If We Kiss, page 5
“Nice to meet you,” Samantha said, and started another round of hand-shaking.
“I’m a kid,” I told her.
“I know,” she said.
“So we should just, like, stand here awkwardly and say bye, and then, like, wait impatiently for the adults to finish shaking hands.”
My mother found this hilarious, apparently, because she laughed a really loud snorting laugh, and Kevin’s father cracked up, too.
“Okay,” Samantha said. “Bye.” She arranged her legs into an awkward stance and stood there watching the adults with an impatient expression souring her face.
“Much better,” I said.
“Thank you,” she said, and smiled a smile so crushingly similar to Kevin’s I had to look at him to compare. He wasn’t smiling, though. He may have kind of waved, or else maybe there was a mosquito near his head.
Neither Mom nor I said anything in the car, and when we got home I went right upstairs. I heard Mom out on the deck, probably reading, drinking a glass of wine. She came up a while later. I was lying on my bed.
She flipped off my light and said good night.
“Mom,” I said.
She leaned against my door frame and waited. She looked really pretty, with the hall light behind her and her high cheekbones really noticeable.
“Did you know they were going to be there tonight?”
She took a deep breath in, seeming to consider her answer, which basically answered it for me. I closed my eyes.
“Yeah,” she said, but when I opened my eyes, she was gone.
ten
BREAKFAST WAS A little awkward, since Mom and I couldn’t quite look at each other or talk beyond, “Oh, did you want the juice? Sorry.” All very polite. I was early to the bus stop for once.
At school Kevin and I avoided each other completely. Overall, though, this whatever-it-was, stress, turned out to be quite a boost for my schoolwork—I threw myself into concentrating in class. I copied over my notes at night and really studied, and got 100s on both quizzes (math and bio).
I also swam thirty-six laps (there and back counts as one, by the way), which is a mile, every day after school. I even hurried through the woods. The woods make me think. Swimming makes me stop thinking.
Wednesday night I went to the Board of Ed meeting. I took notes the whole time. I had no idea what they were talking about and I have to admit that some of my notes were doodles of the board members.
Friday, Penelope stopped me in the hall. “Where’s your story?”
“Not done yet,” I said.
She looked shocked. “You better have it to me by fourth period. It has to be in final form by eighth!” She stormed away, muttering under her breath.
I spent a big chunk of my lunch period writing the thing, while eavesdropping on Tess and Jen and Darlene’s gossiping—well, and sometimes adding my opinion. Occasionally. They were choosing new rings for all our cell phones, which was considerably more compelling as a subject than my boring article. It was just hard to care too much about a Board of Ed meeting. I didn’t even really get what was going on there, and couldn’t imagine any other student at our school caring one bit either. I was only doing it because I am an idiot and have this psychotic need to sit in a room with my best friend’s boyfriend one afternoon a week. I should just quit, but, as someone said one time, I am a good writer. And as someone else said, I am in need of a hobby. And see? I am a natural at quoting people—so maybe I will get used to it and have fun, as the first someone promised.
I get distracted even inside my own head.
I did what I could with truly anesthetizing material, then tore it out of my spiral and tracked down Penelope before fifth.
“This is it?” she asked, holding the three ragged pages as if she could catch a disease from them.
I shrugged. “Yeah.”
Penelope sighed. “It’s supposed to be a fifty-word nugget, max.”
“Fifty nuggets?”
“Fifty words.”
“Oh, are you talking about the article?”
“What did you think I was talking about?”
“A Happy Meal.”
“A what?”
“You said something about how many nuggets . . .”
“That’s a news term. Fifty-word nugget, max.”
“Not Max,” I said. “Charlie.”
“I know your name.” She scrunched her face at me. “Are you kidding, or an idiot?”
“Do I have to choose?”
The bell rang before we could continue this enlightening conversation, so I bolted. Good thing Kevin isn’t on the football team; I’d get my butt kicked literally then.
Friday night Tess came over for a sleepover. I had already showered after swimming and done all my homework for Monday before she showed up, sweaty from her bike ride. She takes the long way and zooms. “Want to swim?” she asked, breathless and sweaty when she came in. “I brought my suit.”
I said okay, despite the wobbly feeling in my legs. I grabbed my only clean suit and we hiked up to the clubhouse.
I signed in again and Chris, who is the cutest door guy, cocked his head to say Tess could just go ahead without being signed in and giving us a guest fee to pay on our bill.
“Thanks,” she said to him, lowering her eyelids slowly.
He winked at her.
He is probably, like, twenty. She flashed him a smile and we ran into the women’s locker room.
I opened my mouth wide at her.
She shrugged. “He’s cute.”
“Yeah,” I said. I shook my head and we found a locker that was empty. Guys who are possibly past being teenagers wink at Tess? “Wow,” I said. “Has that happened to you before?”
“What?” Tess asked, and pulled off her shirt. She has no body-shyness at all, never has, as long as I’ve known her. She stepped out of her shorts and underpants, then yanked off her sports-bra and began getting into her bathing suit. “You gonna watch?” she asked.
I sat down on the bench and took off my own shirt. My arms were heavy from earlier.
“I was thinking,” she started.
“Always dangerous,” I said.
“Very true.” She was already shoving her hair into her bathing cap. “What if I decided to train for a triathlon?”
“A what?” My bathing suit was a little pilly on the butt. My good one was already wet from before, and my medium ones were in the hamper.
“Triathlon. You have to run, swim, and bike.” She pulled her goggles over her eyes. She looked like a bug.
I smiled. “You’d win,” I said.
“You’re the best,” she said. “Ready?”
I followed her to the pool and we swam for a while. I was surprised I could do it, honestly. Maybe my muscles are building up. Maybe I could do a triathlon, too, if I could get interested in biking and running. Or maybe I could just be an Olympic swimmer. If the whole journalism thing doesn’t pan out, I could dedicate myself completely to swimming and not have time to waste thinking about which boy is cute, or who he likes, or what the hell is going on with my mother and his father. That might be a good goal.
“I need a goal,” I told Tess, on the way to the locker room.
“Goals are for soccer,” she said.
We showered, dried off, got dressed in our already worn clothes and hiked back to my house. Mom was digging the big wooden bowl out of the cabinet when we walked into the kitchen.
“Hi, Elizabeth,” Tess called.
“Hey, Tess!” My mother always sounds so happy when she talks to Tess. Tess is my friend, I sometimes think of reminding her. She gave us each a kiss on our damp heads. “I’m making refrigerator salad.”
Tess heaved herself up to sit on the counter and grabbed a string bean out of the bag beside her. “My favorite,” she said. In Tess’s family, like in my father’s, there is old-fashioned dinner every night: “three things on a plate,” we call it—a meat, a vegetable, a starch. Mom and I go for a more laissez-faire approach, which means, if my French is right (ouch, probably not) “let it be,” or possibly “they let do,” though, as has been proven, French is not my forte. Anyway, the height of our style is refrigerator salad, which means (and this I do know) any bits and pieces we have leftover in the fridge, tossed in a bowl, with lemon squeezed on top and a dash of best-quality olive oil.
“Taste this,” Mom insisted, pouring a drop of the olive oil onto some bread she must have picked up on her way home.
Tess opened her mouth and Mom put the bread in. “Yum,” murmured Tess.
“There is nothing like excellent olive oil,” Mom said, giving me a taste, too. How generous, her own daughter.
It was good. “Mmm,” I admitted.
I got out three stem glasses, and Tess took down three of the big serving bowls we use for our refrigerator salads.
“Oh,” said Mom, turning around. “Just two, tonight.”
“Is one of us leaving?” I asked, hoping it wasn’t me.
“I’m, um,” Mom said, “Going out. Tonight.”
“On a date?” Tess asked.
I like it that my friends are friends with my mother, but honestly.
“Out with some colleagues.”
My mother doesn’t go on dates. She goes to meetings. Occasionally a seminar.
“Who’s the lucky guy?” Tess bit her lower lip, psyched.
I gripped the counter for support.
Mom grinned. “Tess! About a third of the American history department.”
“Ooo,” said Tess. “A woman of mystery.”
“History, not mystery.” Mom hit Tess with some limp celery. “So, you girls have fun. I have to get ready.”
We watched her go.
Tess kicked me.
“Ow,” I said, and not just from the kick.
“She has a boyfriend?”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not a date.”
“Oh, come on,” Tess said. “It is so a date!”
“If it is, it is,” I said wearily. Tess is great, but sometimes she pushes. It was not a date, obviously. It was a meeting. It was colleagues. They would probably be discussing the Reconstruction period, as usual. She had those people over sometimes.
“Does she go on a lot of dates?”
“How many is a lot?”
“I don’t know,” Tess said.
“Such a vague term.”
“Every week?”
“How about never? Is never a lot? Zero—I think that would fall below the ‘a lot’ threshold. It is not a date, Tess.” I blew air fast out of my lips, the way Darlene does sometimes when she’s being dismissive. On me it sounded a bit like a lawn mower.
“Okay,” Tess said, looking slightly wounded.
“It’s not.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s just—you shouldn’t tease her like that. She’s getting old, you know, she’s over forty, and she doesn’t date, and I think she doesn’t mind, but she doesn’t need to feel, you know, judged. By my friends, of all people.”
“Ouch,” Tess said. “I wasn’t trying to—sorry. Okay?”
“I just, I try to stay out of her personal life,” I said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. Up until this week she didn’t really have a personal life, or if she did I certainly didn’t know about it. And it was completely possible that she still had no personal life.
“Well,” Tess said, eating another string bean. “Anyway.”
“Yeah,” I said.
Tess and I ate our salads together sitting at the breakfast bar. They were good. There was corn, which always zests it up. Mom came down and gave us another round of kisses. She was wearing her funky red clogs, a T-shirt, her yellow denim jacket, and jeans, all normal—plus lip gloss and mascara. Not normal. She looked beautiful.
“Have fun,” Tess said.
“You, too,” Mom said, grabbing her keys from the hook. “I won’t be late. Be good, and call me on my cell if you need me.”
I need you now, I randomly thought. “Bye,” I said, and watched her walk out the door.
“Where do you think she’s going?” Tess asked. “With her colleagues.”
“Shut up,” I said.
“We should check and see if she still has that lip gloss on when she gets home,” Tess whispered. “That’s how my mom busted my sister Lena for kissing—swollen lips, no more gloss.”
Before I could puke, the phone rang.
eleven
“HELLO?”
It was Kevin’s voice, but I was not about to make the same mistake twice. “Hello,” I said, all neutral, though my hand was shaking so much the phone clanked against my head.
“It’s Kevin,” the voice said.
“Who is it?” Tess whispered.
I gave her the “sh” sign and said, “Hi.”
“Did, um,” he said. “Is your . . . Did we get any homework in French for over the weekend?”
“No,” I said. How awkward that he would say the word French to me, given our history. I leaned against the wall for support.
“Who is it?” Tess demanded.
I stuck my finger in my exposed ear. “We never do on Fridays.”
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “I forgot. I was looking in my assignment pad and I didn’t . . . um . . . that’s a lie, by the way. You knew that, right?”
I smiled. I closed my eyes. I wanted to make this last. “Yeah.” Kevin.
“Who?” Tess tried to grab the phone.
I put my hand over the talkie part and whispered, “It’s Kevin. I bet he’s looking for you. Sh.”
Tess grinned wickedly at me and sat back down. She loves a scheme.
“That obvious?” Kevin asked.
“Yeah,” I said into the phone. “So why are you really calling?” I grinned back at Tess. Sometimes you have to feel sorry for boys. They do not know what they’re up against. I jutted my hips to the side. I was in this thing, this something, this teasing of a boy, with Tess. I was powerful and beyond him, up to something. We had done this to boys before, for years. At least it was familiar territory.
“Um, because,” said Kevin. “Is, I was wondering . . .”
I sank down, against the wall, to the floor. “Yeah?”
I heard him breathing. “Is your . . .”
I closed my eyes.
“What did he say?” Tess whispered. I looked up at her, her chin cupped in her hand, all excited and happy. “What does he want?”
I tried to smile back, and into the phone I said, “Did you call to talk to Tess?” My voice had lost some of its jauntiness, but I was trying.
Tess apparently failed to notice. She opened her mouth wide, still having fun, and flung her shoe at me. It just missed my head and left a mark on the wall.
“No,” said Kevin. “Why?”
I closed my eyes. The smile I was faking was wearing me out. “Well, you tracked her down.”
“Oh,” said Kevin.
“You want to talk to her?”
“Um,” he said, and I handed the phone up to Tess. I listened, sort of, with my head between my knees and my arms wrapped around them. Tess was laughing at something Kevin said. I love her wicked laugh. I didn’t lift my head again until she said bye and hung up.
“That was weird,” she said as we washed the dishes. “Want to see what’s on TV?”
I nodded and followed her into the living room. We flopped together onto the couch and watched TV, head to toe. With my feet burrowed under her, I thought about Tess’s boyfriend and wondered why he had called me. Any time I glanced at Tess I had to think, she has no idea what a bad friend I am, keeping secrets from her, flirting with her boyfriend. I decided right then and there to put a stop to it: no more flirting, no more liking him. If he wants to break up with Tess and then, many weeks later, ask me out, I’ll consider it. The double life is too horrible and stressful for me. Good-bye, Kevin, I thought. This is the last hour I will ever spend imagining kissing you again.
The TV blared, Tess dozed, I imagined. We barely moved until Mom came home.
twelve
MOM WAS ALL fake-surprised to find us awake on the couch and, I noticed sadly, lip-gloss-free. She hustled us upstairs to bed. While we were brushing our teeth, Tess whispered, “She sure has F.K.G., huh?”
“Who has what?” I asked, thinking she was talking about fried chicken.
“Your mom,” Tess said. “F.K.G.—Freshly Kissed Glow.”
“Please don’t make me vomit in front of you,” I said, and sat on the rim of the bathtub. I had a mouthful of toothpaste but visions of my mother kissing Kevin’s father made me too woozy to stand, so I had to spit into the tub.
Tess rinsed her mouth the standard way.
“Charlie!” Tess said. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “Yeah, I’m fine. I am. I just sometimes like to spit my toothpaste in the tub. For fun! And, but, with my mom? The thing is, she just is not great at, she doesn’t wear lip gloss, you know, enough to know you have to reapply it after you drink a cup of . . .”
“Oh, Charlie.” She sat down beside me on the rim, with her arm around me. I rested my head on her shoulder. “You know what we’re gonna do?”
I could so not handle a Tess scheme right then, especially if it related to my mother’s love life or, even worse, kissing life. “Tess . . .”
“What we’re going to do,” interrupted Tess, “is we are not going to talk about it. Discussing other people’s F.K.G. is gross, especially grown-ups’, and especially especially parents’. Right?”
“Right.” I wiped my nose on my sweatshirt sleeve exactly the way that drives my father nuts—up, so it gives me a crease in my nose. But right then I just didn’t care.
“I mean, I couldn’t discuss my parents getting F.K.G. They never have it,” Tess said. “I don’t think they’ve kissed since I was a baby. Their mouths are too busy screaming at us.”
“My mother was not on a date.”
“Okay,” Tess said.
“She was at a meeting.”
“I know.”
“So let’s not discuss what doesn’t even exist,” I said.
“Exactly.” Tess stood up. “Do you have a headband?”
I shook my head.
“Don’t worry,” Tess said.
