Who I Kissed (12 page)

When I get home from school, Aunt Allie and Fredrick are out and Dad is still at work. Instead of being enjoyable, the solitude only exaggerates my isolation and boredom without swimming. I glance at the clock on the wall, but I know the Titans will already be pulling through their first sets. It’s a double day. Early-morning and after-school swim.

My bones ache from underuse. My muscles crave the water. I debate with myself and decide it’s okay to go for a run to release some of my tension. As I head to my room to change, my cell phone cheers to let me know I’ve gotten a text. I pull my phone from my backpack and glance down.

Casper: Parents are out. Can u come over?

I stare down at the screen. It cheers again while I’m watching.

Casper: We can work on our assignment.

I stare for another long moment. It’s not due for a week.

When?
I text back, instead of
No
, like I should.

Casper: Now.

I wait before I type an answer. Is this what I want? Casper?

I don’t even know what I want, but my brain automatically supplies an answer: to forget.

Okay. I’ll be right over.

***

Casper gently runs his finger along my cheek. We’re sitting side by side on his huge bed with books and laptops around us. I’m cross-legged, a pencil in my mouth, thinking about the modern implications of a totalitarian society. I glance up when he touches me.

“I love watching you work.” The flirty tone is back in his voice. I lean away a little, not sure of what to say or do.

Until that moment, we were all business. I’d been sure I’d imagined our last time together and that the kissing must have been an anomaly. We’ve worked hard for almost two hours.

“I’m kind of sad we’re almost done,” he says, and his grin is lazy and sure. “I like your brain.”

He should talk. The boy has mad brains; I’ll say that for him. He’s right about the A-plus we’re going to get. We’ve argued and philosophized and come up with amazing arguments for our paper. All we have to do is transfer everything to our computers and proof our respective pages.

There’s a knock at the door, and Casper jumps to his feet, his eyes wide and almost frightened. “What?” he calls.

“You need anything? I’m heading out.” It’s Theresa’s voice from the hallway. I wonder if she has snacks. I hate to admit it, but I’m starving. The bottomless pit has apparently reopened for business.

“You scared the shit out of me. I didn’t know you were home,” he tells her. “We’re working on our assignment.” He sits on the edge of his bed, his back straight.

She pops her head in the door. No snacks. “I’m going out,” she says. She doesn’t say hi to me.

“I thought you
were
out,” he says. “Where you going now?”

“Out, Casper,” she says and closes the door. Her footsteps move loudly away from the door, down the hallway and then the stairs.

Casper stares at the door for a moment, his eyes narrowed, his lips pressed together. Then he turns back to me and his expression completely changes.

He scoots his butt closer, puts his hand on my shoulder, and presses his mouth to my ear. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you got here.”

All righty then. He could have fooled me, but I guess it wasn’t such an anomaly after all. I have no idea how to read boys.

He kisses my ear lobe, and shivers tread over my skin. Heat flows and temporarily melts my icy insides, but my brain stays frozen and words won’t form. I have no idea what to say, so I shut my eyes as his tongue flickers out and gently nips at my ear. I tilt my head closer to him, and the pencil falls from my mouth and plops onto my lap. With a sudden boldness, I turn and press against him and find his lips with my own.

This, this takes away some of the emptiness. My head fills with nothing but sensation, and it helps me forget everything else.

He pulls his head away from me and I try to reclaim him, but he moves away. He carefully takes the books and computers off the bed and carts them to the coffee table. I wait, too shy to say or do anything but watch. He finally crawls back on the bed beside me. “Lie back,” he says. As if I have no will of my own, I lower my back onto his bed. He leans over me and takes my braid in his hand. “I love this,” he says and pushes it behind my ear. “So sexy. So hot.”

He presses his lips on my neck. His hand wanders, and I inhale and hold my breath, almost squeaking when he runs his fingers over my shirt, over my bra. Warning bells fire from my brain, alarms sound off, and I wonder why he can’t hear them. I squeeze my eyes shut and ignore them. I accepted his invitation. Now it’s time to go through with it.

His other hand reaches under my shirt, and my fogged brain kind of registers that he’s pushing forward quickly, but I force myself to relax. This is what I want. To forget.

I breathe a little faster, trying to downplay the panic, when he reaches around my back and expertly unhooks my bra. I want to hold it in place, but his hand reaches up and scoots under the material, and he touches me for the first time on the skin. Right on my boob. I fight off an urge to giggle. The sexiness is kind of evaporating as I analyze his moves, calculate his next step. As I suspected, his other hand reaches for the button on my jeans and his lips reclaim mine. I cringe. No. I want to do this. I want to be his girlfriend. I’m out of the gay closet. This is what seventeen-year-old girls do. They’re not lame virgins who have been too busy breaststroking in the water to get any breast-stroking out of the water.

Gross. Even when I try to be flippant about sex in my head, it’s an epic fail. I pull my head back from his and stop kissing him. He moves his lips back to my neck, but the feeling is no longer pleasurable. It feels like he’s suffocating me. I picture Alex’s face as he tried to get his breath.

I use both hands to push him away, and he struggles for a second, groans, and then collapses against the pillows behind him.

“What?” There’s an edge to his voice.

I stiffen, but in a minute he gently lays his hand on my arm. “You okay?”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. I quickly reach behind my back with both hands and do up my bra.

He blows out air loudly. “I thought you wanted to.”

Heat rushes to my cheeks, and I push myself off the bed and stand. “I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I thought I did too.” I open my mouth and close it, not able to think of what I want to say.

He swings his feet over the side of the bed and pats the spot beside him. I don’t sit.

“It’s okay. I’m not going to touch you anymore. I just want to talk to you.”

I glance at him, and he half shrugs. “Trust me.”

I plop down on the bed and put my head in my hands. “God. I’m such a dork.”

“No, you’re not.” He puts his arm across my back and holds it there. It’s not sexual, it’s kind of tender.

My shoulders start shaking, and I’m mortified to realize that I’m crying and shivering.

“Hey, Sam. Don’t.” He sounds kind of uncomfortable, but he doesn’t take his arm away. He moves closer so our legs are pressed together. I’m so cold. So, so cold.

“It’s okay,” he says.

Finally, my heaving stops and the tears slow down. I wipe under my eyes. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”

Casper takes his arm away from me, and instantly I freeze from the loss of body warmth when he stands. I wrap my arms around myself.

“It was so much easier when I was a lesbian,” I say with a sigh.

His eyebrows press together and he frowns.

“Remember? All the boys at my old school thought I was gay.”

The look on his face makes me laugh. He must think I’m completely crazy now. Crying uncontrollably one moment, laughing hysterically the next. But he shakes his head and grins and sits again, patting my knee. “You’re something else, you know that. And since you’re not a lesbian, do you want to go the Fall Festival with me?”

My laughter slowly leaves my lips. “The what?”

He tells me about the town fair that goes on every year in November. Scarecrow-building contests, baking contests, rodeo, the list goes on and on. There are even rides and games. A real county fair.

“Seriously?” I say, wondering why I haven’t heard of it before. Probably I wasn’t paying attention.

He frowns. “You don’t want to go with me, just say so.”

“No. I just never knew about it. I swear.”

“Well. It’s a big deal. Every year.” His voice is a tad sharp.

“We didn’t have a fair in Orlie. We had to go to Seattle.”

“You want to go, or what?”

“I guess. I mean. Sure.” I smile at him, kind of surprised that he’s asking me out. In public. Does he want to announce to the world that we’re a couple?

I wonder if we are. I’ve spent the last half hour or so kissing him, and I have no idea whether we’re a couple or not. Or if I even want us to be. Is he more than a distraction or relief that someone is paying attention to me?

There’s no fluttering in my stomach when I think of him when we’re not together. I don’t get all giggly and itchy around him, not like with Zee. I chew the inside of my cheek, wondering what he’ll say. I don’t want to think about Zee. Or before.

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” Casper says, but he smiles.

“It’s not that. I didn’t know.”

“Cool…” He pauses and taps his fingers on my leg, as if he’s playing a song. “We used to all go together with our dates.” He takes a breath. “Alex, me, and Zee.” The words refreeze my thawing skin. “Zee’s taking Chloe this year. You want to go with Taylor and Justin?” He taps my leg.
Tap
tap
tap
.

I try to keep breathing normally.

“Zee’s taking Chloe?” I manage.

He lifts his shoulder. “He’s hanging out with her a lot. He’s into her, I think.”

I nod. Maybe they are becoming more than friends?

“So,” he says and stands up and stretches his arms high in the air. I have the feeling I’m being dismissed.

“Can you type out your final draft of your part of our essay by Friday? We can trade and proof each other’s and hand them in to Mr. Duffield on Monday. That doable for you?”

“Sure.” I stand up and head to the coffee table, where I grab my books and start putting everything in my backpack. He walks to where I’m standing, bends down, and lightly kisses my cheek. “I know how hard everything must be. You’re handling it great.”

I don’t answer, but I sling my backpack over my shoulder and fake a smile.

Casper walks me all the way outside to my car and holds the door while I climb inside. “I’ll pick you up. For the festival. I’ll text you the details. Wear something warm. It gets cold.”

The house is still empty when I get home. Or empty again. There’s a note on the fridge held by a magnet. I skim Aunt Allie’s writing. She and Dad have gone to his doctor. Fredrick’s along for the ride. I’m not to worry. There’s leftover pizza in the fridge.

I feel dirty, like the kissing and touching tainted me. There’s no dreamy afterglow. It’s almost like I’m cheating on someone. But who? Alex? Am I mocking his memory by making out with another guy? His friend.

I shiver.

I want to tell Alex I’m sorry I kissed him before I had a chance to get to know him. Maybe I would have liked him. We might have dated or something. I try not to think about Zee.

I want to tell Alex I’m sorry he had a crush on me. That I feel bad about what happened to him, and don’t want to forget him, not really, but the thought of putting my words on paper horrifies me. I’m not ready to write him a letter.

I open the fridge, but food doesn’t appeal to me. I pick up my cell phone, but there’s no use texting Taylor. She’ll be swimming. No one in Orlie texts me anymore. There was a rush of messages to try to find out more about the accident. But they’ve died off. Gillian seems to have written me off. I shut off my cell phone. There’s only one thing I can think of to do. I dart to my room and change into yoga pants, a T-shirt, and a pullover running jacket, grab my iPhone, and head out on the road.

I start off with a light jog, my body responding with a rush to the exercise. Quickly, though, it feels like I’m swallowing acid in my throat. My lungs hurt, but I run faster and faster. I miss the sensation of water on my skin. Running doesn’t use my whole body. My shoulders are stiff but limp, and my body struggles to get a breathing groove, so different from breathing in the water. My legs ache, but it’s not like kicking. Trying to forget what my brain cannot, I turn the music louder, so loud I can’t hear anything else, not even my own breathing.

I push myself, running fast and farther than before. It’s dark when I get home, and my lungs feel clogged and uncomfortable. The house is still empty, which is weird but kind of good, since I’d probably be in trouble for being out running alone in the dark. I shower and while hot water runs down my back, my thoughts somehow drift to my mom.

I pull on the purple robe Aunt Allie gave me, and when I reach around to tie the belt my hand brushes over a small lump in the pocket. I reach inside. My fingers wrap around something metal. It’s thin and light. I pull it out. It’s an old-fashioned silver necklace with a locket.

With my heart beating fast, I slide my nail in and open it up. There’s a tiny picture inside. I bring it up closer to my eyes. It’s my mom. Holding a baby. She’s staring down at the baby, and the look on her face is exquisite. Mom love. I’ve never seen the picture before, but of course the baby is me. My heart pounds and pounds, and I can’t decide if I’m afraid or excited.

I close the locket and squeeze it in my fist. Somehow I’m compelled to stand and creep down the hallway to Dad’s room. I push on the door and stare at his neatly made bed. There’s folded laundry on his dresser. Aunt Allie’s taken over the laundry since she’s been here. He hates doing it and pays me an allowance to handle the chore, since I’ve never been able to get a job with my swimming hours. It’s the only time I go into his room. To put his laundry away.

Listening for Dad’s car, I creep inside, closer to his other dresser. The tall one. There are pictures in frames on the top. Mini me on a diving platform. A bigger me on a podium, three gold medals around my neck. Me last year, emerging from the water in a butterfly stroke with my shoulders looking as big as my head. My insides ache. For how much it must hurt him to have me refusing to swim. No pictures of him. None of Mom.