All We Left Behind (17 page)

“Soft,” I whisper, trying to be brave and share this with her.

“Did you like it?” A machine hisses beside us, exhaling froth and steam.

I nod.

“What did he taste like?”

“Salt,” I whisper. “And skin.”

I close my eyes and hear the music. Hear the guitar. His, and then that second one laying in on top of the first.

“Did you want to touch him?”

Lilith's fingertips flutter like the wings of a firefly. Yawning open. Beating in. And in my mind I see her in the firefly field with that boy on top of her. Suddenly her hands on me feel too daring.

“Lie with him? Open your le—”

I pull away and her hand smacks against the table, her fingers curling up like the legs of a bug.

“What?” She looks at me sharply.

My eyes jet through the coffee shop, embarrassed that someone might be watching. Not sure what kind of voyeuristic stunt Lilith is pulling. There are things we don't talk about and things we
shouldn't
talk about.

“What are you doing?” I pull my arms back, and she shakes her head.

“Nothing,” she says defensively. “I do that shit all the time. When did touching you become a thing?”

I stare at her, realizing how much she doesn't know me. How much she'll never know about me. How the space we don't talk about defines us.

“You weren't just
friendly
touching me.” I try to keep my voice down. “You were
touching
me.”

This weird smile crawls over Lilith, and suddenly I feel manipulated. Everything seems heightened somehow, that kiss in front of Abe, the one when we were young, every time she's touched my hair.

“Seriously?” she says, her eyes becoming dark slits. “You've been more than happy to let me be your surrogate boyfriend for the last four years. And what, now that you've actually kissed a boy, it's a problem?”

“You've been my surrogate
what
?”

“Get over yourself, Marion! You think the way I touch you is something normal friends do?”

Cold reeds though me, and this feels like a trap.

“We've been friends for—”

“Forever. Yeah, I know,” she says. “Why do you think I keep pushing this whole virginity thing? Because you're in desperate need of affection.”

“What are you talking about?”

She looks at me boldly. “You
like
the way I touch you.”

“What?”

She shakes her head, a miffed laugh escaping from her throat. “Go ahead and deny it, Marion, like you deny everything. Be my guest. But don't for a second pretend that you didn't like it.”

“Are you a lesbian or something?” I ask, and she shakes her head calmly.

“No, but maybe
you
are.”

“What?” I cough, my head buzzing. She isn't actually saying this right now, is she? I grip my coffee mug, and hot liquid spills onto my fingers.

“Or maybe you're not,” Lilith says, raising her hands defensively. “All I know is nobody touches you, Marion. Nobody but me. I'm the only person
you let
do that.” She lowers her voice. “Look, touching isn't an issue for me. But it
is
for you. Why else would you break up with Abe? You two were perfect for each other. If you wanted a nice, innocent romance, you could have had it, but you kicked him to the curb. Why do you think you did that?”

“I, I . . .” My brain is spinning. “I wasn't ready.”

“Which is exactly why I do it, Marion. For
you
. So you can figure out how to
be
ready. Only it's not some kinky sex thing for me, okay?” Her eyebrows pinch and she looks at me thoughtfully. “Though, it might be for you.”

“Kinky what?”

“It turns you on.”

“No, it doesn't!” I look around sharply. No one's looking at us, but it feels like we're under a microscope. “That doesn't make any sense.” I lean in to whisper. “Why would you do that?”

“Because you
need
to be touched, Marion. We all do. I thought if you realized you
could
be turned on, you would go out and get it from a guy or whomever . . .”

“I'm not into girls.”

“Fine, you're not into girls. I don't care. The point is, eventually you've got to lose your virginity and get this from someone who isn't me.”

“I'm not like you, Lilith!”

“You mean someone who can actually deal with her own sexuality? Yeah, I know that.”

I glare at her, furious.

“What were you doing just now?” I demand. “Asking me about Kurt?”

Her lips stretch tight like she can't believe she has to keep explaining this to me. “You want him, don't you? You can tell me you don't all you want, but your skin, your body, it wants him. Doesn't it?”

I can't breathe. I feel like she's thrown me inside my mason jar with the dead bugs and screwed the lid. Tight and suffocating.

“That desire is
in you
!”

“You kissed me in front of Abe and those—”

“Because that gets boys hot, Marion. It got you hot too, but not because you were kissing me. Because you want to be kissing Abe.”

That isn't true! Only, it is. I
did
want to be kissing Abe. I'm so confused and I don't know what to make of any of this.

“That's fucked-up,” I say finally.

“Yeah, it is.” She looks at me plainly.

“You're—”

“Oh no.” She cuts me off before I can blame her again. “It takes two.” She purses her lips, but then her gaze softens. “Look, I understand that you don't have anyone else. And as fucked-up as you may think it is, I
want
someone else to touch you. I want you to know how good that can be. I was just trying to be someone you could explore with until you figured out whatever it is you need to figure out.”

“I didn't need you to—”

“You did.” She pushes her chair back to stand up. “You do.”

The room feels like it's full of steam and I'm drowning in dead bugs and foam. Lilith grabs her coat and pushes away her chair.

“If you don't want to be touched anymore, fine,” she says. “If you think this”—she gestures to the table and my hands—“crossed some kind of line, fine. You just had to say so.”

I stare at her, and this whole conversation feels too loud. It's too public and exposed. I'm furious at her. Furious that
she thinks this is about me. Coffee spills onto my napkin, the brown spreading over the white, bleeding.

“I can't believe—”

“Don't,” she interrupts, and I clench my hands into fists. “Just go home and . . .” She clutches her purse to her chest. “I don't know, just, figure out what you want. And figure out how to ask for it.”

My mouth falls open, and I notice people staring.

“I'll see you at school,” she says, walking to the exit. The door chimes as she goes, leaving a shrill echo with her disappearing footsteps.

I blot the spilled coffee on my tabletop with the soiled napkin. The effort is fruitless, but it's the only thing I can do. Everything Lilith has said makes my head spin. I didn't want her to touch me. Did I? Not like she implies I did. It was just something safe, part of the intimacy of knowing her my whole life. I didn't want more.

I never want more. I don't want anyone to touch me.

No one.

I swallow and know that isn't true. I wanted that kiss with Kurt. I like Lilith's touch when it's a comfort and she's not pushing boundaries. Only that's not what Lilith does. She likes to cross every boundary she can find, and
this
is another one of her games, manipulating everything. She didn't do this for me.

She doesn't do anything for me.

It's Monday in chemistry, and
there have been no calls, no contact, no Kurt. A few people looked at me funny in the halls, but I haven't seen Conner since the party either.

Maybe nobody knows.

Abe drops his notebook on the desk and slides in beside me.

“So, Kurt Medford, huh?”

Or everyone knows.

I tuck my hair behind my ear and shrug.

“Maybe,” I say, but my hands are damp. The look of disapproval on his face makes my skin prickle. “Maybe it's nothing,” I say, thrown off by how much I want him to believe that. Or maybe I'm trying to convince myself, so I don't feel so guilty about the way he's looking at me. Abe stifles a laugh, digging his knuckles into our desk. “Really,” I continue, trying to shake the waver in my voice. “It's nothing.”

“Oh, I
know
it's nothing.” He looks at me hard. “The problem is I don't think
you
know it's nothing.”

The air punches out of me. I look back at Kurt's empty chair and try to breathe. What does Abe know? He wasn't there.

“Why do you care?” I shoot back, trying to stay calm, and Abe scoffs. But then the confrontation shakes right out of him. He looks at me seriously and three soft curls fall onto his forehead. I reach out and tuck them behind his ear. I do it without thinking, caressing the dimple behind his ear. It's not until my fingers are in his hair that I realize how personal it is.

“That's why,” he says, and my whole body goes hot.

He looks at me and my belly curls tight with realization. I
always
want to put my hands in Abe's hair. Always. It's not just that kiss under the apple tree, and all the other fragile beginnings. It's so much more than that. It's all the things that weren't about kissing. It's how we used to walk through the forest and make up stories about my mother, or have root-beer-drinking contests at the creamery. It's theater hopping on Sundays, and debating the evolutionary use of opposable thumbs, or lying in the grass with our legs intertwined, reading books and brushing those curls from his face. It's all the things that weren't the heat, that suddenly make the way he looks at me bloom with new fire. I've missed him. But it's more than missing. It's wanting in a way I was afraid to want him before. A way I wouldn't allow
myself to think about him, and suddenly all I want is for him to unfold me.

And he knows that. He can see that on my face.

“I, uh . . .” My mouth goes dry and my fingertips feel hot on the back of his ear. Is it possible that despite two years of unspoken silence, we've
both
been waiting for a second chance? “Abe, I, I—”

A rush of whispers runs through the room and Kurt walks through the doorway. He heads in our direction and my hand drops from Abe's ear so fast I can't control the lack of grace in it. I wish I could hide my panic and not have Abe notice, but Abe notices everything. I wish I hadn't touched his hair. I wish I had more control over the way my body reacts and I didn't see that look on Abe's face, forcing me to admit I have feelings for him.

Only Kurt—

He walks right past us.

And not for a second does he look at me.

Abe lets out a small laugh, like he expected nothing less from Kurt, and I don't want to believe it. I look away from both of them and stare at the shelves by the window, full of graduated cylinders and flasks. Glass things designed to take specific measurements, to catalog a chemical reaction, and measure the invisible.

Kurt flops down at his station behind me and stares up at the ceiling. Abe scowls at Kurt, who leans back in his chair, lifting the front legs from the ground. Tempting gravity.

Anger flushes through me at the fact that Kurt's once again ignoring me. Kurt kissed me and that means something. He can't just hide it under his tongue and forget it. Kisses have effects. They're reagents. They change the whole body of a solution. I won't pretend it didn't happen.

I stand, feeling as uncertain as those legs on which Kurt balances. I feel Abe watching me and I have to push aside whatever I feel about him. The guilt and confusion. I have to face Kurt.

I walk up to him and his gravity shifts.

“Hey,” I say, and a split second of panic flies through him. He falls forward, the legs of his chair slamming down.

“Um, hi.” He rights himself, brushing down his shirt like he's actually embarrassed. His eyes flick to Abe and something territorial darkens his gaze. Light hangs on his shoulders and my skin remembers the weight of him, against me on that car, and what wakes inside. He's seen and touched so much of me, yet there's always this awkwardness between us.

“So . . . ,” I start, hating the quiver in my voice and that this is so public. I hate that Abe is watching, and that there are others, and we're at school. “Do, um . . .”

Heat flushes my ears and I don't know why he does this. Stares at me with those quiet eyes and says nothing, like this is a game. Yet at the same time his look is always mixed with softness, like he's looking for something else. I tuck my hair back with a nervous finger and the bell rings, loudness breaking in, and he clenches his hands like it's the end of a game and the buzzer has gone off.