Kiss of Fire (5 page)

I had only sat still a moment before Ryland burst through the rambunctious crowd in front of me, his brow furrowed in worry. His chin was dribbled in dry blood, his battered lip now swollen and blue. He looked at me before catching sight of my knee and dropping down to inspect it.

“Are you all right? I got here as quickly as I could.” His hands hovered around my knee for a bit before deciding the jeans were a lost cause. He reached out, obviously intent on ripping them more.

“No, don’t!” I pleaded.

“What?”

“I need these jeans, Ry.” I hoped he would catch my meaning without my having to profess my poverty.

“I’ll buy you some more.” He smiled shyly at me before pulling his hands apart, ripping the jeans down to the seam.

Great, my mom was definitely going to kill me now. They weren’t even patchable. I highly doubted she would let Ryland actually buy me a pair of new jeans, either. The cuts weren’t even that bad; they just liked to bleed a lot.

“Did you see me fall?” I asked, wondering what he had meant before.

Ryland looked up at me, a confused look on his face.

“You got here ‘as quickly as you could’?” I asked, repeating his phrasing.

He still sat at my feet, trying to find something to stop the bleeding.

“Yeah, I was standing over there,” he said, jutting his chin in the direction he came from.

He looked around a bit, as if he were looking for someone rather than something. Seeming not to find anyone specific, he sighed and removed his Rugby jersey.

My heart stopped. His muscles rippled as he removed the shirt, sweat glistening off every part of him. I should have been disgusted, but I couldn’t tear my dumbfounded stare away from him. His muscles were more spectacular than I would have expected: large defined shapes—dare I say—chiseled into his skin. He had a large ace bandage wrapped around his right shoulder, as if he was nursing an injury. I didn’t know that he had been hurt, though; he normally told me about these things. The whole image of him standing before me was like a bad cover on a romance novel. I forced myself to look away as he wrapped the shirt around my knee.

“It’s not the most sanitary, but it will work for now.” He tied the shirt before sweeping me up in his arms, careful to hold me away from his sweaty body.

“Ry! Put me down! I can walk!”

He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, a small smile playing at the edge of his lips as he carried me out of the stadium.

I looked behind us, seeing the horde of people jumping and cheering, and felt a pain of guilt.

“You’re going to miss your party,” I whispered, knowing the pleading was evident in my voice.

He didn’t slow his pace, but his jaw hardened and his hold on me tightened.

“Don’t worry about it.” His voice was controlled.

“Ry, it’s your senior year; you just won State.
You
. You scored the final points. You need to be there!”

He didn’t respond as he set me in the passenger seat of his bright yellow Lotus.

“Okay, how about I take you home and then I’ll come back? I just want to make sure you’re all right.”

“I can stay, Ryland,” I pleaded. “It’s just a little cut.”

“It’s not safe for you here.” He shut the door behind me and walked around the car. I turned my head toward the party. I wanted to stay, too, whether it was “safe” or not.

“What do you mean, it’s not safe? Is it because your dad showed up?”

He threw the car in reverse, ignoring my question.

“Ryland?”

“It’s just… Private school guys tend to drink a lot and I don’t want you to get hurt.”

It seemed like the lamest excuse I had ever heard. My forehead must have wrinkled in surprise, because Ryland laughed and then reached over to smooth my forehead with his thumb.

“You think I can’t fend off a bunch of drunken brats?” I was affronted. I may come off as timid, but I could defend myself. Or, at least, I hoped I could.

“I know you can’t,” he replied.

“Have some faith in me, Ry.” I don’t know why, but my pride bristled.

Ryland looked at me with obvious concern. “Drinking, drugs. We are all just spoiled boys. You shouldn’t be around that.”

“We?” I asked, hoping he wasn’t counting himself among them.

“Just trust me, ’kay? I know it kinda sucks, but I want to protect you.” His comment was odd; it still made no sense why I couldn’t stay.

“Protect me?”

“Yes, Jos. There are just some people that you shouldn’t be around.” His voice seemed distant and far away, as if he were thinking about something different. I opened my mouth to say something, but I blew off the idea of asking any more questions. He was set in his thoughts and not likely to respond.

He drove far too fast, his car weaving in and out of traffic in a mad rush to get back to my tiny apartment. We didn’t go to my house though; we went to his. He pulled through the large wrought-iron gates, speeding back to the door by the kitchen. His sporty Lotus looked ridiculous next to my mom’s rusty station wagon, and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

I moved to get out of the car, but Ryland rushed around and picked me up before I could stand. The car ride had rid his skin of the glistening sweat, and he now held me close to his chest. The warmth from his skin seeped through my sweater and spread over my skin comfortably.

“I can walk, Ry,” I protested, albeit half-heartedly. He smiled down at me as he walked across the parking lot and into the kitchen that was empty except for my mother.

“What happened?” my mom asked, her eyes bugging out of her head.

“She fell on some asphalt and cut her knee. I need to get back, but wanted to make sure she was okay first,” he explained to her, his eyes never leaving mine. I heard my mom exclaim and rush out of the kitchen, presumably for a first-aid kit.

Ryland lowered me to the barstool I usually sat on. His movements were slow and controlled, his face lingering near mine for longer than was necessary. I was overwhelmed by his smell as he moved away from me, yet keeping his face inches from mine. My mind filled with images of our interlocked lips; I didn’t push them away this time.

Ryland lifted his hand to my face, resting it against my jawline as his thumb caressed my cheek. I was so confused. Wasn’t it just this morning he had worried that I had gotten the wrong idea from the necklace? Wasn’t it just this morning that he told me he just wanted to be friends? Wasn’t it? My heart beat uncomfortably in my chest as he moved his head toward mine, his eyes darting down to my lips before returning to capture my gaze. My mom cleared her throat behind me, and we both jumped.

“See you on Monday, Jos,” Ryland smiled at me before turning and rushing out the door.

I sat still, in shock, feeling like I was robbed of something important to me. I stared at the door as I tried to wade through an endless sea of confusion.

My mom huffed and came over to me, first-aid kit in hand. “You can’t have him, you know?” Her voice was a calm whisper. She didn’t even look at me; her focus was on my cut knee.

“I know,” I answered, surprised at the sadness in my voice. “Just this morning he was saying the necklace meant nothing, and he was just my friend. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“Him?” my mother asked. “There seemed to be a lot of you in that equation.”

I sighed in response. I knew she was right. Whether he was the one to initiate something or not, I would not be the one to stop it. What had happened to us in the past few days? Couldn’t we go back to playing Conquer the Castle and destroying monsters on his PlayStation?

“What’s going on?” I threw my head into my hands.

“You love him,” she replied.

“What?”

“Well, you do; you always have—both of you. Now, it’s just grown into something a little bit more mature.”

“But I still can’t have him.” It was a statement, not a question.

“No, honey, no matter how many amazing, rippling muscles he has,” she laughed. “Your being with him is like a serving girl marrying a king; it’s not going to happen. Life is not a fairy tale.”

“What do I do?”

“Leave him alone, make new friends, and forget about him.”

My heart plummeted at her words. I didn’t want to do that. Forbidden romance or no, he was still my best friend. Not to mention that soon, he would be leaving me forever.

“I can’t do that, Mom. He’s leaving for Oxford in just a few months. Then… then, I’ll never see him again.”

My mom sighed at me. I could tell she didn’t approve. She wanted me to walk away from him, but she couldn’t stand to see me hurting either.

“Weren’t you telling me just a few days ago how love changes you? How wonderful love is?” I couldn’t keep the accusatory tone out of my voice, no matter how hard I tried.

“This is different.”

“How is this different, Mom? It doesn’t feel different.”

“You will be able to tell the difference when you experience the real thing... when you experience something you can keep.”

I looked at her for a long time. The way she had talked about Dad before, I could feel that same desperate longing in me now, and it kind of scared me.

“How many times have you been in love, Mom?” I asked her.

I saw her hesitate, her chest heave.

“You need to remember that he is your friend, Joclyn, not a boyfriend.” She avoided my question. “Give your heart to someone who can take it and not break it, honey; because in all honesty, I’m not sure what Edmund would do if he found out.”

And that was the real reason anything between Ryland and me could never work.

Edmund would kill me.

I had been picking at the remains of my cafeteria pizza for about the last ten minutes, my eyes unfocused and looking off into space. I could hear the ebbing noise in the cafeteria, a sure sign that lunch was almost over, but I wasn’t going to move until the bell rang. I sighed as another piece of pizza crust fell away from the whole and onto the plate.

I had been lost in thought for most of the day, my mind jumping back to my roller-coaster of a weekend. No matter how many times I revisited each event, I still couldn’t make sense of it. Crazy father, awesome best friend who keeps trying to kiss me, and a mother who—although she is right—wants me to stay away from Ryland forever. I sighed again, in hopes that some of the stress would leave my tensed body.

“You must be new, too.”

I looked up from my decimated pizza as a girl plopped down across the table from me.

She was small for a high school student, her frame appearing almost delicate and breakable. However, her large, brown eyes did not seem young; instead, she almost looked like she had seen and experienced too much of life. She had shoulder length, auburn hair that gently curled around her heart-shaped face. When she moved her hand onto the table, about thirty hard plastic bracelets clinked against the melamine surface. I had to smile at her choice of clothes; the “Styx” t-shirt was obviously vintage and looked like something my mom would have worn in high school.

“What makes you say that?” I asked, recovering from my shock.

“Well, you’re sitting alone.”

“Ha,” I laughed humorlessly. “You are the new one. I always sit alone.”

“I’m Wyn.”

I took her extended hand and she shook it over-enthusiastically, plastic bangles clinking together. “Joclyn.”

She grinned as if my name had made her happy.

“I just love your name!” she squealed, her joy was either infectious or nauseating—I couldn’t decide. “It’s like something out of 17
th
century literature. Who were you named after?”

“I don’t think I was named after anyone.” I lied. I was actually named after my dad’s favorite aunt, but I wasn’t about to share that with the obnoxious girl I just met.

“That’s lucky. My full name is Wynifred, and my mother named me after some ancient relative who is supposed to be a queen,” she chattered.

I began to wonder how I could get rid of this girl. At first, her over-exertive happiness was fun, but now she was starting to sound like a cheerleader. I looked around, wondering if I could find a quick escape away from her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her quiet voice losing its hyperactive quality. “I’m coming on too strong, aren’t I?”

I just stared at her, unsure of what to say.

“Hi, my name is Wyn. I just moved here with my brother, Ilyan, who has taken care of me since my parents died,” she said in a deeper, slower voice that seemed more natural for her. “I turned sixteen in January, but don’t have a driver’s license yet; I prefer to get around on my skateboard. My favorite band is Styx, which I know is way before my time; but I can’t help it—I love them. I like rice pudding with raisins and think ice cream is too sophisticated for me. I like to read, but not so much that my brain turns to mush. Oh! And I love long walks on the beach with handsome men with rippling biceps.”

We laughed together; it was the strangest introduction that I had ever witnessed.

“Well?” Wyn asked when the laughter had died down. She was staring at me, waiting for me to introduce myself in the same way.

“I’m Joclyn,” I began, my nerves swimming in my legs. “I live with my mom; my dad took off when I was little. I turned sixteen last week, and I prefer a long board to a skateboard.”

She grinned from ear to ear when I said that, glad for a connecting tie.

“Ummm… I love Fruit Loops and late-night British comedies. I don’t have a favorite band, but I like to listen to music when I’m doing homework,” I ended lamely, as if asking her a question.

“And the guy?” Wyn prompted.

My insides turned to jelly as an image of Ryland flashed through my mind.

“Oh, you know: tall, dark and handsome, and all that jazz,” I answered, flipping my hand to the side.

“Well, I guess you’ll do.”

“Do?”

“Seeing as it’s my first day, I need a friend, and I like you the best out of all the irritating cheerleaders and pompous nerds I have met today.” She smiled, and I couldn’t help but reciprocate.

I had always purposefully ostracized myself; however, there was something about Wyn that made me want to know her better. Of course—in the back of my mind—I wondered how long it would take for her to figure out something was wrong with me. Everyone always did, even without seeing my mark. I had always been just a little bit “off”.

“What class do you have next?” she asked, jumping to her feet when the bell rang.

“Advanced Drama.”

“Oh, goodie! Me, too!” She grabbed my hand and towed me out of the now empty cafeteria, jabbering about how lucky she was to have found me on her first day. It wasn’t until we had left the cafeteria that she realized she had no idea where she was going and opted to follow rather than lead.

I led her down the hall as she continued to jabber about how her first day had gone and all the irritating people she had met. I smiled at her description of our very eccentric American History teacher. “Small, withering, Mardi Gras attendee” fit him.

I hesitated outside the door of the drama room. I had been placed in the advanced drama class by mistake this year, and as such, it was a class filled with seniors, meaning that the notorious Cynthia McFadden was in this class. While it was unlikely that most people would mention anything about the cast list for Hamlet, I knew her kind. The probability that she would say something was high, and I preferred to steel myself against it.

The drama room was a large sunken performance space, surrounded by tiers of carpeted risers that rose up from the center of the room where you entered. Ms. Flowers, the drama teacher, always kept the room dimmed during performance time with stage lights blaring; but during class time, we were treated to fluorescent lighting that made every soda stain on the carpet pop out. A large thrift-store couch sat right in the middle of the lowest tier, looking out on center stage. Most of the students lounged on the different levels as they prepared for class to start, leaving the couch for Ms. Flowers’s use. Wyn ran off to find Ms. Flowers while I went to my usual alcove.

“Well, if it isn’t Smelly MyHoodie,” Cynthia McFadden’s voice echoed around the large space, causing several heads to turn. I crinkled my nose at her poor attempt at name-calling, waiting for the deeper onslaught.

“We missed you on Friday, at rehearsal… Oh, wait, I forgot. You didn’t get a role.” If anyone had read a book on how to be the quintessential high school diva, it was Cynthia. She had mastered this role better than she would any other. From perfectly plucked eyebrows and hair—hours of preparation—to overpriced shoes and backpack, she looked like a snob. It was more than her looks though. How she spoke, how she talked, it was all done to be anyone’s high school nemesis or hero. If I had to pick, I would have to say she was my nemesis, although the term is a bit dramatic.

Even though Cynthia was a year older than me, she had been one of the first in elementary school to realize there was something wrong with me. I hadn’t always hidden behind hoodies, and in first grade, Cynthia had seen the same thing in me that had made my dad take off. Maybe it was the way I held myself, how I never talked too loudly, or the fact that I liked to climb to the top of the baseball fence. Something just bugged her, and she made it her business to get everyone else to see it, too.

I attempted to let her taunt roll off me, sealing my lips together to prevent a rebuttal. I growled to myself as I attempted to walk past her; I wasn’t one to create confrontation.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.” She grabbed my arm hard, hindering my escape, and then jumped back as if I had shocked her.

I turned toward her, keeping my jaw shut tight, ready to take whatever cruel punishment she had ready for me.

“You stupid, little girl. I’m so glad my graduation is a month away and then I won’t have to smell you anymore. Too bad everyone else has to put up with you for another year.” She looked at me, expecting a reply, but I couldn’t think of what to say without my entire face turning red and a string of expletives pouring out.

“Why don’t you just go hide up by the stage lights, pretend you’re flying and casting magic, or whatever it is you do up there, you little freak.” She flipped her long, bleached-blonde hair and turned away from me, only to come face-to-face with Wyn.

Tiny, little Wyn had her hands balled up in fists at her side, her face flushed red. Even though Wyn’s full height only came to Cynthia’s chest, the look on Wyn’s face caused Cynthia to take a step back. I was concerned Wyn would say something stupid that would cause criticism for the both of us.

“At least she can get up there
and
keep her clothes on,” she said, “or is that too much of a challenge for you?” Laughter and whistling sounded throughout the large room; even my jaw fell in surprise at her forwardness.

Cynthia stood still as Wyn pushed past her, grabbed my hand and pulled me to sit front and center in the room.

“Thanks,” I whispered as we sat.

“No problem, anything for my friends.” Wyn flashed me a wide smile before turning to face Ms. Flowers who was now beginning her lecture on the senior showcase, in which Hamlet would be featured.

I was not sure how much I heard of what she said; I kept looking toward Cynthia who was still fuming. Ms. Flowers caught my attention as she began to prepare for the show by separating everyone into groups: the cast of the show, costumes, set and props. Each group sat together, the cast with their noses upturned. I rolled my eyes at them and moved to stand by Wyn in the “set” group.

We spent the rest of class reading through the script and making a list of set pieces. No one in our small group was excited about our task, and with five minutes to go, we had broken off into different conversations.

“Thank goodness school is almost over. I have about a season worth of Castle to catch up on,” Wyn moaned as she threw herself back onto the rough carpet we sat on.

“Castle?” I asked.

She raised her eyebrow at me as if I had committed some form of heresy by not knowing what she was talking about.

“Yes, Castle. The TV show. Crime drama, starring Nathan Fillion, only the yummiest man to grace the screens of the television.” She gasped at my obvious lack of understanding.

I had no idea what she was talking about.

“At least tell me you know what ‘Firefly’ is?” she pleaded.

“I don’t watch TV, Wyn. I mean, I turn it on sometimes, but I never really watch it.”

“I’m going to educate you. You need a good dose of several of life’s necessities. Besides, Nathan Fillion is
really
nice to look at.”

I laughed, the bell drowning out the sound of it.

We left the room and retrieved our boards from the office. By the time we got outside, word of Wyn’s confrontation with Cynthia had spread, and students were giving her thumbs-ups and high-fives as they passed. All the attention went into Wyn like energy from a live wire, and soon she was bouncing up and down. I laughed as I watched her, her enthusiasm leaking over into me.

“I can’t believe I did that,” she repeated for the hundredth time.

“Well, it seems to have gone over well with the student body.” I laughed as yet another student waved to her. Our school did not have a small campus, and word must have traveled faster than usual. I couldn’t help but laugh as she bounced around yet again, adrenaline from her conflict with Cynthia still coursing through her.

“Oh, yes, well done.” I could recognize that sneer from a mile away. “So, you and your foul mouth seem to have made you a few admirers.”

We both turned to face Cynthia McFadden, who was surrounded by half the football team once again. The moment Cynthia spoke, an eager group of onlookers materialized out of thin air, hoping for some action. I took a step behind Wyn out of habit.

Wyn opened her mouth to say something, but we never found out what. All the football players gathered behind Cynthia began to point away from us; several of them taking off in that direction. Cynthia looked like an angry kitten at her posse’s departure. When she turned, though, her little fit stopped and she began to smooth her hair.

I turned my head toward what everyone was staring open-mouthed at and my heart plummeted to my toes.

A bright, yellow sports car I knew all too well had pulled into the teachers’ parking lot. Ryland leapt out of the car, his dark, curly hair bouncing. He pulled off his Whittier Academy blazer and draped it over one shoulder, revealing a tight-fitting, white V-neck t-shirt which showcased his strong arms. He looked like an ad for cologne or men’s underwear.

My heart kicked into overdrive; I couldn’t move.

“Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no,” I groaned, causing Wyn’s head to whip in my direction. “He promised he wouldn’t…”

“Do you
know
him?” she asked, her voice laced with a combination of entertainment and worry.