Kiss and Repeat

by Heather Truett

  I glanced over my shoulder toward the bike shop, a glare on the front window blocking my view of the cashier. Mom was already crossing the street, so I jogged to catch up.

  I followed her down the sidewalk, sipping my lemonade, willing myself to let go of the frustration. All of my muscles were coiled, snakes full of hissing anger. The scene in the bike shop would make Mom sympathetic when I asked for a Sunday off from church. A weekend at Lake Martin could be what I needed to relax and ease my anxiety. Maybe I should thank the clueless cashier after all.

  Maybe, but really no. Even if it did gain my mother’s sympathy and get me what I wanted, it sucked. Plain and simple. I’d have to pass the girl again when I went back to get my bike later, and she’d look at me with pity. I didn’t want anybody’s pity.

  * * *

  Dinner was mostly good. We went to Venditori’s, my favorite from when we lived there. Mom was chatty, so she filled the time before our orders arrived with news of church members and relatives.

  I tried to look attentive while working to put the bike shop cashier behind me, folding and unfolding my napkin.

  When our food came, Mom said grace, and I talked while buttering a breadstick. “So, you know how stress makes my tics worse?”

  “I do.” Mom swirled her spaghetti and held my gaze.

  “Well, going back to school has me anxious, and the tics are pretty bad.”

  “I noticed a few new ones this week,” Mom said.

  “Yeah, my shoulder has been jerking, and my foot. It’s exhausting.” I put down the butter knife and took a bite of the bread.

  “Is there anything we can do?” Mom asked.

  We’d tried all sorts of things over the years. Some of it helped. I visited a chiropractor and Mom kept me well stocked in supplements. But I didn’t want another doctor to visit or pill to swallow.

  “I need to chill. I was considering heading to the lake tomorrow night, with Ballard. Maybe I can spend the night.” I jabbed my ravioli with the fork and took a big bite. I registered tension in my shoulder and swallowed fast.

  “Sounds like a good idea.” Mom watched my shoulder jerk. “Is that what you were talking about?”

  “Yeah. I rammed my own jaw this afternoon.”

  She frowned.

  “It’s okay, no big deal.” I wiggled my chin to show her. “I just want to go sit on the back deck and watch the water, listen to the wind chimes. Breathe a bit, ya know?”

  Mom loves a silent retreat, so I knew the image would appeal to her.

  “Are you on the volunteer list for preschool journey groups Sunday morning?”

  “Journey groups” is what Sunday School classes are called at The Exchange. Sometimes I volunteer with the little kids, though I am mostly just crowd control for the classroom.

  “Nope, not my Sunday.”

  Mom mulled it over, chewing a bite of garlic bread and watching my face for signs of a lie.

  I’m not a good liar, but what I’d said was close enough to truth that it passed muster. The tics were getting worse. I wanted to get away. And I would spend some time sitting on the deck watching the water. I always did when I visited Lake Martin.

  Whatever Ballard had planned, I didn’t know enough about it to make up a lie, and I was pretty sure it wouldn’t work anyway.

  “Okay. You can take my car. Be back for youth Sunday night.” She reached across the table and snatched a cherry tomato from my salad bowl. “And no drinking.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I don’t drink, Mom. My meds, remember?”

  Of course she remembered, but she always reminded me anyway.

  After dinner, we walked back to the bike shop. I breathed a sigh of relief when the cashier was already gone for the day. Allen was by himself, getting ready to lock up.

  “Thanks,” I told him, rolling Gwinn out the door while Mom went to get the car.

  “No problem. I always love to work on that bike. Bring ’er in anytime.” Allen gave a smile and a wave when Mom pulled up to the sidewalk.

  While driving home, Mom took a call and agreed to meet the caller at The Exchange as soon as we made it back to Moorhen. The voice sounding from the speaker was feminine and a little bit hysterical. Mom sighed when she hung up. I knew she was looking forward to going home and relaxing. But her job meant being on call 24/7.

  We pulled up at the old mall and parked near The Exchange entrance. There weren’t any stores in the mall anymore, only our church, which took up the out-of-date movie theater and four retail spaces, and a few local law and medical offices. Mostly it was falling apart, trees sprouting through cracks in the asphalt and windows broken by bored kids.

  I pulled Gwinn from the bike rack and promised Mom I’d ride straight home. It was only a mile, so I planned to circle the block a few times to clear my head.

  The whole thing with the cashier was still eating at me, though I hadn’t wanted to let Mom see how much it bothered me. How was I ever supposed to get a girlfriend if the female species saw me as someone in need of help? If I tried to kiss another girl, she’d call 911 and report a seizure.

  But I wanted to kiss another girl.

  As I turned out of the parking lot, an SUV turned in. Mom waited by the entrance, keys in hand. The driver looked familiar, and it only took two seconds for me to catch why.

  We live in teeny tiny Moorhen, Alabama. There are only two Asian families among our ranks. The Itos lived on the edge of town, and Mr. Ito worked at the Toyota plant nearby. Then there were the Pearsons, Joan’s family. Her dad was white, and her mother was Korean. I saw Mrs. Pearson in the halls every day at school.

  It was Mrs. Pearson behind the wheel of the SUV pulling to a stop by my mother’s Mazda. She stepped from the driver’s seat and darted across the parking lot to meet Mom. She looked different out of context, her dark hair hanging around her face like Joan’s, her button-down with slacks uniform replaced by green yoga pants and a big T-shirt. She looked young, like a regular person more than a teacher.

  I rode home with my mind on Mrs. Pearson’s presence at our church. I’d never seen any of her family there before. They weren’t members. And she was upset on the phone with my mother. How did she even know my mother? And why did I care?

  I knew the answer. I cared because of Joan, but Joan barely noticed my existence.

  By the time I closed the garage and went inside, I’d made a decision. Whatever ridiculous plan Ballard had concocted, I was going to do it. Maybe if I got my tics under control, Joan would notice more than my existence.

  Chapter Five

  I stayed up late playing Call of Duty and toying with my guitar. Mom came home well after midnight. Whatever Mrs. Pearson needed to talk about, it sure was a long talk. I almost asked Mom what was going on there, but I knew she wouldn’t break Mrs. Pearson’s confidence just to help me better understand Joan.

  By the time I woke up on Saturday, noon had come and gone. I showered, dressed, and grabbed a pack of Pop-Tarts on my way out the door.

  Dad was shut up in his makeshift office. I could hear him talking in the slow, deliberate way he does when he’s dictating. He says he writes better out loud, but his typing is almost as loud as his talking.

  Mom was nowhere to be found, but she’d remembered to take Dad’s car. I snagged her keys from the hook in the kitchen and shouted a goodbye to Dad on my way out the door.

  Ballard was waiting on the deck of the lake house when I arrived. He passed me a cold can of Coke and motioned for me to sit in one of the Adirondack chairs.

  “I’m still not sure this experiment is a good idea,” I told him, popping the tab.

  “If you hate my plan, you can bail.”

  “Okay, so, what’s your plan?” I asked.

  “We’re going to a party tonight.” Ballard wore navy plaid pajama pants and a Moorhen High T-shirt. By the water, I spotted his mother and eleven-year-old sister, Blair, walking toward us.

  “That’s the big plan? A party?” The little bit of faith I had in Ballar
d finding girls willing to kiss me shriveled up and died.

  “Not just any party,” Ballard said. “The perfect party for this experiment.”

  “You know I’m always nervous at parties. I need to be relaxed if I’m going to kiss someone.”

  Footsteps sounded and Ballard looked up. “Hey, Mom, you look nice today.”

  Mrs. Keighley paused on the steps and frowned. “Compliments won’t get you out of chores. Hop to.”

  With an it-was-worth-a-shot shrug, Ballard stood, and I followed him inside. There were windows everywhere on the side of the house facing the lake. I could see the shoreline and a handful of chimes hanging from tree limbs. My stomach clenched at the idea of a party tonight. I don’t know what I thought Ballard would come up with, but going to a party did not constitute a plan.

  “We’re going out to lunch,” his mom told us. “You boys want us to bring you something back?”

  “That’d be great.” Ballard smiled as he opened the dishwasher and loaded the cereal bowls. Around his parents, he was an angel. Perfect Southern gentleman, my mom called him. “Thanks for thinking of us.”

  “When you finish the dishes, sweep the downstairs, and then you’re free.” Mrs. Keighley took her purse from the counter, a green leather monstrosity, and nudged Blair forward. Blair waved at me as they left.

  Once we were alone again, Ballard dropped the ultra-polite voice. “This party is a few doors down at my cousin Clara’s place. Her parents will be over here with mine, and none of them give a shit what we get up to. So Clara invited a ton of kids from her school in Dadeville. I told her about the experiment.”

  “You what?” Tension pulsed in my shoulder muscles.

  “Relax, Clara’s cool. She won’t say a word.” Ballard dropped a handful of spoons into the dishwasher.

  “I don’t care how cool she is. That’s private.” My fingers flexed on the kitchen table.

  “Listen, man. She said there would be a whole group of girls there with their own experiment going.” His grin was contagious, and I had to smile.

  “What’s the experiment?” I asked, letting my faith in Ballard breathe again.

  “Well, it’s more like a group challenge. They’re all seniors and have some sort of bucket list of high school experiences. Tonight, they’re working on kissing strangers at a party.”

  “And?”

  “And we need to make sure you are one of the strangers available at this party. No sex, ya know, only kissing. They’ve set up strict boundaries. That fits our experiment to a tee.” He tossed a plastic bowl in the air, watching it spin before catching it with one hand and adding it to the dishwasher.

  He was right. A whole lot of kissing-only girl encounters would give us some solid data to analyze. Not that data analysis was ever the real reason for this harebrained scheme.

  “Okay.” I nodded. “It’s worth a shot. At least it’s their idea, and they only want to kiss, right?”

  “Yeah, at least this squad is honest about what they’re up to. No gray areas.”

  * * *

  The day passed slowly, filled with video games and the squealing laughter of Ballard’s sister through the wall. She’d recruited their nine-year-old brother, Bryce, and convinced him to play beauty salon.

  Even after the sun sank below the lake, the water shining like glass, we didn’t leave the house. Only clueless nerds show up to a party before nine. Or so Ballard said.

  We snagged two burgers off the grill while Mr. Keighley added more.

  Ballard’s aunt and uncle arrived, and the women mixed drinks while the men talked football. The Keighleys were Auburn fans, like my family, but the other couple rooted for Alabama. It’d been a good day for both teams, so everyone was in a good mood and they were drinking happily as they rehashed the day’s games.

  By the time Ballard and I left them behind, everyone was tipsy and the little kids were conked out upstairs. It was so different from how my family get-togethers played out, where no one ever drank more than a glass of wine and the talk often turned to scientific or theological theory by the time we got to dessert.

  I envied Ballard sometimes. I couldn’t picture my own father talking football with anyone. Maybe if he’d been that kind of dad I would know something about sports. Maybe we’d have something to talk about.

  “While you’re busy with the experiment, I’ve got a quest of my own.” Ballard walked backward along the trail, reaching up to grab tree limbs.

  “A quest?”

  “The perfect prom date.” He grinned. “I figure if I make a good choice by Christmas, I have time to work at the relationship.”

  “Seriously?” I’d never heard Ballard talk about a relationship with any girl. He was all about the hookup. Or the minor hookup, at least. He’d never closed the deal.

  He wasn’t grinning anymore. He was dead serious. “Absolutely. That’s the key. If I can get the girl to fall in love with me, sex on prom night is pretty much a guarantee.”

  “Ballard, that’s not how it works.”

  “It might. I refuse to leave junior year still a damn virgin, and I don’t want to have sex just to have sex. I want to actually like the girl, have a real relationship, ya know?”

  I was surprised to hear Ballard talk like that, but also glad. It was about time he quit jumping from girl to girl. It was also weird to be going to a party where I planned to kiss strangers and Ballard planned to look for a serious relationship.

  He turned to walk frontways, and we didn’t say much else until the party house loomed before us. Twinkle lights lined the dock, and a bunch of kids sat with their feet in the water and beers in their hands.

  Clara’s parents, the Jordans, had bought three lots to build on, ensuring there’d be no other houses within throwing distance. The windows glowed yellow, and Lizzo boomed from the speakers. A girl in a neon tube top waved from the railing, where she balanced on high heels, one hand gripping a tree branch.

  “She’s going to fall,” I said.

  But she didn’t. Instead, some guy in a Dadeville football jersey scooped her into his arms and carried her away giggling.

  “I so didn’t invite her,” a voice behind us said.

  I turned around to meet Clara, Ballard’s cousin. She shared Ballard’s red locks, but not much else. No freckles and no easygoing smile.

  “Hey, cuz.” Ballard gave her a hug. “Direct us to the drinks.”

  “In the kitchen, obviously.” She pointed toward the house. She turned to me. “You must be Stephen. You don’t look like anything’s wrong with you.”

  As if on cue, my shoulder jerked.

  “Did you do that on purpose?” Clara asked. “’Cause if you’re making this Tourette’s shit up to get girls, that’s pretty sick.”

  “Relax, Clara.” Ballard put an arm around her and started up the steps. “I’ve known Stephen since middle school. Trust me. He’s got Tourette’s.”

  I crossed my arms and shifted my weight from one foot to the other. I couldn’t believe any girl thought Tourette’s would work as a pickup strategy. I didn’t want some kind of pity-based relationship.

  I followed them up the stairs, fingers flexing in my jeans pockets. I’d expected my tics to be worse tonight, what with the anxiety caused by Ballard’s plan. Instead, I was excited and strangely calm. The only time the tics got out of control was when I got stuck on how to get these girls to kiss me. I mean, was I supposed to walk up to a random girl and say, “Excuse me, are you one of the girls trying to kiss strangers?”

  “Anyway,” Clara said as she opened the door to the kitchen and we went inside, “these girls are all pretty confident. If they choose you, they choose you. They won’t play games or act shy or anything.”

  I rubbed my shoulder to suppress a jerk.

  “Keep your hands to yourselves if you know what’s good for you. I won’t have any guy being creepy at my party.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Ballard said with a mock salute.

  “The whole thing is r
idiculous if you ask me,” Clara continued. “But no one asked me, so whatev. You boys can take care of yourselves now. I need to make the rounds.”

  We watched Clara saunter back out the door, her tall frame and thin heels giving her an air of authority.

  “Her mother’s an event planner,” Ballard told me. “She takes party hostessing very seriously.”

  “Now what?” I asked, my nerves reminding me they didn’t like new situations.

  “I’m off to find a potential prom date, and you are off to look casual and cool so a few of these girls might notice you.” Ballard grabbed a brown bottle from a cooler on the floor and saluted me with one hand. “Hope you get lucky, bro.”

  I groaned. “Quit with the lucky stuff. It got old five years ago.”

  His face stilled, his eyes losing the playful twinkle of his party-king persona. “Seriously, man, try to have fun tonight, and text if you need me. We can leave anytime you want.”

  I nodded.

  Ballard crossed his fingers and smiled at me. “Good luck.”

  After Ballard disappeared into the crowd, I wandered out of the kitchen and glanced from group to group. Three girls held court by the fireplace, all of them beautiful. One wore a white tank top, bright against her dark skin. One had on a pink sundress covered in polka dots, and the other girl wore a blue Dadeville High T-shirt.

  I had no way of knowing if these girls were part of the kissing group, but the way they were casing the room made me think it was possible. The girl in the sundress caught my eye and smiled. Her hair was pitch-black, and she sort of reminded me of Joan.

  For a moment, I was a typical high school guy at a party, a guy about to meet a girl he might like.

  Then I remembered that I was still me and had no idea how to talk to half the girls I knew, let alone a girl I just met.

  As the girl in the pink dress leaned forward, a hairbreadth from a step in my direction, I did a 180 and left the room.

  The hallway was packed as I wove my way through into a game room full of even more people. I froze there, not sure what to do next.