The Girlfriend Project (9 page)

I have to kiss a girl sometime. Why not Marsha? Why shouldn't she be my first?

I don't really know what I'm doing, but I guess some kind of instinct takes over. I close my eyes, lean forward, and kiss
Marsha. She tightens her arms around my neck and the next thing I know, we're energetically sucking face. I get so into it
I forget we're at a party with people around. The kiss goes on and on, and Marsha makes adorable moaning noises that I hope
mean she likes what I'm doing. I don't want to stop, and I guess Marsha doesn't either, because we don't pull apart until
it's clear we both need oxygen.

Marsha gazes at me with wonder in her eyes. Could it be I did something right for a change? What's she thinking? Will she
even remember this tomorrow?

"Oh, Reed," she sighs. "That was . . ."

Nice? Not nice?

Good? Bad?

Great? Terrible?

But she doesn't finish. Instead, she leans in for more.

Well, at least she knows who I am. We kiss a second time, and this time, it lasts even longer.

When we finally come up for air, I notice I have an audience.

Lonnie's standing in the doorway with Deena on his arm.

He gives me a thumbs-up sign.

Rhonda Wharton's across the room with her eyes narrowed at me.

The bouncy redhead, surrounded by other bouncy-looking girls, nods at me knowingly.

And Ronnie, with Jonathan behind her, is watching me from the other side of the room with an expression that makes me gulp.

Confusion?

Envy?

No. It's got to be my imagination.

It's got to be.

Still, I wish I could take it all back. And start over.

But I don't want to talk about it with Ronnie now. We're in her room the day after Samantha Spinner's party. Connie, Ronnie's
white girl cat, is in her lap. Johnnie, the black guy cat, is in mine. We're cross-legged on the carpet, leaning against the
wall, with both felines purring away.

"The beer breath was kind of tough," I say.

"Breath mints, Reed."

"What was I supposed to do—shove one in her mouth?"

"Why not? Anyway, the next time you kiss her, I'm sure she'll be minty fresh."

"The next time?"

"Yeah. Aren't you gonna ask her out?"

"I'm not sure," I say.

She sighs. "Oh, you're not one of those people, are you, Reed?"

"What people?"

"The kind of people your parents see in therapy. The kind of people who like somebody—until that person likes them back."

"No, it's not that."

"Then what is it?"

I take a deep breath. "I think I like someone else."

"Who?"

When I don't reply, she asks, "What—is it a secret?" Connie jumps out of her lap, and Ronnie crawls toward me. "Tell me, or
face the consequences, Reed."

I grin at her.

"Okay, you asked for it." She starts tickling me.

I tickle her back and soon we're laughing and rolling around the carpet together.

We've wrestled since we were kids, so this isn't especially out-of-the-ordinary behavior. I wish I could show her things are
different now, though. I start to kiss her neck amorously, but it's no good. This is brave of me, and under different circumstances,
it might have clearly signaled my feelings. But because it comes on the heels of our wrestling, it feels playful rather than
romantic. Ronnie giggles and bats me away.

If I could just kiss her for real, kiss her like I did Marsha Peterman, there'd be no doubt in her mind. But she pushes me
off, gets to her feet, and says, "Jonathan'll be here any minute."

Why does this keep happening to me?

Even in grease and crud, Lonnie manages to look cool. I wait as he changes from his uniform into his clothes in the bathroom.
He seems agitated as we head outside and get in my car.

"Rumors are flying," he says grimly.

"You and Deena?" I ask, pulling out of the parking lot.

"No, that's a given."

"You guys back together?"

"Yeah."

"So what rumors?"

He looks at me with a small smile. I take my eyes off the road and gaze back at him. "Me?"

"Yup."

"Me and Marsha?" I guess this isn't surprising, considering we made out nonstop on the sofa the whole night.

"Nope."

Now I'm confused.

"Not who, Reed, what."

"What?" I repeat stupidly.

He leans back. 'Apparently, Marsha Peterman is one satisfied babe."

"What?" I say again.

Lonnie's grinning from ear to ear. He's stretching this out for as long as he can. I wish he'd come out with it, but I know
one thing. It's gotta be okay. If it was serious or bad, he'd never string me along like this—he'd never torture me. So, I
let him have his fun.

"Whenever you're ready, buddy, I'm all ears."

He keeps grinning.

'Anytime during this century"

Now he's laughing. He suddenly punches me in the shoulder, hard, but not for real.

"You, sir, are a 'phenomenal kisser.'"

He turns to face me. "You're a 'phenomenal kisser,' dude! Marsha's been telling the whole world how much she loved getting
to know your talented mouth. She says you are—and I'm quoting the girl directly—'phenomenal.'"

"What are you talking about?" I demand.

I'm speechless. I'm actually good at something that has to do with girls?

Who knew?

Kissing Marsha was definitely awesome for me, but it never, ever occurred to me that it might be awesome for her too.

We reach the mall. Lonnie looks depressed as we exit the car. "You think you could give your old pal a few pointers on the
Reed Technique?"

I burst out laughing. This is too much! Me? Instruct him?

"This is weird," I say. And it is.

Now Lonnie looks thoughtful. "Think about it, Reed. You did it by yourself. No tip list. No script. No textbook. No class.

You did it. And, apparently, you've found your niche, my man. You could have a whole new career ahead of you. Reed Walton—Kissing
Genius."

I laugh again. He's right—I did do it myself. And . . . somehow I managed to get it right. More than right!

"So what now?" I ask as we enter the mall.

"Practice makes perfect," Lonnie says, giving me a wink. "Start with Marsha, then conquer the world." He gets serious. 'Are
you seeing her again?"

"I don't know."

He looks confused. "I thought you liked her."

"Yeah, but . . . " I consider telling him, but change my mind. This is dangerous. We've never talked about it, and the truth
is, I don't know how Lonnie would react to me telling him I have a huge thing for his sister.

Would he be okay with it?

Was it something he already suspected?

Would he beat me up?

"Who're you going to ask to the Fall Dance?" he asks, then whistles low. "You have your pick now!"

The Fall Dance is the first senior dance of the new semester. It's a big deal.

"I don't know."

"Marsha would go with you."

"Because of my kissing skills?"

He looks at me strangely. "What's going on, Reed?"

We pass the pet store. Before I can reply, I hear my name called. We both turn to see Rhonda Wharton waving at us.

Lonnie nods at me. "Later, dude."

"What—you're leaving?"

He looks at me like I'm a simpleton. "That's right, genius boy You got company."

"But how will you get home?"

Now he looks positively nauseated. "You're killing me, buddy. Focus on the girl, will ya? I'll take a bus." He walks away,
shaking his head at my maddening dorkliness.

Rhonda motions me over. I shuffle over to her, my mind reeling. We watch a bunch of brown puppies tumble over each other in
the store window.

'Aren't they adorable?" she asks, scooting closer to me.

"Yeah," I mutter.

"Gives you the warm fuzzies, doesn't it?" she goes on, turning to face me.

"Yeah."

'Almost makes you want to kiss somebody, doesn't it?" she continues, tipping her face upward.

"Yeah."

"Maybe even the person next to you . . ."

"Yeah?"

I turn my head and Rhonda leans forward and kisses me.

Just. Like. That.

My mouth knows what to do, but my brain's discombobulated.

My mouth is sending these signals: "Isn't this cool?"

My brain is responding with these signals: "What is the meaning of this? Need data! Cannot process!"

The kiss seems to last forever. Rhonda and I are all wrapped up in each otlier's arms—though I have no idea how we got that
way—and it's awesome. Just like the kisses with Marsha. When it's finally over, Rhonda smiles and says, "Wow—Marsha was right!"

This makes me feel lousy. Maybe this isn't what I want, after all. Step right up to Marlborough's Official Kissing Booth?
Kisses with Reed for a buck? I know a guy shouldn't complain about girls pulling him aside to test-drive his kissing expertise,
but the more I think about it, the more I decide I don't want to be just a big walking mouth.

Rhonda must sense I'm having a problem with this, because she says softly, "I thought. . . I thought you wanted me to do that.
I thought you liked me. I thought you always liked me.

I guess not. I don't usually make out with boys in malls. I wouldn't have done that. . . It's not like . . . " Her eyes get
misty.

For crying out loud!

I've gone from King of the Dorks to Heartbreak Hotel!

In one month!

"I like you," I say.

"You do?" She perks up.

"Urn, yeah, It's just. . . well . . . the thing is . . ."

She bites her lip. "You don't like me."

I wish I could tell her the truth. I wish I could tell all these suddenly interested girls the truth:

Yes, Rhonda, you're right. I always liked you. When I was a freshman, I thought you were one of the most beautiful girls in
school and I would've happily sold a kidney to do what we did now. But you wouldn't even look at me. You made me feel creepier
than a cockroach.

So now that I've changed—even though I haven't—and acquired some weird sheen of hype and fame and coolness and kissability,
you're suddenly into me? Where were you when I needed you? Why didn't you kiss me four years ago?

Why didn't you kiss me last year? Why didn't you give me a chance until today?

"It's okay," she says quietly. "I just hoped . . . I know you want a girlfriend . . . I thought I could be . . ." She doesn't
finish. Instead, she walks away. No, runs away.

I take a few steps in her direction, then change my mind. Her reaction makes me feel lower than something stuck to the bottom
of someone's shoe, but I don't want to go after her. Rhonda's a dream girl, but, well, I'm too mixed-up right now to think
straight.

Lonnie will string me up by my ankles for this.

I think about looking for him, but instead, I leave.

"I don't even know you," I say out loud in the car. "But for some reason, I always end up here." I frown. "This drop-dead
gorgeous girl, Rhonda, just stopped me in the mall to kiss me!

I think she wants to be my girlfriend! Can you believe that? Me! It's crazy! We've had lockers next to each other since we
were twelve, but if not for that, she wouldn't even know my name. I spent most of the last four years trying not to stare
at her, but she barely looked my way the whole time. And then, a few weeks ago, she decides I'm okay, after all, and a few
minutes ago, she jumps me in front of the pet store! Not that it wasn't totally incredible, but, I mean, what's going on?
Are the planets aligned or something?"

I frown for the second time. "See, the thing is, I'm crazy about this girl I grew up with. She's amazing. She's always been
my best friend—she's never made me feel bad about myself—even when I was overflowing with massive dork cooties. But she's
got a boyfriend—a big, hairy, baboonlike boyfriend. She doesn't know how I feel about her and I'm too chicken to tell her,
anyway."

I frown for the third time. "Before this year, I'd only asked out one girl in my entire life, Marsha, in my freshman year.
I don't know why—I must have been postal." I shake my head, remembering. "I knew her class schedule by heart. I tried for
five weeks to run into her, pretend I was in the hallway at the same time she was, and it finally happened between her American
Government and French classes, and somehow I managed to get it out, even though there was a hole burning in my stomach . .
. and she laughed in my face.

"And now, Marsha's telling everybody how much she likes my kissing. I spent a whole night kissing her because she basically
wouldn't let me stop. But none of these girls care that I existed before—except Ronnie. I was, like, a nobody for seventeen
years, and all of a sudden, I'm a somebody." My eyes sting. "Why didn't anybody want to kiss me before now? I would've probably
kissed the same way. Because I was a few inches shorter? Because I didn't have a car? Because I wore really thick glasses?
Because I didn't have a Web site? How can things like that matter so much?"

I pause for a long time. "Ronnie's the one I want to be with." I stare down at my lap, then at the girl. "What do you think
I should do?"