Nolan would be graduating at the end of the school year and off to college in the fall, but they would be living together for another eight months. And she’d decided that she wasn’t going to sit idle, waiting for him to leave to begin doing what she wanted to do.
She was done waiting. Emmaline was ready to start living. She didn’t want to be the girl to run from the room with her face on fire anymore, easily embarrassed and nervous around guys.
Emmaline expelled a heavy breath and interrupted her friends’ conversation. “What are we doing?” She looked searchingly into each of their faces, her frustration spilling over.
Her friends blinked. Clearly they felt none of Emmaline’s torment.
“Uh, eating?” Lia waved a chicken tender.
“That’s not what I mean,” Emmaline snapped.
“What are you talking about?” Sanjana asked.
“It’s Friday night and we’re at Whataburger. Again.”
“I like Whataburger.” Sanjana bit into a fry, her dark eyes as wide and guileless as a Disney princess.
“We were at a party tonight and we left early.” Emmaline propped her elbows on the table. “We’re juniors. And Lia, you’re a senior. Don’t you want to do something in high school besides study and—”
“I would rather not do anything that affects my getting into Stanford,” Monica cut in.
“There were plenty of kids at that party who are going to college,” Emmaline argued.
Monica considered that for a moment before nodding. “Some of them, yeah, but I didn’t seen any kids from my AP classes, so I doubt anyone else at that party is aiming for Stanford.”
Emmaline flung her hands wide. “You guys are hopeless.”
“What do you want from us, Em?” Lia asked, slurping loudly from her straw. “We went with you tonight.”
“I want things to change! I don’t want to be seventeen and never-been-kissed anymore.”
Everyone fell silent, and she knew why. She knew their experience did not amount to much more than hers.
“Well, what are you going to do then?” Lia asked slowly, wariness all over her face.
She shook her head. “I don’t know.”
Hayden Vargas flashed across her mind. Emmaline wished she could be like her. Even just a little bit. If she had one fraction of that girl’s confidence, her life would be so much different. So much better.
Maybe she could get Hayden to give her lessons.
With a snort, Emmaline foraged into one of the bags on the table for more fries. She stuffed a bunch in her mouth, savoring the salty tastiness.
Priscilla laughed shrilly from the other booth and Emmaline rolled her eyes, stuffing even more fries in her mouth.
Then the thought came again. Maybe she could get Hayden to give her lessons.
Emmaline stopped chewing, her pulse picking up speed at her throat.
Lessons on how to be more like Hayden. Confident. Irresistible. A magnet for guys. Someone who didn’t sit around regretting lost opportunities and run from the guy she liked with embarrassment.
“Emmaline?” Sanjana asked. “You okay? You have a funny look on your face.”
“I’m fine. More than fine.” She looked at Lia. “And to answer your question, I know exactly what I’m going to do now.”
Lesson #5
Inspiration can come from surprising sources.
x Nolan x
“You going to eat those fries?”
Nolan didn’t even blink as Priscilla reached a hand in his basket.
A discarded bun sat in front of her. She’d eaten her cheeseburger and left the bread. Too many carbs, she claimed.
As for fries, she never ordered them for herself. She contented herself with stealing his.
It wasn’t logical, but he didn’t point that out to her.
It’s not like he was that protective of his fries anyway. He didn’t mind. Especially tonight. He wasn’t that hungry. He was . . . distracted.
That encounter with Hayden Vargas had to count for one of the weirdest conversations of his life. He couldn’t help playing it over and over in his mind. He’d never talked to her before and he didn’t know what he expected—but not that. Not what he got. She was bold and rude and blunt.
Fortunately, Nora and Reed sat with them. Nora was Pris’s best friend and Nolan played football with Reed. He was an okay guy, but Nora loved the sound of her own voice. At least he assumed she did, because she hardly ever took a breath between words. Even if he wanted to talk, it would be a challenge to get a word in, and tonight that was fine with him. They could chat. He didn’t have to participate.
He sat quietly, zoning out of the two-sided conversation between the girls. Reed sipped from a milkshake and scrolled through his phone.
His sister and her friends sat a couple booths over, lost in their own conversation. Emmaline cast him several scowls. She wasn’t happy with him. Usually they got along, but lately . . .
Lately, she had been short-tempered with him. He wasn’t certain what had changed, but something had shifted between them. It would pass. They’d always been close.
“Nolan?” At the sound of his name, he jerked his attention back to the people at his table, leaning forward.
Nora was staring at him, dragging her fry through a disgusting mixture of mayonnaise, ketchup, and mustard. “Did you hear back from Notre Dame yet?”
He opened his mouth to answer, but Priscilla chimed in, covering her hand over his. “They accepted him in December. We’re just waiting on their full offer. It’s doubtful they can beat the package UT offered him”
Nora nodded as though she agreed.
We.
He wondered when he had become a we. When had he lost his individuality?
He gave himself a mental shake. It was fine. He had a good girlfriend. The prettiest girl in school. Everyone said so. And she was sweet. Goodhearted. Only a jerk would complain.
The girls continued to talk and he glanced over to his sister’s booth again. She and her friends were gathering up their trash.
“Ready to go?” he asked the table.
“Already?” Priscilla glanced at the time on her phone. “But it’s not even eleven yet.”
He gathered his and Priscilla’s trash, wadding up the orange wrapping. “I told Beau I’d run with him in the morning.”
Priscilla’s lips thinned, but she didn’t say anything. Nora sent her a swift, meaningful look. Nolan knew the significance behind that look. Priscilla did not care for Beau. She did not say it in words—she was too sensitive of Nolan’s feelings for that—but she didn’t need to say anything. It was evident in how she shut down whenever he was around. Really, she shut down even when Beau’s name was even mentioned. He couldn’t blame her.
A year and a half ago, at Priscilla’s sixteenth birthday party, Beau disappeared into the gardening shed with her cousin. Yeah, that had not been a good idea.
Beau had only kissed the girl, but that didn’t stop a very one-sided infatuation from developing. Priscilla’s cousin called, texted, and even drove over to Beau’s house. It got awkward. Priscilla had to step in and break it to her cousin that Beau wasn’t boyfriend material. She’d never forgiven Beau for that.
Beau liked girls. He liked kissing them. He played the field. He would never change.
Nolan might not agree with everything Beau did, and Priscilla might be right about him, but the guy had stuck by Nolan when he lost his father. He’d been there for him. The least Nolan could do was accept him for who he was.
Nolan could envision Beau when they were forty years old—unchanged, the eternal playboy. Nolan would be married with children and Uncle Beau would come over on Sundays to eat pot roast and play in the yard with his kids.
“I thought we were going to study together tomorrow,” Priscilla reminded in a singsong voice, as though that would somehow lessen her judgment.
“We will,” he promised.
She nodded and sipped from her straw as they h
eaded outside.
His sister and friends walked ahead of them. Nora and Reed waved good night and headed for their car.
Priscilla started talking about everything they needed to review, and it all felt so very safe and uninteresting. Like most of his nights.
He wondered if Hayden Vargas wasn’t maybe a little right about him. If he wasn’t typical. Predictable. Boring.
Lesson #6
Anything can happen at A party . . . and it usually does.
x Beau x
Beau lifted his lips from the girl he was kissing. He brushed his fingers over her cheek and spoke quietly, kindly. “Hey, I’m going to head downstairs, Chloe.” A gentle voice always softened the sting. She was cute, but she tasted of cigarettes, and he didn’t smoke . . . and he didn’t like kissing girls who did.
“Caroline,” she corrected with a pout, her fingers crawling up his chest like a spider. “I’ll come with you.”
When he’d gone upstairs it hadn’t been to hook up with anyone, but then he’d bumped into Chloe—er, Caroline. She was a sophomore in his health class and she plastered herself to him and one thing led to another, and now he was under her in a giant beanbag chair in the rec room.
Not that the distraction was unwelcome.
He’d taken himself upstairs after the awkwardness of the media room. He wanted some space from Emmaline. He couldn’t believe he’d walked in there with her. With Emmaline of all people. He shuddered.
He might be known for his exploits, but he wasn’t the kind of guy who watched porn at a party. That kind of thing didn’t strike him as a collective activity, and he definitely didn’t want to watch something like that in the company of his best friend’s little sister. That was just gross.
To add to the creepy factor, he’d looked from bouncing boobs on the big screen to Emmaline’s cleavage.
It had been a knee-jerk reaction. He blamed it on the shock of walking in on hot, writhing, naked bodies. That big screen was bigger than his bedroom wall. It was a lot to take in. And there was Emmaline . . . wearing that snug sweater. That was a lot to take in as well. He’d never seen her wear anything like that . . . anything so . . . fitted. At least, he had never noticed before.
He’d noticed tonight.
Emmaline’s face had turned beet red and she’d run from the room, proving it wasn’t just an awkward moment for him. She’d been mortified, too.
She didn’t go to many parties and mostly stayed in with her friends. He shook his head. That would probably keep her from venturing out for a while. Not a bad thing. Emmaline was good. Too good. She didn’t need to be tainted by all this.
Caroline latched onto his hand as they descended the stairs, Beau leading the way. He guessed she hadn’t gotten the hint. When he said he wanted to go downstairs, he’d meant he wanted to go downstairs without her.
“Hey, Beau!” Dorian waved at him as soon as he touched down on the first floor.
Beau wound his way through, extricated his hand from Caroline’s, and fist-bumped Dorian. “Hey, man.”
“Hey.” Dorian’s gaze skimmed over Caroline appraisingly. “Who’s your friend?”
“Hey, I’m Caroline.” She stepped forward, smiling widely as she put herself between Beau and Dorian.
“Caroline.” Dorian looked down at her with interest. “Are you a freshman? Haven’t seen you around.”
“Sophomore.” She pulled back her shoulders indignantly. “I’m not a baby.”
“I can see that.” Dorian lifted his cup and drank. His eyes met Beau’s questioningly over the rim. It was Dorian’s way of asking if Beau and Caroline were a thing . . . if he was crossing a line in flirting with her.
Beau answered with a shrug.
Dorian didn’t have to worry. Beau flirted and fooled around, but he didn’t feel possessive or overly attached to any single girl. He was young. Too young to be in a relationship. He didn’t want to tie himself down like that. He saw the way Nolan was chained to Priscilla . . . accountable to her for everything he did. No thanks. Beau wanted no part of that.
“Cops! Cops out front!” someone yelled, and the house broke into instant chaos. Cups of beer hit the floor.
Beau shook his head. He thought the party had at least another hour before it got shut down. Everyone pushed toward the front door, shouting like they were a bunch of swimmers in shark-infested waters.
Still shaking his head, Beau turned for the double French doors that opened out into the backyard. Fewer bodies headed in that direction. It was the path of least resistance and it made the most sense. Panicked teenagers under the influence of alcohol weren’t known for good decisions.
He strolled outside and located the back gate. Beau always knew how to avoid tricky situations.
Soon he was headed down the street, hands buried in his pockets, leaving a house full of teenagers and several flashing cop cars behind.
Lesson #7
Always have a plan, but know that no plan is etched in stone.
x Hayden x
Hayden’s morning started out normal enough. Like any other Monday. She woke up at her usual time, showered, dressed, and grabbed a Pop-Tart from the box she kept in her room—definitely not in the kitchen where any one of her mom’s friends could help themselves.
It was the same as any other morning.
Except when she stepped outside, she immediately saw that her car was blocked.
Joann, one of her mom’s friends, had crashed at their place, and it was impossible to rouse either one of them from their alcohol-induced comas. God knew what they’d done. Copious amounts of alcohol, definitely. Possibly more than that.
Hayden had heard them come in last night. Or rather, this morning. The clock read 3:57 a.m. when she’d glanced up at it. They hadn’t exactly been quiet. Knocking into furniture. Laughing uproariously.
Hayden had fallen back asleep. Just another day—or night—in her house.
Maybe if she hadn’t been so groggy at four in the morning, it would have occurred to her that they had likely pulled in behind her in the driveway.
She shook her mom’s shoulder. Hard. “Mom!”
Nothing. For a moment, she debated tossing a glass of water in her face, but decided she valued her life too much.
She turned to Joann, who was passed out on the mattress with her feet at the head of the bed. “Joann!”
Mom stirred for half a minute, lifting her hand. She was hanging half off the bed, the ends of her hair brushing the flattened carpet. She fumbled around on the floor until she came in contact with a shoe. Seizing it, she launched it at Hayden, striking her in the hip.
“G’way!” Mom mumbled. “Sleepin’.”
With a sigh of disgust, she searched the house until she unearthed Joann’s keys. Rushing outside, she pulled the little hatchback out of the driveway, all the while holding her breath inside the car. It smelled like an ashtray.
She parked along the curb and darted back inside, cursing the fifteen minutes she’d taken trying to wake Joann and Mom, hunt for the keys, and move Joann’s car.
Despite her rush, Hayden was careful not to speed. She stopped fully at every stop sign and went slowly through the school zones. The last thing she needed was a ticket. She was almost to the school when she realized she’d left her mostly uneaten Pop-Tart on her dresser. Ugh. Now she’d be starving by third period, and she never bought lunch at school. Sometimes she packed a lunch, but not today, of course. No time.
The parking lot was devoid of bodies; everyone was in first period.
She’d already accumulated a couple tardies this semester. Another one would land her in detention, and she didn’t have time for that. Kids who didn’t have jobs to get to could waste afternoons in detention. Not Hayden.
First period was health class. Coach Alvarez wasn’t going to let her slide in late. Some teachers were cool like that. Not him. Excuses didn’t matter. It was black and white. Unless she had a doctor’s note, a tardy was a tardy.
He was co
unting the days until retirement and wanted to be here even less than his students. He wasn’t inclined to do anyone any favors.
Coach was partial to his athletes, but even they couldn’t get in without a tardy slip or note from another teacher. He definitely wasn’t going to let Hayden in, of all people.
There was only one possibility. She hurried down the hall with one hope, one objective in mind. Get to Ms. Mendez’s class. If any teacher liked her well enough to help her out, it was her art teacher.
“You there,” a voice called sharply.
She froze, closing her eyes in a slow blink.
Hayden turned, dread making her limbs suddenly heavy and sluggish.
A teacher advanced on her. The grumpy sort. Middle-aged. Permanently etched frown lines. Eyes that looked her over with disapproval. As though there was something inherently wrong with her ripped jeans and T-shirt that showed a sliver of belly. “You there,” she said again. “Where are you supposed to be?”
That was always the question they asked.
Where are you supposed to be? She’d like to know the answer to that too. It was the one thing she chronically asked herself.
Not here.
She knew that much. She’d known that since elementary school, when her classmates started leaving her off the invite lists to their birthdays. Her peers didn’t want her at their parties . . . and their moms definitely didn’t want Hayden’s mom coming around either.
Too many temptations for her mother. Too many things her mom might help herself to. Things like husbands.
Mom had a penchant for other people’s husbands. Well, her penchant was for men in general. But especially for husbands of women who had more than she had. Which was pretty much everyone, considering they had next to nothing.
Natalie had been her best friend in kindergarten. Back then, at the very start of school, not everyone thought she was trash.
Kissing Lessons Page 4
