by Gwen Hayes
Not that I wasn’t happy that Tyler’s date with this new Stephanie girl went well—I wanted him to be happy. Really I did. It’s just that I’d just found him and I didn’t want a girl to come between our budding friendship.
“Why do you say that? You’d be a great girlfriend if you just loosened up a little.”
I sneered at him.
“Did you write down your dreams last night?”
“I couldn’t remember any of them. It’s like trying to hold on to a gust of wind.”
Tyler sat back in his seat and watched me until I began fidgeting. I hate it when he does that. I know he has something to say. It’s usually something I don’t want to hear and usually something I need to.
“What already?”
“Do you think the dreams have something to do with your panic attack last week?”
“No.” Yes. “Can I ask you a question?”
Tyler nodded.
“Whatever does a girl wear on a double date in hell?”
“I have no idea.”
“Can I ask you another question?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really. Will you go to the mall with me after school?”
* * *
Luckily, the helldate was a pizza joint and not too formal, so I stuck with jeans but added a really cute top I’d splurged on at Hollister because Tyler said it made my “eyes look greener” and “can we please go now?” I’m usually more of a t-shirt girl, but I needed a little confidence tonight. Foster would be looking for chinks in my armor—any perceived weakness, and I’d be toast.
AirMiles were already there with Foster, so I got to make an entrance. Which, of course, I love. Not. They were seated smack-dab in the middle of the room—which I hated—at a table for four. Ariana sat next to her brother and across from Foster. Which meant I got to sit right next to him.
Both guys stood up when I got to the table. Foster introduced me even though I’d known Miles for years. Puzzled by his odd behavior, I watched as his face flushed briefly. He was nervous too?
After the pizza got ordered, Foster tried to engage Ariana in conversation, presumably so I could get to know Miles. I say presumably because his effort went unnoticed by brother and sister, who couldn’t seem to function in conversation unless they were finishing each other’s sentences.
“Miles, you’re in band still aren’t you? Drums, right?” I asked.
“He is,” answered Ariana. “He’s so awesome. He also plays in a rock band called the Riff.”
“The Riff,” Miles repeated.
“I’ve heard of you guys,” I answered. “You played at the park on the Fourth of July, right?”
“They did. Did you buy a CD?” she answered again.
“We were selling CDs at the show,” Miles added.
I nudged Foster. “No…but I thought the band was great.”
“Ariana,” Foster began. “What do you like to do?”
“I’m in marching band too. But not the Riff.”
“She’s our manager,” said Miles.
Ariana nodded. “I’m their manager.”
Miles was cute—Ariana was cuter. It was a shame that it was only together that they possessed one personality.
After a little more chitchat, Ariana announced, “The Riff is playing at Lauren Parker’s birthday bash next month.”
A red haze clouded my vision at not only the name but the event. I’d spent most of my high school years pretending Lauren Parker didn’t exist. Her little birthday bashes were the big highlight to a lot of students’ years.
I hadn’t been invited to one since the eighth grade.
The ice water in front of me saved me from a direct or immediate answer to that, and while I sipped, Foster said, “That’s great, Miles. Lauren’s parties are epic.”
“You would know,” I answered.
“Put your claws away, kitten,” Foster mumbled to me, which only ratcheted up my anger—which I’m sure was his goal. “Your band will be great,” he said to Miles. “Will you be there too? As the manager?” he asked Ariana.
“Oh yeah, I wouldn’t miss it. It’s the best party of the year.”
“See, that’s what I like to see,” Foster answered. “People making the most of their high school years. Going to parties and sporting events and having fun.”
“That’s just like you to change the subject just so you can get another dig in.”
“I’m not digging. Maybe you are just sensitive because you are the oldest teenager ever.”
“Just because I don’t go to parties or dances or dates doesn’t mean I’m not getting the most of my high school experience.” He was so infuriating. “For me, the most is preparing for college.”
“And college will prepare you for a career, and a career will prepare you for retirement. Then what? Retirement will prepare you for death? When do you actually plan on living?”
The waitress set down our pizza, so I waited until she moved on before replying. “I happen to like my life. Just because I don’t want to go drinking and partying doesn’t mean I’m not living.”
“No,” he replied. “But not having any fun at all means you’re not living.”
“You just want to go to the party because you know there’s always a sure thing there for you.” I looked at Miles. “Lauren Parker’s birthday bashes have been very good to Foster. In fact, I bet he’s not the only one. I bet lots of guys cheat on their girlfriends at Lauren Parker’s parties.”
“This is not the time or the place, Layney,” Foster reminded me.
“No, apparently, Lauren’s rec room is the place.”
“I knew you weren’t over it.” He put his pizza down. “Four years and I’m still hearing about one stupid night.”
“This is the first time I’ve said anything since the eighth grade.” Instead of putting my pizza down, I took a huge bite.
“You may not mention that night, but you refer to it with every snide remark and every distrustful glance.”
“I see. So I should just completely trust the judgment of someone who thinks it’s okay to cheat.”
“I did not cheat on you.”
I threw my piece onto my plate. “You made out with Lauren Parker at her fourteenth birthday party.” I faced our dates again, who sat wide-eyed and stupefied. “He totally made out with Lauren Parker.”
Foster’s fingers clenched into a fist before he let out a deep, exasperated breath. “I didn’t make out with her. I kissed her. Briefly.”
“Oh please.”
“It was spin the bottle,” he explained to AirMiles. “It lasted maybe ten seconds.”
“You had no business playing spin the bottle at a party that your girlfriend didn’t attend.”
“You were supposed to be there. You picked a fight with me and then didn’t show up.”
“Oh, right. My bad. Then you totally had every right to kiss someone else.”
“Gah.” He raked his fingers through his hair. How they didn’t get stuck in the gel is a mystery. “I wasn’t even playing. They asked me to join and I said no. About fifteen minutes later, I realized I was having a terrible time, so I went to say goodbye to Mitch. I crouched down to tell him I was leaving, and the bottle stopped and pointed at me.”
“So you had no choice but to make out with the birthday girl.”
“I didn’t make out with her. God, you’re stubborn. Maybe I should have protested more, but jeez, Layney, I was thirteen. There was a lot of pressure. Everyone was looking at me, and I was still mad at you, and I didn’t know what the right thing to do was. So, yes, I kissed her. Briefly. And then I left.”
This really wasn’t the time or the place, but that didn’t seem to matter. “So that’s your excuse, then? You were mad and people were looking at you? That’s all it took to throw away what I thought was a good relationship?”
“You threw it away, not me.”
“I didn’t kiss anyone. I didn’t bring anyone else into the mix.”
> “You were the one who brought her into it, not me. It was a dumb kiss during a dumb game of spin the bottle. If our relationship was so good, you would have laughed it off. But no, you were looking for a reason to break up.”
“Well thank you so much for giving me such a good one, then.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Believe me, this is the last time I hope to ever talk about it. And Foster?”
“Yeah?”
“Where are our dates?”
At some point during our tirade, they must have taken off—undetected by the two top investigative journalists of our school. We waited another ten minutes just to be sure they didn’t go to the restroom (and that gave me the willies thinking they went together) and we left too.
I felt sick and full of anger and maybe something close to regret.
Foster may have come closer to the truth than I cared to admit. Maybe I had been looking for a reason to break up. One that was easier for me to accept than I was just scared.
And one that didn’t include the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Chapter Eight
Mr. July
Sk8erboy92: What are you wearing right now?
I smiled at my monitor.
LoisLayney: A coat made from the fur of one hundred and one puppies. At least that is what the reporter whose column I’m editing probably thinks.
Sk8erboy92: Fine. What are you wearing under the coat, then?
Micah made me laugh.
LoisLayney: What are you doing?
Sk8erboy92: I’m standing on the street corner texting you IMs.
I jumped up and rand to my window. Sure enough, two houses down and under the streetlight, a boy in a hooded sweatshirt waved to me, the light glinting off the studs on his belt.
I punched his digits into my cell.
He answered with, “You don’t look like you’re wearing a fur coat.”
“Why are you skulking around my street, skaterboy?”
“I was kinda hoping you’d come out and play with me.”
My toes curled into the carpet. “I’m pretty sure my parents would object. It’s a school night, you know.”
“Just for a little while?”
I hadn’t sneaked out of the house since…well, since I used to swap spit with Foster. And even then, we didn’t usually get too physical when we were on our forbidden dates. Neither one of us had been ready to test our boundaries yet. We saved that kind of stuff for stolen moments when our parents knew where we were. Safer. No getting carried away.
I’m not sure if Micah worried about getting carried away.
“Micah…”
“I just want to talk. I promise. I’ll keep my hands in my pockets the whole time.”
The clock read after midnight. My parents turned in at 10:30 sharp and slept like the dead.
“I’ll be down in a few.”
A bitter wind bit at my face as I got closer to the corner. Maybe it would have been more of a brisk or energizing wind to me if I really wanted to be out there. But that was my problem. I didn’t want to be out there. Out in the dating world. I hadn’t since Foster, and knowing that made me angry that I’d cloistered myself away like a nun all these years.
So, I was going to take a walk with a hot boy who liked me. Whether I wanted to or not.
Micah tentatively reached for my hand. His was warm, comforting, and despite my misgivings, gave me a slight thrum of excitement in my belly.
“How many more dates do you still have to go on?” he asked as we began walking, hand in hand down my street.
“Six.” I shuddered from disgust as much as from the chilly wind. “I don’t think I can do it.”
“Sure you can.”
“It seems to me you should be trying to help me get out of them.”
“Nah. I’m not worried about the competition. The more of them you date, the more you’ll like me. It’s Jimmy Foster I wonder about.”
“Foster? Why?”
“No reason. Are you cold?”
He started to take off his jacket, but I stopped him. “No, don’t. I’m okay. Why are you wondering about Foster?”
A rock under his shoe suddenly became very interesting, and we came to a stop as he toed it back and forth. “It’s just that he comes up a lot.”
“You mean when you ask me about my day and I tell you it sucked so you ask why and he’s always the reason?”
“It’s just…nothing. It’s dumb.” He started walking again, but there was some really huge, big, dumb, ugly elephant in front of us that we pretended wasn’t.
“This walk isn’t going the way you planned, is it?”
Micah smirked and squeezed my hand. “Not exactly.” He stopped again and reached for my other hand. “It’s no secret that I really like you, right?”
He played with my fingers so he wouldn’t have to look into my eyes, I think. How reassuring that even a guy like Micah had reservations about his prowess sometimes.
But I wasn’t sure I was the best candidate to restore his confidence either. “It’s no secret that I’m really a sandwich short of a picnic when it comes to feelings and emotions and…stuff, right?”
He puckered his lips into a wry little smile. “I’d like to go on a real date when you are done with the undates. Is that even remotely likely?”
I wanted to reassure him. I wished I was the girl who could smile and bat her eyelashes and say just the right coy thing to make him glad he expended the effort to spend time with me.
Micah looked so handsome in the moonlight. Nothing was stopping me from wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him. He’d be a great kisser. He’d be a good boyfriend. Nothing was stopping me except the heavy weight of an anvil pressing on my chest.
Speak, Layney. “If I said it’s not out of the realm of possibilities, would that be enough for you? At least for tonight?”
“Sure.”
Sure.
We resumed walking, me holding my arms tightly across my chest. What was wrong with me? Who replaced my blood with ice water? A dozen times I tried to make something light and witty come out of my mouth, but there was nothing I could think of to say. I don’t really know why I could feel so attracted to Micah, but at the same time, that attraction made me feel claustrophobic.
There must be something I could say to lighten the mood. “I’m not normal, Micah.”
So much for light and witty.
“What are you talking about?”
“I really like you too. I do, I swear. It’s just…it’s like…”
“Relax.” He ruffled my hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Why?” Not that I wasn’t glad. I just didn’t understand why he’d want to hang around.
“I can see you have issues. I’m not sure even you know what they are. But I’m not the kind of guy who drops out of a race because I see a hill. Challenges turn me on.” From the corner of my eye, I watched him form his next sentence as if a thought was just dawning on him. “I think you’re worth it, Layney.”
He kissed my hand when he delivered me safely to my door.
I think my blood was defrosting.
* * *
“If you plan to be alive to walk at graduation, James Theodore Foster, you will fix this now.” I thrust the dreaded pink invitation in his face and didn’t bother to try to hide the sheer terror shining in my eyes. Let him see my weakness.
He unballed the paper and started laughing hysterically.
“There is nothing funny about this situation. And you won’t be laughing when you’re dead. Fix this.”
“They set you up for karaoke? This is priceless. God, I can’t wait.”
“No no no!” The line is drawn. I refuse. I am not singing karaoke. Call your staff. The story is dead.”
I stormed away but he caught me at the door. “Now, just wait. The story is not dead. We can find a compromise.”
“There is not a compromise in the universe that will get me on a stage
to sing. Not happening. I’m tired of being in the center ring of your circus, Foster.”
He squared my shoulders with his hands. “The staff chose the venue. I swear I didn’t set this one up.”
I closed my eyes, suddenly very tired. “Maybe not this date, but all of this is your doing. I’m not sure why you felt the need to manipulate me with all these games, but it stops now. I’m done.”
“Layney.”
I opened my eyes.
“You’re overreacting. I know you weren’t completely on board with this story, but you would never have agreed if you didn’t feel it had some merit.”
Something clicked inside, or more like clunked, and I slumped over, hanging my head between us. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This was supposed to be the best year ever. I don’t know if we can pull this off anymore.”
“Whoa,” he replied, succinct yet full of wonder. “Um. Are we still talking about karaoke?”
I lifted my head and squinted at him. “I’m not doing it. And I’m not doing this stupid story, and I don’t think I’m doing this stupid paper either.”
Cupping my chin with one hand, he nodded my head for me while he said, “Yes you will.”
We stood too close. I could see the flecks of color, golds and greens in his eyes, and I was sure he saw the unshed tears caught in mine. The moment bore down on us, heavy, like the feel of the air right before a thunderstorm. A little sigh escaped my lungs, and my chin tilted just a bit. His palm smoothed a small path from my chin to my cheek, and his fingers feathered into my hairline. We were powerless to stop, and our lips inched closer.
Closer.
The first brief pass of his mouth shocked me even though I had known it was coming. I clutched his arms for support and kept my eyes open. He hesitated, his forehead wrinkled in bewilderment, and then he swooped in again, both hands in my hair, and the bottom of my world dropped away.
We kissed with the same parry and thrust that we did everything. An answer to a taunt. Vying for what seemed to be the same thing, the clash of wills and lips.
