coach.” Noah turns and puts his arm around my shoulder.

“Young love,” the coach croons as we walk away.

Noah laughs. “He’s just jealous. No way he can get a hottie like you.”

“He’s probably happily married with a houseful of kids and doesn’t care one bit about high school girls.” I shake my head.

“He is.” Noah stops and turns to me. “So, maybe I’m jealous. I’d like a wife and a houseful of kids.”

My heart beats faster than the paparazzi’s flashbulbs. “Who do you think could put up with you for the rest of your life?” I ask
and keep walking. I smile, without him being able to see my face. I love teasing him and can’t wait to hear his response, but I’m not sure I’m brave enough to see his expression.

“I was kind of thinking you might.” He catches up to me. “I promise I’ll let you watch
The Mighty Ducks
whenever you want,
and
I’ll keep our fridge stocked with Gatorade.”

“Well, in that case . . .” I giggle. “I’ll think about it. But only if I can pick which flavors of Gatorade.”

“Deal.” Noah shakes my hand.

I know this conversation is all in fun, but beneath the joke is the idea of marriage — of us being married and having kids, together, and Noah is the one who brought it up.

I feel like skipping all the way home, but would rather walk slowly and savor Noah’s arm around my shoulder and the electricity when our sides brush.

“So, what are you doing this weekend, while I travel the state in the name of hockey?”

“We’re going to the basketball game Friday. I’ve got halftime and Emma’s sleeping over Saturday.”

“What about the other girls?” Noah ushers me around a puddle on the sidewalk like a true gentleman.

“I think Drew and Gracie are going out. Melissa’s going to visit her cousins, and Raven and her folks are traveling with the team to watch Randy. It’s not fair that she gets to see you play.”

“You two could trade places. Or, I could kidnap you on our bus, but you’d be bored stiff when I go to the game an hour early and when I’m practicing and watching films and stuff the next day.”

“Okay, so the hockey widows will just have to eat popcorn and watch movies without our men.” I sigh.

“Widows? Men?” Noah looks confused.

“Emma and me. You and Peter.”

Noah’s face is blank.

“You know he and Emma are dating.”

“I’d hardly call what they’re doing dating.” Noah laughs. “No offense, Linds, but they’re just messing around.”

I nod. I feel like I’ve swallowed nail polish remover, sharp and putrid. Poor Emma! How can Peter do this to her? But isn’t she doing it to herself too? I feel sick for both of them.

“You knew that, right?” Noah asks, turning my chin to face him.

“I don’t think Emma looks at it like that,” I say, the words scraping my throat. I don’t want to give her feelings for Peter away, but I thought they were obvious.

“Ohh . . .” Noah nods. “Anyway, we’re not them. We’re us.”

I open my front door, thankful for a way to stop talking about this. “Hi, Mom! Noah and I are here to study.”

“You wicked witch!” Kristine’s voice bellows from upstairs.

I cringe.

“Don’t you talk to me like that, young lady!” Mom shrieks back.

Kristine thunders down the stairs without even glancing in our direction.

The garage door slams behind her.

I hate it when they fight. Kristine is so mean to Mom, yet she really needs help. I wish Mom would run after her and they would hug and cry and work things out. But that never happens. Mom comes to the top of the stairs as if in slow motion and spots us. Clearly she didn’t hear us say hello over the volume of the argument.

“Oh, hi.” Mom looks defeated. “Sorry you had to see that, Noah. Kristine doesn’t agree with my parenting these days.”

“No big deal, Mrs. Kraus.” Noah smiles.

I swallow a mouthwash of anger and shame and pity. Then Noah’s arm is around my back guiding me to the kitchen. He takes my coat off for me and kisses me quickly and softly on the lips, then wraps his arm around me in a safe, warm hug. My shoulders relax and my throat works again.

“Sorry,” I eek.

“I’m sorry, Linds.” He strokes my cheek. “Sorry you have to go through this. Families are a pain.”

“Yeah, especially if they have Kristine in them.”

“I’ll pray for her and your mom, okay?”

Those words mean more to me than I can express. He’ll pray for my family! I wish we were older and could run away and be married right now. But I can’t say that to Noah. Instead I whisper, “Thanks.”

W
hat’s this?!” Dad screams at the top of his lungs.

“What’s it look like, Dad?” Kristine’s voice is too cool. “It’s pot, grass, weed, marijuana. Whatever you want to call it.”

“I know what it is!” Dad bellows.

“Then why’d you ask?” Kristine’s room is next to mine, so I can hear every word through the thin walls.

“I brought some clean laundry into your room and found this in your drawer.” Mom’s voice sounds unnaturally shrill.

“How about not snooping in my room?!” Kristine shouts back. “Whatever happened to privacy? I bet you didn’t search Miss Priss Lindsey’s drawers.” Kristine starts laughing like a maniac. She must be stoned. Her cackles shake the wall.

Mom and Dad whisper in the hallway. Something about “tough love” or “leaving it alone,” depending on whose voice I strain to hear through Kristine’s cackle.

I can’t stand it. I walk right past them in the hall. Neither of them look at me or speak to me, like I’m invisible. I hate this empty, longing feeling. I pull my black puffer vest from the mudroom hook and slide on a pair of old Tretorns. I need to escape. The sharp air bites my face. I don’t care. I run. At first just down the driveway, then down our street, then my feet run all the way through the neighborhood to Noah’s house.

I need Noah right now like a magazine needs a cover girl.

Unlike my parents, he notices me. He cares about me. He loves me. He’s there for me. He sees me. I know Kristine is needy. Her personality is fragile and torn, but what about me? Here I am, trying to do things right, to say the right words and to act the right way, but no one notices. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m out of breath and ringing his doorbell.

Noah opens the door. His hair is the messiest I’ve ever seen it. He’s wearing gray sweats and a thick, hooded navy blue sweatshirt. His feet are bare. Even his naked little toes are a comfort to me. He has a curious look on his face. Like why in the world did I show up on his doorstep on a Wednesday night? I dive into his strong, warm frame before he can say anything. I lift my face to look in his eyes and just start kissing him. His lips feel soft and his arms feel warm and strong and safe.

“I missed you,” I whisper.

“I missed you too.” He murmurs back.

I wanted someone to notice me, and here is Noah enveloping every curve of my body. I’m guessing his parents aren’t home because he’s kissing me back and sliding his hands up my shirt against my skin, and I want him to. I want him to touch all of me and wrap himself around me until I’m safe in him and can’t hear my parents yelling or Kristine’s cackle echoing through my brain. He sweeps me off my feet like a fireman and carries me into the den where he gently lays me on the couch. Then he’s next to me. I’m nervous, but not for long. Noah is sweet and gentle, and it only hurts for a minute or two. Actually it feels good to feel something, even if it’s pain. It reminds me I’m alive. I’m here, even if Mom and Dad don’t remember.

When it’s all over he kisses me lightly on the lips. A drop of sweat drips from his brow, salty on my tongue. “I love you,
Lindsey,” he says. I don’t want to move, ever. I just want to stay here with him against me and no one else and no world except us. The ugly uncertain girl I used to be dissolves when I’m with Noah. He makes me feel wanted and beautiful and loved.

“I love you too. I love you so much.” I throw my arms around his neck and hold him tight against me. Maybe if I hold on tight enough, he’ll never leave.

A door slams and there’s a rustling of bags and the clinking of keys. My heart races. My face burns. This is real. It felt like a dream, like a movie I was watching. But it was real. We did this thing and someone is about to find out.

Noah jumps off me and grabs my wadded jeans from the foot of the couch. He tosses them to me and yanks on his boxers and sweats. I feel like I’m four, and my fingers can’t get my zipper and snap to work properly. My sweatshirt hits me in the face. I laugh nervously and give up on my snap in lieu of a top. I dive into its fleecy softness and wriggle my arms and head out in record time. Noah sits on the other end of the couch, facing me, and shakes his head vigorously to cue me to something I can’t figure out. I face him and he nods again.

“In here, Mom,” he calls before Mrs. Hornung even calls for him. My heartbeat booms. I’m sure she can hear it in the kitchen. I fully utilize every second to try to resume the look of a normal person. I smooth my hair and straighten my sweatshirt. I finally force my snap shut.

“Oh, hi guys.” She smiles, stuffing her keys into her purse as she peeks into the den. “I didn’t know you were coming over, Lindsey?”

My cheeks are hotter than my 370-degree flatiron. I feel like “I had sex with your son!” is written across my forehead in sequins.

“Family trouble,” Noah interjects for me.

I’ve never been more thankful for someone to speak. I haven’t even told Noah yet. I nod and dig out some words hidden in the back of my throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you weren’t home, and I didn’t call or anything. Kristine got in trouble — huge trouble — and I didn’t want to be around all the yelling. I should have — ”

“It’s okay, dear.” Noah’s mom puts her hand on my shoulder. I catch a whiff of outside, still clinging to her clothes. “I’m glad you felt comfortable coming here.” Two more pats on my shoulder. “You’re always welcome.”

“Thank you,” I say, peeking at her. Hopefully the guilt in my eyes will pass for the burden of family stress.

“Do you two need a snack or something to drink?”

I look at Noah. We’ve barely spoken since I got here.

He shakes his head. I follow suit.

“Noah, don’t be rude. Make Lindsey something in the kitchen. I just brought back all kinds of good stuff from the grocery: hummus, pretzels, yogurts, you name it.”

There’s no way I can sit around and snack with Noah and his mom after what just happened. I can’t believe this happened! I need to process what we did, or I’m going to implode.

“Thanks, but I really should get going.” Noah places his hand on mine. I don’t know if he’s thanking me for ending this uncomfortable scene or asking me to stay. “My folks don’t even know where I am, and they’ll worry.”

“All right, dear. Hang in there.” Mrs. Hornung gives me a completely unexpected hug. Her hug is light and brief. I hug her back.

“Thanks. You’re so sweet.”

There’s a strange tug at my heart. Even though everything seems so right, so perfect with Noah, like true love and fairy tales.
Even though his mom likes me, which means I could have a wonderful mother-in-law. Something’s not right, like a puzzle piece is missing. I’d never planned on this.

I walk to the door with Noah holding my hand.

Once in the privacy of the hallway he nuzzles my neck and slides his lips up to my ear where he whispers, “I do love you, Lindsey Kraus. You amaze me.”

“And I love you.” I look into his eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity I feel for him.

M
y house is silent. Kristine must have fled the scene of the crime. Mom and Dad must have followed her for once. I open the fridge and grab a Diet Coke. I lean back on the fridge and pop the can. The
sissssle
of escaping carbonation echoes in the empty kitchen. I still smell Noah’s minty, boyish scent. I still feel his hair in my fingers. But I can’t picture him. These marvelous thoughts keep getting chased away by something, by Someone.

“I know, God. I know I wasn’t supposed to. But, this is different. So different. Noah and I love each other.” I chase the lump in my throat away with a sip of sweet soda.

The Plain White T’s burst into “Hey There Delilah” on my cell phone. I’ve changed my ring tone to a song from Noah’s CD. It’s him.

“Hi,” I whisper.

“Hi.” His voice sounds thick and heavy.

“That was close, huh?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t call because of that. I called because I loved being close with you.” His voice is so quiet, I squish my ear to the phone to hear him better.

“Me too.”

“Are you okay?” Noah asks.

“Yeah,” I answer automatically. Am I okay? I hadn’t thought
about that. I’m not a virgin anymore. Did it hurt? Was there blood? Will I be condemned? I’m still standing here. I shake my head and the negative thoughts away. “Of course I’m okay. Are you?”

“Never been better.”

I listen to his breathing, a soft murmur.

“Gotta run,” he whispers. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Snap.
I close my phone.

He loves me. He really does love me.

“Lindsey, is that you?”

I swallow, although there’s nothing in my mouth. “Yeah, Mom, I’m here.” Did I say anything out loud I shouldn’t have?

Mom’s footsteps are slow and creaky. Her eyes are red and puffy. I should run to her. I should hug her. I should ask if
she’s
okay.
Okay
. That’s a good question, isn’t it? Am I okay? That’s exactly what Noah asked me.

“Mom, are you all right?”

She nods. “I just don’t know what I’m going to do. Kristine got furious and stormed out of here in Dad’s new Audi. He took off in my car to try to find her.” A stray tear slides down Mom’s cheek. “She could get in an accident.”

“Oh, Mom.” I reach out and fold my arms around her. “I’m sorry.” My heart races. Can she tell Noah was in my arms minutes ago? Do I look different? Am I different?

Mom pats my back and pulls away. “Don’t you be sorry. It’s Kristine who owes us an apology, but I don’t even care about that. I just want her to be safe. She’s so reckless. I’m scared for her.” Mom sniffles. “I just keep praying.” Mom’s voice swells.

“I do too.” I shake my head.

The garage door groans, and I freeze along with Mom. If it’s
Kristine, it will be a scene. If it’s Dad, who knows?

“Anne?”

“Lindsey and I are in here.”

“Oh, hi, Lindsey.” Dad’s blond hair is disheveled. His blue eyes seem to have faded to gray, and his ruddy skin is more pink than usual.

“Hi.”

“Well?” Mom looks at him expectantly.

“She drove off at a million miles an hour, and I couldn’t keep up. I had to stop at the red lights. I drove past that boyfriend’s — what’s his name’s — house and the school and that cheerleader girl, Delaney’s. Nothing.” Dad exhales.

Mom shakes her head.

I take this as my cue to disappear. They clearly don’t need me to hash this out. And in answer to my earlier question, can she tell? The answer is
no
. They don’t notice anything is different about me. They don’t notice anything about me. I don’t think they even want to. No one asked where I was. Did they even notice I was gone? No one asked how all this affects me. Do they even care?

I silently slink to my room, abandoning their strained voices. I flip open my phone and punch in “143” — I love you — and send to Noah.