Taken by Storm

by Angela Morrison

  “I like this.” She holds up Gram’s crocheted bunny. “Really you.”

  She starts the car up. i get into the passenger’s side, fasten my seat belt. She flips a U-turn and drives, slow and stealthy, for about half a mile, then revs the engine. We squeal up the first hill, spraying gravel in our wake. Leesie guns it at the top.

  i feel my face relaxing into an idiot grin as we speed down the other side. “Whoa, left my stomach back there.” This is a feature of the Palouse hills Dad never shared. i can see him doing this—in this same old car.

  Leesie keeps her face straight, glances over at me with one eyebrow raised. “Next one’s steeper—you get more of a pop.” Before i know it, Gram’s ancient Chrysler roars up another hill.

  “How fast are you going?” i yell over the straining engine.

  “Just seventy. I don’t want to push it.”

  We pop over the second hill. Leesie yells, “Yee ha!” like a bronco buster in an old western.

  “Are all country girls like you?” i hang on to the dashboard.

  She giggles and guns it over another hill. “Yee ha!” She fish-tails it down the backside. “You want me to spin it? This is a good spot for a 360.”

  i shake my head and yell, “No!”

  She barrels up the last hill, flips a U-turn in the loose gravel, and heads back through our dust cloud for another round, laughing and yelling, “Yee ha!” all the way.

  i almost feel like i can laugh with her, yell like a cowboy, not care about anything except the next hilltop gut rush.

  We get back to her house too soon. She parks by the steps.

  “Are we done?” i don’t want it to be over, don’t want her to leave. “Can we go again?”

  “I don’t think we should put Gram’s car through anymore.” She cranks the gearshift into park, shuts off the engine.

  “Do you think we left any of it back there?”

  “Should I check the bumper?” She tries to look serious. “I think I heard something clank.”

  “Gram’ll kill me.”

  “It’s fine.” She pats the dashboard. “Poor old thing needed a workout.”

  “What happens”—maybe i should have asked this sooner—“if you meet another car coming up the other side of the hill?”

  “That’s why I hang to the right at the top.”

  “No way.”

  “Way. There’s room for two cars.” She tips her head sideways. “You just don’t want to meet a grain truck or some doof in a tractor.”

  “i trusted you with my life?”

  “And Gram’s car.”

  i undo my seat belt, stretch. Gram’s car predates bucket seats. i move along the bench a few inches closer to Leesie. The pig stink doesn’t penetrate the car. i find the scent of her jacket, but i’m not close enough to whiff her hair. i stretch my arm across the back of the seat.

  She tries to turn in her seat, can’t because of her seat belt. She unlatches it, twists sideways with her right leg up on the bench, hooked under her left. Then she puts her foot back down. Her hand drifts toward the door handle—no—back to the steering wheel. Yes.

  i need to feel that she’s warm and real. Solid. My hand slides down the seat back and picks up her free hand, the one i hurt. The calm from Sunday night returns. i examine her cuts, curved to fit my fingernails. “How is it tonight?”

  “Okay, I guess.” Her clear eyes fill mine. “How are you?”

  “Better.” My voice sinks low. “Thanks for letting me come out.”

  “If you want to talk about it—”

  “Naw.” My voice is husky. i press her hand.

  She draws it away. “I’ve got to go. I can’t—” The other hand is back on the door handle.

  No. Please. i edge closer to her. “What did you do at church tonight?” i whiff her hair. “Burn incense? Talk to more angels?”

  “Incense?” She leans toward me. “Mormons don’t do incense.”

  “Not even the hippie kind?” i flip the fringe on her jacket, keep a couple pieces to play with. “No angels, either?”

  “If you have to know”—she watches me twist her jacket fringe together—“they just showed the Sex Lady video again.”

  “At church?” Maybe Mormons are hipper than i thought.

  “It’s about abstinence. Very churchy.”

  i drop the fringe. “So you’re totally brainwashed?”

  “Taught the truth.” She untangles the suede strips, combs the rest flat with her fingers.

  “That’s why you have that rule?”

  “You mean: ‘do not go into a house alone with a member of the opposite sex’? That’s only the beginning. My whole life is a list of rules.” She pulls a card out of her pocket and hands it to me. i can’t read it in the dark.

  She sits forward, stares out the front window. “Keep both feet on the floor. Never go into a guy’s bedroom. No parking. No necking. No petting. No fornication. No tongue.”

  “No tongue?”

  She drums the steering wheel with her fingers.

  “Seriously, you can’t even French-kiss?”

  “It’s not like I can’t. I have a tongue.” She licks her lips. “I just choose not to use it.”

  “Fornication?”

  She nods, won’t face me. “That’s the biggie.”

  “Lightning bolts fall from the sky?”

  “Something like that. Painful confession, eternal salvation put on hold, and it would break my dad’s heart. My mom would strangle me.”

  “You’d tell your parents? That’s sick.”

  “I wouldn’t tell them, but when you’re guilty of major sin—”

  “Guilt? Sin? Are you for real? How can you love someone without actually loving them?”

  “With your heart.”

  “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “You’re an expert?”

  “Just been there.”

  She doesn’t reply.

  It’s too dark to see if her face is red again, if her cheeks are hot. Mine are. In the cold car, in this cold country, i feel hot all over. “So, you’re, um, saving yourself?”

  She nods. “This is where you shake my hand and drive off into the sunset.” She’s the Ice Queen again. Guarded. Distant. i don’t want her like that. i want her to melt. Maybe we can thaw together.

  “What about regular kissing?” spills out of me in that husky voice.

  Leesie takes a deep breath and reels off another perfect answer. “The problem with kissing is it builds desire but doesn’t satiate it.”

  i slide close to her. “Are you quoting the Sex Lady?”

  “No. A prophet said that.” She studies the steering wheel. “Kissing leads to frustration or sin—”

  “i can live with frustration.”

  She finally turns to face me. “Michael—you shouldn’t—”

  i stroke her cheek. It is warm.

  i can do this, want to do this, need to try. i’m not sure if it’s wrong or strong. i just want my arms around her slim body, her heart making mine beat, her full lips pressed to mine.

  “If i kissed you”—i put my hand under her chin, tip her face to meet my mouth—“would it be okay?”

  chapter 16

  SAVE ME

  LEESIE’S MOST PRIVATE CHAPBOOK

  POEM #31, SAMARITANS

  I’m supposed to save him,

  soothe his hurts, cheer his heart, enlighten his soul,

  but with salt-soft lips, skilled but gentle,

  suspecting mine don’t do this often or ever,

  in the front seat of his gram’s rusty blue Chrysler,

  he wants to save me.

  I panic at the glory of his mouth

  caressing mine, pry open the car,

  and Cinderella up the porch steps,

  away from his arms cradling my body,

  his hands harbored in my hair,

  his lips lingering at my speed.

  He races me to the door, presses me to it,

  I can’
t . . .

  You’re not . . .

  We shouldn’t . . .

  He obliterates my protests with hot resuscitation.

  my cheek melds to his shoulder,

  and we savor not alone

  until he steals my hand to his lips,

  kisses the places he hurt.

  I’m lost to his firm chest,

  his slender fingertips, his long wavy hair,

  his mouth sucking my bottom lip—

  the world spins, the stars shift,

  and I can’t see anything except his smoky

  gray eyes gazing into mine.

  You scare me, whispers

  from my mouth across his.

  Good, he breathes into me.

  I need you to save me.

  I will save him.

  I can’t let it be.

  Please, lord,

  save

  me.

  LEESIE HUNT / CHATSPOT LOG / 10/08 1:17 A.M.

  chapter 17

  LIGTH OF DAY

  LEESIE HUNT / CHATSPOT LOG / 10/08 12:06 P.M.

  MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #8

  i’m the infidel. Forbidden. She needed an out.

  She took it way too fast. Freak. The afternoon hours stretch ahead of me and all i have to fill them with is the plate of burnt French toast Gram just gave me. Or i can fill it with Leesie.

  i stuff my mouth full, wave at Gram, grab my jacket, and head up the hill to the school.

  When i walk through the double glass doors, Leesie’s sitting on the stage scribbling in her notebook. Her nose looks red. Are her eyes wet? Did i do that?

  The other kids leave a space around her like she has a disease. Except Troy. He stands in front of her, puts his hands on her knees. She bats them away. He says something. She turns pink.

  DeeDee and her clones sitting on the radiator sneak into the corner of my eye. i think DeeDee yells something at me. i ignore her, cross the room, and boost myself onto the stage beside Leesie. i put my arm around her waist and dredge up a nasty look for Troy. “Leave her alone.”

  “Who died and made you king?”

  Dumb but still cruel. The guy’s gifted. i slide off the stage, bringing Leesie with me, landing face-to-face, and say, “Out of the way. We don’t want to foul ourselves in your filth.”

  Troy doesn’t budge. “You’re wasting your time, Scuba Boy.”

  i let go of Leesie and grab the front of Troy’s shirt. “Shut up.” i push the jerk out of the way. Massively strong. Hero strong.

  i steer Leesie for the front door. “Let’s get out of here.” i want to cut class, make out with her all afternoon.

  “The bell’s going to ring.”

  My hand slips down to her hip—i hope Troy is still watching. “You want to go to class?”

  Leesie nudges my hand back to her waist and makes me walk toward her locker. She’s blinking a lot. “Good thing you showed.” She sniffs. “I was getting ready to knee him hard.”

  “Right.”

  She elbows me. “We had self-defense in PE. That’s my best move.” She stops and gets a drink at the fountain.

  i bend over her. “When are you going to report that jerk?”

  She stands up. Her face is in control again. “Don’t go there. I’d end up getting suspended.”

  i wipe a drip from the side of her mouth. “i’d like to rip him apart.”

  “Then you’d get suspended, too.” She’s walking. “Don’t worry. It’s all going to be over soon.”

  “You still planning to hang him off the trestle?”

  “No. We’re seniors.”

  “Oh, right.” i hadn’t thought of that.

  We arrive at her locker. She opens it, turns to face me. “If I’m just a diversion, that’s fine.” She touches my lips with her fingertips. “Maybe it’s better.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The religion thing.” She chews on the lip i sucked on last night, want to suck on right now. “I can’t get serious with you.”

  Serious? My life is nothing but serious. i nod anyway. “Right.”

  “And I don’t think it’s sick.”

  i nod again.

  “I think it’s natural.” Her forehead wrinkles. “Comfort. Affection. You need that now worse than ever.” She turns around and rummages through her junk, picks up her physics text.

  “It’s trig next.” i lean over her shoulder, inhale her hair, and take the book from her.

  She turns her back on her trashed locker and puts her hand on my chest. “For me it means something.”

  i pull her math text off the top shelf and replace it with the physics book. “Got it.”

  She takes it without looking. “I wouldn’t kiss you”—her voice drops to a whisper—“if I didn’t care.” The stillness in her face seeps into me.

  i put my hands on her shoulders. “You really okay with this? With me? If you’re going to get zapped by a vengeful god—”

  “Last night I decided”—her eyes close—“I want to care more.”

  i take her face in my hands, kiss her eyelids and then her mouth, long and slow right there in the hall behind her locker door with her trig book smashed between us. i hope Troy is watching and gets the message. DeeDee, too. i hope the whole freaking world is watching.

  Leesie’s god.

  My Isadore.

  Take that.

  chapter 18

  HOMEWORK

  MICHAEL’S DIVE LOG—VOLUME #8

  Leesie follows me home after school. i bring the laptop out of the bedroom, set it up on Gram’s coffee table. Leesie spreads out my books and hers, coaxes me through a bunch of overdue assignments. i struggle with dumb stuff, can’t concentrate long, get really stuck on English. Nothing to write. i sit on the couch, holding my laptop, staring at a blank white page in a sea of blue. Leesie works beside me, her pen scratching away.

  i give it up and Google Cozumel Diving Deals. It’s taking forever. i lean over and kiss Leesie’s cheek.

  She elbows me away. “I’m working here.”

  “Sorry, i was just checking.” i inhale. She’s got her hair trapped again.

  She stops writing, squirms. “What?”

  i put my hand on her rib cage. “i just wanted to make sure you’re real.”

  She sighs, leans back, and lets me kiss her. “Real enough?” She strokes my face.

  “You’re not going to dump me tomorrow?”

  “Dump you?” She picks up her pen and bends over her notebook. “You’ve never been dumped.”

  “Are you always like this? So committed?”

  She stops writing and swallows. “I’m never like this.”

  i put down my laptop, pick up my dive log, flip it open, get lost between the pen and the page, studying Leesie’s smooth, pink lips. “Am i your first? Kiss?”

  She turns red. “Am I that bad?”

  “Let me check.” i kiss her—lose my writing stuff in the cushions between us. “Fast learner.”

  She pulls away. Finds my dive log. “What does a diver write about in Washington?” She looks hopeful. Wants me to share.

  i tuck the log away safe, reach for her again, but she fends me off.

  She winks at me. “You’re not my first.”

  i can’t see her with any of the guys at school, especially Troy. “Who?”

  “You are nosy.”

  “And you’re not? Come on, you know everything about me.”

  “I know nothing about you.”

  “Everything worth knowing.”

  “Not all the girls you’ve kissed.”

  “You want names?” i pick up the laptop. The screen shows a page of promising hits. “i don’t think i know them all.”

  “That’s comforting.”

  “Your turn.” i lean against her arm, trying to mess up the rhythm of that perfect pen scratching. “i’m waiting—” i put the laptop down and cross my arms.