Kiss and Repeat

by Heather Truett

  “Nick!” Ballard exclaimed. “Hey, man. I saw the truck outside and was going to ask Stephen if you were here. How’s Melody?”

  “Who?” Nick tilted his head, fingers already playing with a pack of cigarettes.

  “Melody, the girl you were with at that party Saturday night. She was smokin’.” Ballard stood and we followed Nick outside.

  “Last night…” Nick lit his cigarette and took a slow pull. “Melody…”

  “Oh, come on, bro, the girl you left with was stacked.” Ballard accepted a cigarette from Nick.

  I waved the pack away, breathing heavy.

  “Oh, her.” Nick handed Ballard his lighter.

  “Since when do you smoke?” I asked, my mouth twisting.

  Ballard shrugged and lit the cigarette. One drag and he was coughing up his lungs.

  Nick laughed. “Slow down, dude.”

  Ballard caught his breath and looked sheepishly at me. I shook my head. Idiot.

  “Was her name Melody? I never asked.” Nick leaned back on my front steps, resting on one elbow. “She was fun though, yeah. We had fun.”

  Ballard stared at Nick like Nick was God. “So you did it?”

  Nick laughed again, and Ballard blushed. I’d never seen him look so much like a little kid.

  “If that’s what you wanna call it, I guess.” Nick licked his lips absently.

  “So, that’s what you do?” My shoulder jerked hard. “You go around with girl after girl, doing whatever you want, not even remembering their names?”

  Nick turned his head toward me, calm as anything. “Well, yeah, I guess so. I mean, I haven’t heard any of the girls complaining.”

  “What about Joan?” I asked.

  “Joan?” Nick looked confused. “What about Joan?”

  “You left here with Joan Saturday night,” I reminded him, my blood hot and my brain screaming I needed to get out of this situation before I lost my cool. “You left with Joan.”

  “Oh, yeah, I did. She gave me a ride home. Joan’s good when I need her.” His face was swimming in front of me.

  My shoulder jerked, but no one noticed because I was already standing, fist flying at Nick Dane’s jaw.

  Despite my tiny biceps, I hit at a good angle and took Nick by surprise.

  “Oh shit.” Ballard grabbed my arms and tugged me off the steps. “What the hell, Luckie?”

  Nick rubbed his face but made no move to return fire.

  “Don’t you ever say shit about Joan.” The words seethed between my teeth, and I breathed hard.

  Nick chuckled. “Not a bad swing, man.”

  Ballard let go of my arms and we both stared at Nick.

  “What?” he said. “I usually deserve it.”

  The front door opened and Mr. Dane stepped out. “That’s enough of a break. Get your lazy ass back to work.”

  Nick tossed his cigarette to the sidewalk and rubbed it out with his shoe.

  Mr. Dane glared. “And pick that up. Reverend Luckie’s yard is not your ashtray.”

  “Yes, sir.” Nick gave a mock salute and grabbed the cigarette butt, following his father back into the house.

  “What the hell was that about?” Ballard asked.

  “Just go home,” I told him, my anger already draining. Jealousy had made me punch someone, and I had never punched anyone. “I’m done talking for today.”

  Ballard stood there for a minute, but when it became clear I wasn’t going to say anything, he dug his keys from the pocket of his jeans and walked toward the Jeep in our driveway.

  “Okay, fine.” He swung the door open. “But tomorrow, at lunch, you are filling me in on whatever that shit was. Got it?”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not. You don’t rule me, Ballard.”

  With an exasperated tossing of his hands in the air before grabbing the wheel, Ballard backed out of my driveway and headed down the road. In the wrong direction.

  I waited until he’d had time to turn around, and watched him drive back past my house with a wave. I went inside to grab my phone and out to the garage where Gwinn the Schwinn waited, her green paint familiar and calming. Lost Bridge Trail beckoned. Maybe I could find a clear head again if I pedaled hard enough and far enough.

  I’d forgotten I was grounded.

  “Shit,” I muttered, standing there just staring at my bike.

  That’s when the garage door started its grinding ascent. Dad pulled in and cut the engine.

  As he climbed out of the car, I said, “I wasn’t leaving. I know I’m grounded.”

  Dad chuckled. “I know you’re not leaving. Recent events excluded, you tend to be a pretty trustworthy kid.”

  I followed him into the house and opened the fridge to grab a drink.

  “I know sixteen is tough,” Dad said, dropping his wallet and keys on the counter. “I remember. That’s the year I got so mad at my own father I moved out for a month.”

  “Seriously?” I couldn’t imagine Dad running away from home. It sounded overly dramatic.

  He shrugged. “Your grandpa wasn’t a fan of my girlfriend. In that case, he was right. But I wish he’d let me figure it out on my own. Making her off-limits just made me want her more.”

  I nodded. I could understand that.

  “Anyway, I get it. You’re going to make some dumb decisions at this age. We’re going to make sure there are consequences. You will hate it. We hate it too.”

  I wasn’t sure he hated my being grounded as much as I hated me being grounded, but I appreciated the sentiment. Dad and I hadn’t talked like this, without his tone tinged in disappointment, in a long time.

  “Do me a favor and ride to the corner store, real quick. I need some olive oil to make dinner tonight.”

  I smiled. “Sure.”

  As I guided Gwinn out of the garage, I felt a bit better about life.

  Chapter Sixteen

  As I rode through downtown, my eyes glanced off shop windows. I almost didn’t notice the bike, but the lady who runs the thrift store waved from the window. I waved back and caught the sun glinting off handlebars. Immediately, I pulled to the curb, locked up Gwinn, and went inside.

  “It was donated this morning,” Judy said when I asked about the battered Huffy. It could use a fresh coat of paint, new tires, and some general TLC, but it wasn’t in bad shape all in all. I could let Joan know it was there.

  Or I could buy it for her.

  I pulled out my wallet. Dad paid me for yard work, and Mom paid me for cleaning the church office sometimes. I mostly spent my money on music and I’d saved for my guitar. I had enough for the bike.

  “It’s a girl’s bike,” Judy pointed out.

  I blushed and my fingers flexed around the cash. “I know. It’s not for me.”

  Judy grinned. “Girlfriend?”

  My cheeks were Alabama crimson. “Just a friend. Can I pay you now and pick it up later?”

  Judy took my money and moved the bike to the back storeroom. I thanked her and hopped back on Gwinn the Schwinn, heading for the Tallapoosa.

  Like I’d summoned her with my brain, there was Joan’s car, parked near the bridge. Knowing she wouldn’t be on the bridge, due to her confessed fear, I turned onto a thin trail leading down the hill. I had to get off the bike and walk to keep from sliding and breaking Gwinn and me both.

  The sound of gravel and footsteps alerted her to my presence, and Joan turned around. She was standing near the riverbank, Sylvie beside her. Sylvie waved, and I stopped to wave back. For a minute, I watched them, unsure of what to say once I got close. Joan’s arms were crossed, her electricblue T-shirt bunched around the waist. She’d freshened up the streak in her hair, so it matched the shirt perfectly. She looked amazing.

  “How’d you do on the Gatsby test?” Sylvie asked when I finally approached them.

  “I got an A, thanks to Joan.” I offered Joan a smile she didn’t return.

  “Did you really call me a bitch to that girl?” Her face was stone, and I tried not to picture
how she smiled, giggled, leaving my house with Nick.

  “Yes.” I know, I could’ve denied it. Pilar’s word against mine.

  Joan knew too. “You could at least lie.”

  “Stephen is one of the last honest people we know,” Sylvie said, paraphrasing Fitzgerald.

  I took a deep breath. My fingers flexed on the handlebars, and I squeezed the rubber grips, the grooves mashing into my skin. Joan could be so scary, but right then, I wasn’t afraid of her.

  “I could lie, yeah, but I won’t. I’m done lying. The first truth is, I called you a bitch so Pilar wouldn’t guess the second truth, which is that I have always been a little bit in love with you. You have always been strong and confident in a no-holds-barred, take-no-prisoners, I’m-gonna-be-myself-and-if-you-don’t-like-me-fuck-you kind of way.”

  My not-so-Shakespearean monologue hung between us. Sylvie smirked, and I knew I’d made the right choice, being honest. But Joan didn’t smirk or smile or even frown. She just stared.

  Sylvie nudged Joan. Joan stepped away from her friend, closer to me. “Were you that honest with Pilar Saturday night?”

  I nodded. “I’m not sure she appreciated it. Or believed me. But, yes. I took your advice and told her the truth.”

  Joan uncrossed her arms. “I don’t like name calling. Don’t do it again.”

  “I won’t.”

  “All right, then. Sylvie and I are going for milkshakes at the Dairy Cream. Want to come?”

  “I’m still grounded,” I said. “Dad turns a blind eye to the occasional bike ride, but I don’t think I can get away with the Dairy Cream.”

  Joan helped me get my bike back up the steep incline. She and Sylvie were almost to her car and I was a few yards away when I turned around to yell back at them.

  “Hey, Joan!”

  “Yeah?” She shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun with one hand, her other dangling car keys.

  “When’s your birthday?” I was thinking about the bike, about painting it the same shade of pink as her car.

  “Why?”

  “Because I wanna know.” I laughed at the confused look on her face. I hoped she’d say January or April or something, a date far away.

  “October thirteenth.”

  “Thanks!” As I turned to ride away, I couldn’t help but feel lucky.

  Yeah, yeah, I said it. Lucky.

  * * *

  I was pretty lucky that day. No one was home when I pulled into the driveway. I locked Gwinn in the garage and made a snack before math homework. The rest of my grounding pitter-pattered away, filled with days at school and afternoons helping Mom at The Exchange. I avoided Nick Dane like the plague, but that failed a time or two, what with him practically living in my house, running power tools and looking entirely too pleased with himself on a regular basis.

  A week or so into October, my parents announced my grounding was over.

  I hurried home after school and was glad to see Mom’s car in the driveway.

  “Can you take me to Auburn? I need to go to the bike shop.” I hadn’t even dropped my backpack onto the kitchen table. I went straight to where Mom sat on her bed with a giant Bible commentary and her sermon-writing notebook.

  “Not today. I ended up in meetings all morning. I’m behind now.” She didn’t even look up from the page she was studying.

  “Is Dad going to be home soon? It’s really important.” I bounced slightly from foot to foot.

  “He’s in Montgomery for an appointment.” She raised her head from the book and examined my face, which had to be glowing, I was so ready to burst. “What’s got you so anxious?”

  “I need to get paint and some parts for a project. It’s time sensitive.”

  “I suppose you can take my car.”

  She hadn’t let me drive to Auburn before, always claiming it was too far, but maybe my need to get out of the house that day fit with her need for a quiet space to work. Whatever the reason, she handed me her keys. I attached the new used bicycle to the rack and hit the road. I called on the way, so Allen had what I needed ready and waiting when I arrived.

  “Pink?” The cashier raised an eyebrow. It was the same cashier who offered to call 911 back in August.

  “It’s not for me,” I told her, and she smiled.

  I smiled back. Grinned actually. Joan and I had been talking almost daily since I confessed both loving and hating her. There wasn’t anything romantic. But I had hope.

  I loaded my purchases into the trunk, and my phone buzzed with a text from Joan.

  You’re free now, right?

  I am!

  Good. Can you help me study for the chem midterm?

  I’m in Auburn. Let me get back to town and I can. Library?

  Can you come to the house? Pearl borrowed my car.

  No problem. See you in an hour or so.

  I headed back home to stash the bike and all of my repair supplies. While there, I washed my face, put on extra deodorant, and brushed my teeth.

  I was pretty sure Joan’s parents weren’t home, and if Pearl was gone with the car, that meant Joan and I were going to be alone in her room. I would help her study for the Chemistry test. But, at the risk of being a cheesy cliché, I hoped to make a little chemistry of our own.

  No spin-the-bottle app on my phone, and no mad scientist make-out experiment necessary.

  I was finally going to kiss Joan Pearson.

  * * *

  Joan lived in a brick house on the outskirts of town, a mile from the interstate. When I pulled in, I noticed the Great Dane Construction truck across the street. Nick was standing beside it, smoking, and Joan was sitting in the passenger seat with the door open. Music spilled from radio speakers, and Joan hopped out to walk toward me.

  “Later, Nick,” she called over her shoulder. Then she smiled at me.

  My heart hit my throat and my fingers flexed, so I stuck my hands in my pockets. For the last week, my tics were so calm even my father commented. Mom said maybe I didn’t need a neuro appointment after all. It felt nice, good, but not for the reasons I though it would.

  When we started the kissing experiment, I wanted my tics to stop so a girl might like me. Now that I knew the tics didn’t keep girls from liking me, I enjoyed the calm because it was a side effect of not being stressed as shit. I was happy because I was happy, not because I was using make-out sessions to control my body.

  I followed Joan inside and down a hall. She opened her bedroom door and turned back to motion me inside. Looking around her bedroom, I was startled. I don’t know what I expected, but that wasn’t it.

  “I know, I know. I haven’t changed it since I was, like, ten. But I like it. It’s cozy.” Joan sat on the foot of her bed while I spun in a slow circle, a half smile tickling my lips.

  The walls were papered with pink and yellow flowers, and a floor to ceiling shelf held row after row of dolls.

  “I used to collect American Girl stuff,” Joan told me. “Furniture, clothes, books, you name it. The attic’s overflowing.”

  “American Girl,” I repeated.

  Joan patted the bed beside her, and I sat. I tore my eyes from the dolls and noticed a series of drawings framed on another wall.

  “You like them?” Joan walked over and removed one from its nail. She handed it to me.

  In strokes of ink, someone had drawn Cinderella, complete with blue dress and glass slippers. Only, in this version, Cinderella was Korean.

  “Wade did them.”

  Joan couldn’t have shocked me more if she’d revealed they were drawn by the orange cat sleeping on her pillow.

  “Wade Bond drew this?”

  She nodded. “He does them for my birthday and Christmas every year, because I complained once about the lack of Asian girls in Disney movies.”

  Behind her head, there was Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Jasmine, and Alice from Alice in Wonderland.

  “I have more that aren’t framed yet.” She took Cinderella from my hands and hung it back on the wa
ll.

  “I didn’t know Wade could draw.”

  She shrugged. “He doesn’t show anyone. His dad says it’s a waste of time and he should stick to football.”

  “It’s not a waste of time,” I said.

  “Of course not.” She sat beside me. “But Wade’s parents have certain expectations. He’s not always what he looks like to you.”

  “In middle school. You punched Wade in the face, and I never thanked you. I’m sorry I got so pissed about it.”

  She sighed. “You said I made it worse.”

  “Yeah, you did, but you didn’t mean to. It’s not your fault Wade’s an asshole.” I picked up her hand and studied it, the smooth skin and her gold Celtic knot ring. I turned her hand in mine and ran a finger over the longest line on her palm.

  “Can we not talk about Wade right now?” Her words were a whisper.

  Goose bumps appeared on her skin as my finger trailed across her wrist.

  Joan shifted onto her knees and leaned in close. Her hair swung around my face, the tips tickling my neck. I set my hands on her waist, my fingers pressing into skin where her shirt didn’t quite meet her jeans.

  I wasn’t tic-ing at all.

  For a minute, we held that pose, and if you could kiss someone with your eyes, that would be what we were doing. Then the staring went from romantic to awkward as I cleared my throat and the sound reverberated.

  I broke the stare, blushing, and let my gaze land on her lips, pink and shiny, and then I tugged her forward and her mouth was so soft, and the perfect weight of her settled in my lap like a dream.

  Joan’s teeth tugged at my bottom lip, her cold and perfect fingers slid through my hair, and our tongues tasted each other slowly.

  When we pulled apart, it was no longer just me blushing, and I didn’t even mind all of those dolls watching us watch each other.

  I leaned forward so we were forehead to forehead, and asked, “Can we do that again?”

  “And again and again,” Joan said.

  And so we did.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The days after Joan and I finally kissed passed like a dream. I practically floated to my classes, seeing Joan in the halls, holding her hand, kissing her when I was brave enough.