The ABC's of Kissing Boys (9 page)

I opened my mouth to laugh, to tell her she was absolutely right, but for some reason, no sound came out.

All I could think of was how hard I'd worked that morning to get up my nerve to come to school, how I'd convinced myself that effort and a good attitude would pay off. And while most people
had
basically accepted or ignored me, the few who'd paid me real attention had tromped soccer cleats on what was left of my life.

•

I guess it only stood to reason that my father chose that night to freak out over my “friendship” with Tristan.

Apparently he had seen the two of us drive off on Friday night. My mother told me she'd calmed him down by telling him that I was helping Tristan adjust to high school (which she believed to be true). While my father was decent enough to think it neighborly of me, he had definite lines where his niceness ended and his psychotic behavior began. And as far as he was concerned, I was fraternizing with the enemy.

After dinner, with Mom chatting away on the phone to Clayton, I made a general announcement into the air that I was going for a walk—and apparently crossed my dad's invisible line.

“With the Murphy boy again?” he asked, moving into the doorway in what could have been perceived as a block.

I shrugged. “Yeah. Does it matter? We're just, you know, talking about teachers and stuff.” Stuff like Eskimo Kisses and lean- ins and how we're supposedly in love.

My dad's heavy brow (which seemed to get heavier with the mention of anything Murphy) lowered. “That's it?”

“That's it,” I said, crossing my fingers at my side and wondering if eventually I'd have to—God forbid—spread the lie about our “romance” to my family, too.

“He doesn't ask you questions about … me, about the house?”

A laugh snaked its way up and out of me (probably not a good move, but you can't always control your reactions). “No. What, you think Tristan is working for his dad to get the goods on you so he can launch preemptive attacks?”

He glared at me.

“You think they're going to subpoena me in small-claims court,” I went on, “to testify against you?”

“That is not funny, Parker.”

Since my mother was still chatting away, I ignored the implied don't-stress-your-father-out rule and said exactly what I thought. “You're right, Dad. It's not funny. This whole thing between you and his father is
so
not funny it's embarrassing.”

Tension clenched his jaw, telling me he was
not
saying way more than he
was
saying. “Well, if he does ask you anything suspicious, don't answer right away. Give me a chance to decide what to tell him.”

Omigod, were we like that
Spy Kids
family now, all working together to bring down the enemy?

He glowered, then stepped away from the door. “And just don't you forget whose roof you live under.”

How could I? It was the one with the gutters so meticulously painted that Mr. Murphy couldn't report us if he wanted to.

•

Spotting Tristan shooting baskets in the street moments later made my legs pick up speed. Finally—someone with no agenda, no rules, no hidden knives to slip into my back. I practically skipped down the driveway and across the street.

“Hey, stranger.”

He bit back a smile, dribbling the ball. “Well, well, if it isn't the love of my life.”

“Yeah. About
time
you realized the effect I have on you.”

He rolled his midnight blue eyes, but a smile hung around his mouth. “I assume this all has to do with soccer and Chrissandra?”

“Don't all my roads lead there?” I let out a big breath and recounted what had happened by my locker and how I'd come to announce that we were victims of star-crossed love.

“Risky,” he said when I was done. He rested the ball on the pavement and stopped it from rolling with the tip of his sneaker. “But good going.”

“Well, I figured I had two things working for us. Agewise, you really should be a sophomore, which still isn't great, but better than a freshman.”

“There's that.”

“And you're …,” I said, and shrugged, “you know … okay-looking.”

“ Okay- looking?” he repeated, probably because he liked how it sounded.

“Sure,” I said, then caught myself gazing past him. Funny, I couldn't begin to pinpoint when I'd stopped seeing a slightly annoying neighbor and started seeing someone worth looking at. “Well,” I tried to clarify, “not Luke Anderson, prom king, okay- looking. But, you know, as okay- looking as a guy in your grade can be.”

“Thanks. I guess.” He took a step closer. I could feel the warm puffs of his breath on my forehead.

“The way I figure it,” I told him, “about the time I go off to college—when
you're
a junior—you'll totally be worth dating.”

“Again, not sure if I should say thanks or not.” His mouth pursed into a smile, not so easy to see at this close proximity—more something I could feel. “And until then, Parker, you'll, what, put up with me?”

I pulled back and looked dead into his face. I knew this was all in fun, but if I'd given him any indication that we had a future, well, I'd screwed up. “Yeah, Sparky, but not for long. The sports fair is a week from tomorrow, and I can't have people feeling sorry for you, thinking I'm cheating on you, when I'm doing a major make- out with Luke.”

Something flickered and died in his eyes, like the last embers of a campfire. “So we'd better schedule a big breakup for this weekend, huh? Like at the Dairy Queen, where I storm off, leaving you sobbing in your Oreo Blizzard?”

“Sobbing,” I grumbled. I reached out to playfully smack his formidable chest, but he caught my hand inside his two. And held it.

For a crazy moment, I thought he was going to pull all of me toward him and kiss me. And while I figured I'd like it (maybe even a lot), it just wouldn't be cool. Our kisses were either educational or to be used for show at school. And imagine if my dad peeked out the window and saw?

Speaking of Dad …

“Look, I really better go,” I said, tugging my hand free.

“Yeah, me too.” He took a step back. “So listen, now that we're a so- called couple, if I see you in the halls or whatever, I can come up to you and everything?”

“And everything,” I said, and lifted my brow.

“Kiss you like the guy in
Titanic?”

“Or like the guy in
Gone with the Wind.”

His eyes went dull.

“An old movie. Never mind. You have to be like,
my age
to have seen it.”

He shook his head. Then he reached for his basketball. But instead of tucking it under an arm and heading home, he raised the ball over his head, lined up a shot and launched it. Into a perfect arc and swish.

Glad some people's lives are charmed.

Longevity
:
Remember, you're
not out to set any records. Short kisses
can be just as passionate as their longer
counterparts.

A
pproaching my locker the next morning, I didn't know what to expect. But whether the girls had upped the ante in exploiting my “romance” or had already lost interest in it (and in me), the situation was total lose- lose.

I squinted as I rounded the corner, then opened my eyes fast. Discount coupons for diapers and baby wipes hung off “It's a Boy!” wrapping paper on my locker door. All that was missing was a video camera ready to capture my shame for viewing on HomeroomTV and YouTube.

“Cute,” I grumbled to no one in particular. “Real cute.”

The honey- skinned Rachael Washington caught my eye in passing. Her black hair pulled back tight off her face, she was all wide eyes and red- painted lips. “You think so? I think it's totally immature.”

Pushing aside the fact that I couldn't remember the last time she had spoken to me—obviously this was a week to blaze new and strange trails—and the fact that she was basically the reason the varsity roster had closed without me, I went with her sentiment and rolled my eyes. “It's going to be way cuter in a thousand pieces on the floor.”

She wriggled off her backpack. “Sounds fun. Can I play?”

I dug a nail under a loose corner of paper and ripped it in two across the center while she jumped in for her own noisy tear. We continued like sharp- clawed kittens until the paper and coupons lay in shreds.

“You were right,” she said, glancing back up at me. “Much cuter. What's this all about, anyway? The ninth grader I hear you're dating?”

I nodded, not at all surprised. The only thing my “friends” passed faster than a soccer ball was gossip. “Yeah …”

“I hope he's worth it.”

I tried to nod and smile, but mostly I think I just shrugged.

“Well, whatever,” she said, and shrugged herself. “Listen, there's something I wanted to talk to you about.”

All I could think was that she was going to apologize for returning to soccer and ruining my life. Something Hallmark didn't make a card for. And while it wouldn't make things better, I would be all ears.

“We should do lunch one day this week,” she said instead. “Compare strategies, make sure we're in sync with leading our teams.”

As if the lunch offer weren't shocking enough, the “leading” part caused my lashes to fly back against my brows. My thoughts did a Rubik's Cube shuffle until they neatly lined up. “Hartley,” I spoke, “chose you as varsity captain?”
And not Chrissandra?

“You didn't hear?”

“As you can tell,” I said, and gestured toward the scraps of wrapping paper on the ground, “I'm sort of out of the loop. But Chrissandra's your cocaptain, then?”

“No, I don't have a cocaptain.”

That was impossible. The previous year's JV captain was
always
promoted to a varsity leadership position. But Rachael's stony face told me she wasn't kidding. So basically, she had come out of “retirement” to single-handedly lead varsity. Which was why she wanted to network with me. At least I had that question answered.

“How did Chrissandra take it? Getting passed over … for nobody.”

“I honestly didn't notice.” She lifted her backpack and slid it on. Something told me her silence spoke volumes, but this was not the time to go there. “Listen, is tomorrow good for you?”

“Sure.” Tomorrow, or any day. It wasn't like I had a group to sit with anymore. Unless you counted my JV teammates, which—duh—I didn't.

“Meet you here,” she said, and turned to go, leaving a vaguely citrus scent in her wake, which must have come from her hair products, her body spray or the fact that she was just so amazingly perfect.

I focused on my lock—only to find my next- door locker neighbor, CeeCee, staring at me like I had two heads.

“Nice mess, Parker.”

So much for idle chitchat about vacations and annoying families. “I'm going to clean it up. Don't worry.”

“So is it true, then? That you're with a freshman?”

Ugh! I had just about reached my limit. I wanted to shout “No!” and spill the whole truth about Heartless and Luke and how I'd soon be back in business, but I managed a tiny nod instead.

“And that you two,” she continued, “are
doing it?”

“What?” I shrieked, horrified. “Who said that?” I demanded.

“People.”

“ ‘People’ are wrong.”

She tilted her head. The overhead light sent a glimmer to her diamond nose ring. “Then what
are
you doing with him?”

I tried to swallow. “Uh … trying to make a relationship work.”

Her forehead went all wrinkly. “That's crazy. You could get any number of guys. Decent guys. Even hot guys. Like, doesn't Kyle Fenske have a thing for you?”

She was confusing me with Chrissandra—but no use going there.

“And I heard the guys’ soccer team did high fives when you and your boyfriend broke up last spring.”

Okay,
that
was just dumb. But kind of flattering, if it was true.

“I can't really explain it,” I said, concentrating on my acting skills and looking just past her ear so she couldn't read the lie in my eyes. “But feelings this strong, this real, well, they're not something you can analyze or deny. Just something you have to go with, and see where they lead.”

Like to being a laughingstock who would never get her friends back. Or, on the flip side, back to varsity and the life I once loved. With no in- between, no happy medium and no idea which way the pendulum would swing.

Was I crazy? Maybe. But mostly, I was without options.

The lines in CeeCee's forehead all of a sudden disappeared; then she let out a sigh. “Well,
whatever,
I guess. As long as you keep him and his friends away from here. I mean, I've got a rep to maintain.”

I did, too. That's what this whole thing was about. But I couldn't say that, so I did what I could do: I bent down to clean the mess off the tile floor.

•

I'm pretty traditional about my meals (I get that from my dad, I suppose), going with your basic chicken fingers or pepperoni pizza for lunch. But I couldn't bring myself to wander friendlessly through the cafeteria that day, like a neon sign of loserness.

So I rustled up the change from the bottom of my backpack and hit the snack machines, going with honey-mustard- and- onion pretzels and a Cherry Coke for my stomach and a couple of white- iced Little Debbie snack cakes for my soul.

“I'm all about the fudge cakes myself,” a voice said behind me.

I turned to see a beauty mark above a slightly smirking mouth. Becca's and my conversation from the other day dive- bombed back at me. “See?” I told her, and smiled. “We
do
see each other here at school.”

“Yeah, well, what do you know?”

I backed away to give her space and watched as she clinked in a bunch of coins. Thinking that since she was here and I was here …