The ABC's of Kissing Boys (17 page)

“Yeah,” she said, then went silent. Long enough for me to wrap some hair around my finger. To pluck lint off my shirt. To imagine myself with a Chrissandra- thrown kitchen knife in my back.

“There's something I should tell you, too, Parker. But this stays between us.” She drew in a big breath before continuing. “My junior year, when I didn't play? It wasn't only about spending more time with Danny. Chrissandra blackmailed me.”

It was my turn to catch my breath.

“See, I'd been on the prom- decorations committee with her the year before. Danny and I weren't doing well, and I was pretty sure he was going to break up with me. One night, working late in the gym, I blurted it out to this guy Louie, who'd just been through a breakup. One thing led to another, and we started kissing in the hall. Chrissandra saw us and came up to me later with this whole I'm-going-to-tell-Danny thing—unless I dropped out of soccer.”

Why was I not surprised? Rachael was older, faster on the field and more popular than Chrissandra. As long as she was around, Chrissandra would always be in her shadow.

“No way I was giving in, right? So I went to Danny, to break up with him. Only to have him tell me how much he loved me and how we were going to be together forever … and all this crap that melted my heart. So I said something about maybe not playing soccer the next year, and he thought it was a great idea. More time to be together before he left for college.”

She sighed again. “So that was that. I didn't show up for tryouts, and Chrissandra got what she wanted.”

“Until Hartley asked you back.”

“Yeah, and by then, Danny and I were history. The jerk dumped me to play the college field, and I'm not talking sports. And soon I realized I missed soccer a lot more than I did him.”

I sat up. “So you're telling me for sure it's Chrissandra who told Hartley about me?”

“I'm not. I honestly don't know. I'm just telling you not to trust her. And to know that she's capable of stuff you'd only expect to see on a soap opera.”

A shiver ran through me.

•

My dreams that night were dark and disturbing. Who would have thought I'd actually welcome the morning light and the chance for real- life distractions at school?

But that didn't mean I was prepared to cruise up to my locker and find CeeCee pointing at a note protruding from the vent. I didn't know if I was being summoned to the principal's office for another interrogation or to a judge- and- jury trial of Chrissandra's calling—or worse.

“You see who left it?”

She shook her head.

Blowing out a sigh, I opened the note, to see bold, handwritten print:

“Keegan, Rusty … who?” I shook my head at CeeCee. “Courtyard? Did you see who left this?” I asked again.

A smile pulled at her mouth. “I didn't. But Lyric Wolensky's little brother is named Keegan. And I've never heard of another one.”

I flinched as thoughts slapped together in my head. “Don't tell me. He's a freshman?”

“Just like all the other kids who hang out in the courtyard.” She smirked. “I guess I'm not the only one who's heard that you and your man- child broke up.”

I crumpled the note. “Guess not.” I'd steeled myself for snide comments and for heckling, but not for becoming the object of freshman fantasies.

I pretended to laugh it off, then turned to see my three former BFFs approaching. The one who cared about everyone and everything was occupying the center, of course.

“Hey, Park,” Chrissandra said, without attitude, particular interest or malice. Her minions echoed her words, but all three kept on walking. Until soon I was staring at the backs of their heads.

“Aren't you going to say something back?” CeeCee asked, her tone lowered for intimacy. “You know, hi or something?”

I shook my head. They'd never even notice. Besides, this encounter wasn't about me. It was about setting limits on me. Letting me know I was worthy of a public greeting again (since I was no longer dating an inferior) but not conversation (since I was still on JV).

I knew the rules. I was ashamed to admit I'd been there when many of them were established, had condoned and obeyed them. But that felt so long ago … back when amicable public greetings had been a given. And before I'd realized that they weren't the make-lemonade- out- of- lemons kind of friends but rather the kind that held you down and made you suck on the lemon rind and choke on the seeds, “for your own good.”

Watching them disappear, I could have sworn I had a sour lemon- drop aftertaste in my mouth.

As the morning went on, I heard a few chuckles about the breakup, but mostly what I got was smiles from upperclassmen who seemed glad to have me “back with the grown- ups.”

When Becca asked where I wanted to have lunch, I told her
anywhere
but the courtyard (and then explained about my new admirers). We settled on the grill truck again, and on our way back inside, we saw Tristan and a group of friends (but no Emma, I noted happily), and we all did a very satisfying and mature I- don't- see- you.

But I couldn't
not
see Emma on the field later. While Hartley explained how the practice would run late to make up for the one we'd miss for the next day's sports fair, I studied Emma's too- cute face and figure and dreamed up an announcement of my own.

“My footwork clinic is, as usual, on the far side of the field,” I called out when Hartley finished. “And today, Emma is joining us, too.”

“Me?” she said, throwing a heated look at me, and then at Coach. “But I don't need to work on my footwork!”

Hartley shrugged. “If Parker thinks so …”

As the team dispersed, I walked over to Emma and slipped a supportive arm around her shoulder. “I heard from our mutual friend that you're feeling left out. So I thought I'd include you so you'd feel like one of my favorites.”

She pulled free. “I don't need help. I'll stick with the rest of the team.”

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Then you'll have the time to go to the equipment room and bring me some extra cones for the girls who
do
need my help.”

She exhaled through her nose, and squinted like she was calling me some serious names in her head. Then she set off toward the building at a snail's pace.

Apparently, having a hot new boyfriend—and being able to hold that offensive steal over her team captain— wasn't enough to power her engines.

•

When the team hit the showers, Hartley called me into her office. I figured Emma had gone to her about me and quickly considered defense strategies. Deny any antifa-voritism? Or tell Coach what Emma had done to so royally tick me off?

I settled into the plastic chair across from her desk.

“I'll be frank with you, Parker. It's come to my attention that you are the one who broke into AJ's locker.”

I struggled to switch gears. Since she'd missed her obvious opportunity to confront me at practice last Friday, I'd gone with the hope that she'd dropped me from her list of suspects. But apparently not.

“You realize,” she continued, “that even though nothing was taken from the locker, it's still considered breaking and entering?”

“Yes, but—”

“And that I consider slipping an anonymous note under my door to be a form of cowardice, not leadership?”

“Yes, which is why I'd never do either one.” Well, okay, maybe I'd consider it, but I wouldn't do it. “And with all due respect, Coach, maybe you should suspect the person who is pointing a finger at me.”

She bit on the inside of her cheek, nodding. “One last question: I don't suppose that little problem you needed to leave practice for last week had anything to do with all this?”

“No,” I said, meeting her eyes.

“Fine, then.” She rubbed her temple. “I just had to clear the air.”

I nodded, wishing she'd clear the air with the blabber's name. And hopefully, get to the real point. Which was giving me AJ's position—right?

“You know how important you are to JV, Parker, and that I've come to rely on you.”

My heart picked up speed.
Wait for it, wait for it….

“I'm excited about the way the team is coming together,” she continued, “and optimistic about our standings this year.”

I nodded, folding my hands in my lap, trying to look obedient and patient.

Only to see her stand. “Okay, then. I'm glad we had this little conversation.”

Huh?

I searched her face, until her underlying meaning struck me as hard and fast as having seen my name on that last JV roster. Regardless of the opening that had just been created, Hartley had no intentions of moving me anywhere. She was happy with me on JV.

Crap.

That meant that the sports- fair plan was still a go. And that Clayton had better be ready with that fancy legalese. The kissing booth was my last shot at varsity this year.

Vacuum Kiss
:
When one
partner sucks all the air out of the other's
mouth.

T
he next morning, my brother called as I was heading out the door. He wanted to warn me that he and Luke might be a little late because of traffic. I pretended to be irritated, just because I knew it was expected, but the truth was, I was sort of numb about the sports fair. I hoped I wasn't making a gigantic mistake.

The day breezed by, and when Clayton and Luke's 12:4,5 arrival time came and went, I finished my shift at the JV ring-toss booth—where I only had to explain to three or four thousand people why I was still playing on an underclassman team, thankyouverymuch—handed the cash box to Lyric and met up with Becca for what I hoped looked like a casual stroll around the fair.

Oldies music blared through the propped- up speakers, songs about big girls not crying and
grease
being the word. We passed some sophomore guys emptying their pockets for kisses from Chrissandra, Mandy and Elaine at the kissing booth; saw Kyle and some friends wolfing down barbecued- pork sandwiches; watched Rachael shoot baskets to win a stuffed animal and checked out the cooking club's fudge- tasting booth. But no food tempted me, not even the slice of pepperoni pizza that Becca waved under my nose.

“I can't,” I told her.

“Why? Nerves?”

“Breath.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Okay, breath
and
nerves.”

She rolled them again.

“Okay, nerves.”

She patted my arm. “It's not too late, you know. To call the whole thing off.”

“Why would I want to do that?”

“Maybe you don't want your old life back.”

I watched her pop the pizza crust in her mouth, letting her words sink in. Well, yeah, no way I'd suck up to Chrissandra again. I didn't need her “protection.” She wasn't the compassionate person she pretended to be to her close friends. In fact, I think the general population had her pegged better than I ever had. There would definitely be a change between us when I was on varsity. And that might not be an easy transition.

But I didn't want to freeze- frame right here, either. Stuck on JV, and with the knowledge that Emma's “boyfriend” was sure to come to every game.

I didn't want old. I didn't want new. What I wanted was better. And keeping with the Plan seemed like my only way there. As I watched my sophomore-year Spanish teacher on the dunk- tank plank, time pounded at me like a bad headache. Late was turning into later. And at some point, later would become too late. What would I do then?

So when a finger poked my shoulder, I felt my muscles relax. I turned. But instead of seeing the faces of my partners in crime, I saw a different kind of partner altogether.

“Don't you have a job to do?” Tristan asked.

Wearing his gray T-shirt and a smile that skimmed his lips, he had separated from his pack of friends, and the only person within earshot was Becca. I needed to close the gap between us good and fast—anyone could hear—but when I found myself senses first in his body space, I regretted the move. It felt like I'd lost too much oxygen, making me think of that Vacuum Kiss he'd talked about.

Breaking up, I decided, did not guarantee attraction immunity. Even when there was another girl in the picture. Even when you'd never really been together.

“They're just late,” I managed, hoping that was, in fact, true.

“You need me to pinch- hit? Be his understudy?”

Wow.
That would be totally wrong, but, still, I was touched.

“You're sweet,” I told him. Noticing that he smelled good. Too good, and familiar. (Which, any way you looked at it, was not good.)

Anyway, I could not consider kissing him again, for real or for fake. And there was no way I could explain to him why he couldn't fill Luke's shoes. While he'd likely pull off the kiss better than any guy at school (or in Minnesota or the whole U.S. of A.), he just didn't have the clout of a former prom king. Or a pocketful of cash, for that matter. “But I'm sure they'll get here,” I added.