The ABC's of Kissing Boys (3 page)

“Why?”

“Just asking.”

He pointed at my supermarket bag. “You got cherries in there?”

I nodded.

“I set the record. A loop in forty- eight seconds.”

Jeez, what kind of camp did he work at? And was it too late to sign up?

He leaned against the broom handle. “What's with the sudden interest in camp? Or, should I say kissing? Is your boyfriend complaining?”

I choked out a laugh. “No. No complaints.” From any guys. Yet. “Just—well, I mean, who couldn't stand to get a little better?”

He held my gaze long enough for me to realize that his eyes were dark blue—like the deepest part of a lake or the sapphire birthstone I was hoping to get set in my senior- class ring. But I couldn't decide if that color looked good in a person's
face
or not….

“You want me to show you my cherry looping?”

I considered it. Then I realized I wouldn't be able to see anything but the end result. So I shook my head, then shrugged as if this had been a silly conversation anyway and went back to my scraping.

He clearly got the message that we'd moved on, because he laid down his broom and set off toward his garage. Moments later, his return was announced by the rolling of trash- can wheels. Stopping in the street, he scooped a clump of grass into a dust pan, chucked it in the trash, then turned to me.

“So who is he?”

“Huh?”

“The new guy. When I left for camp, you and your boyfriend had broken up. Or so people were saying. Who's this one? A senior?”

I just stared at him.

First of all, incoming freshmen were talking about my love life? Really? I mean, I knew playing soccer gave me a certain visibility, and being friends with Chrissandra Hickey was only good for anyone's rep. But the idea that stats on my life had trickled down to the middle school level astonished me.

And then there was the problem of how to respond. There
was
no new guy. Luke didn't count. He was just… Luke. And no way was I explaining about Heartless and varsity. “I can't really talk about it,” I finally said, and did a Chrissandra- like hair toss that I hoped would shut him up.

“What, it's in the works?”

I frowned.

“You're trying to steal a guy away from someone?”

Wait a minute—I didn't want
that
kind of gossip going around about me. But would it really be worse than the plain truth? I just shrugged. Not a yes, not a no.

“You can probably pull it off.”

I didn't know how to respond to that, so I was just as happy that he kept talking.

“If you're looking to make real points with the guy, I can fill you in on some things. You know, like different techniques—Caterpillar Kisses, Butterfly Kisses. And the Steam Kiss—”

“Whoa,” I said, putting my hand up. It was starting to feel like he was the one about to be a junior all of a sudden, and I was the know- nothing ninth grader. Even if I
did
know nothing about these things.

“Oh, do you know all this stuff?” he asked, his gaze challenging mine as he rested his broom against the trash can.

“Sure.” I stood up to look him in the eye. I might have been a few inches shorter, but I'd had two years of drills from Heartless on how to stare down your opponent.

“Yeah, so what's a Steam Kiss?”

A no- brainer (probably). “A kiss that's so hot that imaginary steam comes out of your partner's ears.” Did I just say that?

He made an irritating sound like a game- show buzzer. “Wrong. What's a Caterpillar Kiss?”

I had to admit my confidence was slipping. All I could think was, two people lying stomach- down on the ground with their heads up so their mouths could meet.

Tristan must have seen the confusion in my eyes, because the next thing I knew, he was in my face.

“Tell you what, Parker. I'll show you.”

“Show me?”
I wasn't at all sure I liked where this was going.

“Don't worry, our lips won't even touch. Just stay where you are, and don't move.”

I wanted to move, all right, to thrust my palms forward to keep this neighbor- boy froshie
out
of my body space. Who did he think he was?

But I was also hungry for knowledge. So I did a quick scan to make sure the street was empty and there would be no witnesses. And I told myself that as long as our lips stayed apart, it wouldn't count as an official kiss, which could come back to haunt me. Right?

I locked my limbs in cautious anticipation and looked up at Tristan Murphy's dark blue eyes as he stepped in closer. And closer.

He must have bent his knees, because his eyes suddenly were level with mine. Then his hands secured themselves on my upper arms, and he leaned in until his eyebrows were pushed up against mine. I thought I might laugh—not that anything was funny—but steeled myself into paying attention in case I decided to use this on Luke.

Tristan tilted his head so that our foreheads touched, then started this gentle crisscross motion, rubbing our eyebrows. It kind of tickled, and made me want to laugh, or at least smile—if not at the sensation, then at what we were doing.

But it also felt good—silky and soft. Making me forget the silliness, making me want to get closer, to snuggle up—

Wait. What was I thinking?

I should be pushing him back onto his property. Because—gah!—what was I doing in a face smush with the Murphy kid?

He must have sensed my change of heart, because he pulled back. Or maybe he was just finished.

“That,” he said, like some sort of campus professor on the subject, “was a Caterpillar Kiss. It's all about the eyebrows. And a Butterfly Kiss starts out the same, but it's the bringing together of eyelashes.”

“I'll take your word for it,” I said, shuffling on the pavement to regain my full balance. And to take back the power.

“And the Steam Kiss—”

“Enough,” I said sharply.

“Okay, well, we couldn't do that one outside, anyway.”

Something strangled in my throat.
What?
Like we'd only do it behind closed doors? Omigod, this was moving into out- of- hand territory. I shook my head and composed myself. “Look, you can finish up here without me, right?”

He shrugged.

“Because I gotta go.” I was suddenly incredibly uncomfortable.

“Okay,” he answered, as if he knew something I didn't. “But if there's anything I can do to help you with this guy, just ask. You know, I can be discreet.”

“Don't tell me,” I said flatly, “—you're cool like that?”

A frown settled slowly into his brow, and for a long moment, he just stared at me. “What, you're mad now? You're the one who brought the cherries and the Starburst over. You're the one who wanted to know about camp and kissing games.”

Crap—he was right. “Yeah, well,” I said, pulling my bike off the curb, “I guess I thought it was sort of cute. You know, how freshmen fill their time while waiting for their lives to begin.” I didn't intend to be mean; it just sort of spilled out of my mouth.

I could see anger spark in his eyes. “Like
you
can talk. Sixteen and never been kissed.”

“I've been kissed!” Suddenly I was okay with mean. I found my balance and set off on my bike, not even bothering with my helmet.

“The back of your hand does not count!”

I circled back around, not entirely sure what I was going to say, hoping it would somehow be brilliant.

But his voice cut through the air. “You'd better find someone to teach you this stuff, Parker, if you're ever going to
keep
a boyfriend. Because it sure won't be with your sparkling personality!”

I pedaled fast in a full circle, pretending not to hear. Little did Tristan know that keeping a boyfriend was the least of my worries. All I was concerned with was keeping my friends and my place on the team alongside them.

As well as keeping my cool. And the last thing I needed was my
own
neighbor feud.

Diversify
:
Vary the tempo,
intensity and duration of kisses to keep
things interesting.

I
parked my bike in the garage, then circled around to the side of the house to check the gutters. Cupping my hand against the sun, I saw that they were perfectly, flawlessly, don't-mess-with-me painted.

Looked like the frosh had just been messing with me. As if I needed more drama in my life.

Upstairs in my room, I flopped onto my bed and considered quitting high school. Going for an equivalency diploma would certainly save me from taking this whole Heartless heartache to heart, and from having to learn about kissing. Plus, it would make things right with my friends. I mean, if I wasn't at school, why would they have to worry about watching their mouths to protect my feelings?

Yeah, it was the answer. If you didn't take into account that (1) my parents would go postal, (2) a GED wasn't exactly the fast track to the kind of university I was targeting, and (3) it was pointless to get my friends back if I wasn't at school to hang out with them.

After a long sigh, I dragged myself over to my computer to see what the word
kiss
brought up in a search engine. I mean, was there a book called
Kissing for Dummies
or something?

I signed on to IM and saw a few people on, including Chrissandra.

Before I got the chance to double- click on her name, the house phone rang. I felt my breath catch as I rushed to grab the old- fashioned princess extension in my parents’ bedroom, hoping desperately it was for me.

“Hello?” I said, willing Chrissandra's voice to respond.

“Parker,” she said. “I saw you come online.”

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Hearing her voice again was
just so great.
Cheddar- cheese- popcorn-and-Drew-Barrymore-movies-at-two-a.m.-in-our-sleeping-bags great.

“Hey!” I said, practically yelling, I was so happy. But that was okay, because this was Chrissandra, and clearly things were getting back to normal.

“You have to promise not to tell anyone I called,” she said, her voice dropping.

What? No
Hey, how have you been, my best friend Parker?
I felt myself slowly going numb, from the inside out. “Okay. Why?”

“I'm not supposed to tell you—it kind of defeats the purpose. But when you see us from now on—Mandy, Elaine and me—we're not going to welcome you with open arms or anything. That's why I'm calling—we've decided to cut you loose.”

If complete and utter horror made a sound, I swear, I made it.

“It's because we love you, Parker,” she added quickly. “Since you're on JV again, you need to be free to hang out with your new teammates.”

Oh, God.

The thing was, despite the fact that Chrissandra came off as a queen bee, those who buzzed around liked to think it was pretty much an act. That deep down, she was thoughtful and caring, and she wouldn't do anything she didn't honestly think was right. At least, anything that had to do with us.

“No, Chrissandra,” I said, wrapping the phone cord around a finger and hearing the pleading in my voice, “I am
not
one of them. I don't belong on JV. It's only because that awful Rachael came back and that other girl transferred in from out of state.”

“We know that. But solidarity is the key to winning, after all, so you have to stay with your team. Just like we have to stay with ours.”

With fear constricting my throat, I did not respond.

“We know we're going to come off like total bitches to everyone else, but we need you to know the truth. That it's not personal, okay? And we really hope you make varsity soon and can come back to us.”

My brain reeling, I spoke with as much dignity as possible.

“Well, what if I quit soccer? Altogether?”

She was silent for a long moment, then finally said, “Don't you think that's overkill?”

Wait—like
I
was the drama queen? With her theatrical temperament, she had commanded JV soccer, as well as the freshman/sophomore corridors. As her grateful hangers- on, whatever Chrissandra did, Mandy, Elaine and I did. Whatever she wore, we wore. Whatever she thought was cool, we thought was cool. We even dug deep for authentic- sounding enthusiasm for yet another viewing of Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes as Romeo and Juliet, when what we really wanted to see again was
Bend It Like Beckham.

Guys flocked around her, too. And last winter, when she decided she wanted catalog model Kyle Fenske, she went after him with the intensity of a white- hot sun. And he gave in without much of a fight. There had been some hallway jokes about how much prettier Kyle was than Chrissandra, including ones calling their relationship “interfacial.” But Kyle seemed as devoted to her as she was to him, and I had to admit, she'd been easier to get along with since she'd hooked up with him.

Until all this, of course.

“But if I weren't on a soccer team at all …,” I tried again, then sank down onto the carpet between my parents’ twin beds, holding on to the phone for dear life. My neck was tensing up, the sweat was back in my hairline, and I wasn't entirely sure the Starbursts I'd popped were going to stay down.

“Look, Park, it's only four days till school starts. I'm sure you'll work it out with Coach and everything will be okay.”

“Chrissandra …”

“It has to be this way. You know that.” She seemed to sigh. “See you at school. And make sure you look fab- u, okay? And act like you're totally in control. Do not show fear.”

“Yeah,” I simply said, knowing pure terror would prevent me from having any other emotions.

•

I spent the next couple of hours on the Internet, trying to absorb all I could about kissing. I told myself that Luke and I would impress the school with a kiss as beautiful as the one the couple shared in
The Princess Bride,
“the most passionate, the most pure” kiss of all time.