Melt With You

by Addison Moore

  “Is that what this is about?” My lips quiver, and I hate that they give away my emotions. I swallow hard. “Are you warning me about a lethal level of crazy? Be straight with me. Is it bring-your-Nunchucks-to-school-day for me, Joel?”

  “God, I hope not.” He shrugs it off as if it were preposterous. “Don’t worry. Kelly wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you.”

  “Have you met her?” We share a quiet laugh.

  His features soften before filling with a deep concern. His brows furrow, making him that much more hotter than he already is.

  “What I really wanted to tell you is, that I’m sorry.” His eyes dig into mine, that deep-ocean-Mr.-Sardona-would-be-proud-of-this-descriptor-blue, but my heart wrenches, still stuck on his apology. He didn’t want that kiss. He was stoned. I was taking advantage of him and not even knowing it. God, I’m such a fool. I should get out of the truck and run—hobble home. God, I hate this cast. “What happened here Friday night was all my fault. I never should have taken advantage of our friendship like that.” His eyes drag to each of mine, heavy as weights, and he gives a slight nod as if signaling for me to say something.

  “I’m sorry you’re sorry,” I whisper grievously slow. Tears beg to come, but I won’t let them. I’m too proud to let Joel see me cry.

  Joel starts the engine. His eyes fall back to mine, leaded with sadness. “Maybe I’m not that sorry.”

  We drive all the way to school in silence.

  * * *

  A pep rally in the quad is usually a jovial scholastic event that I would normally look forward to attending front and center—especially this year, since I was supposed to be on the pep end of the rally. But, in years past, it’s been because Jennifer likes to rag on all the popular kids while they stand around and clap like seals. But today, the day I’ve taken painstaking measures to avoid Kelly Masterson at all costs, being front and center at the pep rally is a definite no-go for me.

  Jen and I stand near the flagpole, a safe distance of at least fifteen feet from the quad, and spot Joel there in the middle of it all because, well, he has to be. The entire team is standing proud on the senior lawn while Fatima rallies the troops to do their best three routines. As much as it kills me to admit it, Kelly is really that good. For a girl who was just dumped by her boyfriend, she looks bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready and willing to show off her school spirit, and apparently, her boobs—as evidenced by her oddly low-cut cheer top. The uniforms are V-necks, but hers looks a bit pronounced, and it wouldn’t shock me to learn there was a perverted seamstress at the end of this nipple invasion. I swear, the girls are bouncing out to get a look at everyone in turn. Normal people would be embarrassed to have a brassiere blunder such as this take place and make a run for the locker room, clutching at their bosoms, citing a defunct bra, but not Kelly. She’s loud and proud, spinning the girls every which way until the entire football team has had an eyeful. Joel is fuming, and it looks as if her little mammary-inspired plan has worked.

  Jen leans in. “Holy peach areola nipples, Batman!”

  “Actually areolas are nipples, so that’s technically redundant.”

  “Anyone ever tell you, you’re a boob? No one likes a know-it-all. Do you know who especially can’t stand you? Kelly’s bodacious ta-tas.”

  I’m about to snark right back when a wall of cheerleaders comes right at us. I go to get out of the way and take a hit right to the side of my head.

  “Shit!” I recognize Fatima’s voice as she runs over. “Malinowski! Are you okay?”

  “What happened?” I blink over at her, disoriented. Faces press in, and it feels as if I’ve just reprised the role of Eat Dirt and Die, Girl, only Joel isn’t bouncing around me this time in a state of panic.

  “Stacey’s foot got a little too close.” Fatima glares back at her a moment. “You know how she’s lousy at those kicks.” She glares over at the Beaver Brigade because we both know Stacey can high-kick to the moon if she wanted. This is payback—the beginning of many, many kicks to the head if Kelly has anything to say about it.

  A few frazzled teachers make their way over, and I assure everyone I’m fine. The bell rings as bodies begin matriculating to their classes.

  “Melissa, geez.” Joel pops up, good and pissed for me. “Do you need me to take you to the hospital?”

  “No, I swear, I’m okay.” I frown a moment. “You look great with two heads, by the way.” I’m only slightly teasing.

  “Shit.” He stalks over to Kelly—bypassing Stacey all together—and they start in on an argument that stops the drifting masses in their the-warning-bell-just-rang tracks.

  Amy comes over and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “I don’t know what kind of a spell you put that boy under, but Joel Effing Miller has got it bad for you.”

  Jennifer leans in. “I still don’t trust him. Something fishy is up, and I just can’t put my finger on it.”

  We part ways, and I try to take off without Joel noticing, but he catches up before I can make a clean getaway.

  “You sure you’re okay?” He winces into the sun, and there’s a sweet little boy quality about him. Joel is constantly trying to fix things for me, to reassure me, to take care of me in the sweetest way possible. I’ve never had that before, but it feels amazing, and now I’m sort of addicted. It’s his fault, really.

  “I’m positive.” I shove my book bag at him, and he gives a crooked grin. “Now get to work.”

  The day goes on with me on full tactical alert in the event an errant limb decides to fly into my face again. I won’t even go to the bathroom without Jen or Heather, in fear of getting a swirly when I least expect it.

  Late in the day, Joel drives me home while blaring KROQ just to make me feel better. Berlin belts out “No More Words” over the speakers, and it feels apt for the moment since neither Joel nor I are sure about what to say to each other after that awkward conversation we had this morning.

  No sooner do I get into the house than my mother comes over.

  “Honey, something was left at the door addressed to you, but it didn’t have a stamp or a return address. I think maybe you should take it onto the lawn and open it—it’s, uh, leaking.”

  Ben leads me to the porch where the bloated manila envelope sits with its unfamiliar flowery writing looping across the front. A red line oozes out the bottom.

  “Crap,” Laurie hisses from over my shoulder and follows us to the lawn. “Your mail is freaking bleeding.”

  “I’m aware.”

  Ben hops up and down, excited. “Who thinks it’s a severed finger? I think it’s a severed finger! It could, however, be an ear. Is that boy who hauls you around missing an ear? Because this could be a very romantic, yet twisted proclamation of love.”

  “It’s not a severed finger—or an ear. Last I saw, Joel had his ears right where they’re supposed to be.” Although, not for long if Kelly has anything to do with it. I rip the seam and glance inside before dropping the envelope onto the freshly mowed grass. “Shit!”

  “What is it?” Laurie tips the envelope and out falls a tiny dead mouse. It’s white and furry and looks as if it’s sleeping, save for the critically severed neck. It’s so cute. Tears come to my eyes at the sight of the tiny tragedy. “Wow”—my sister muses—“you have some really fucked-up friends.”

  Ben plucks the rest of the contents out of the envelope. “Friends don’t send dead creatures via the pony express.”

  I don’t battle him on the fact it wasn’t riding any ponies to get here. This was walked over, driven over, tossed onto our porch. The postal system had nothing to do with this horrible grievance.

  He unfurls a piece of paper he retrieved from the envelope and holds it out.

  The words Die Bitch are the only thing we see.

  “Crap.” Laurie snatches it up and inspects it as if a secret message were about to materialize. “You should probably tell Mom.”

  “We should file a police report in the event they murder you.” Ben says it so mat
ter-of-factly I want to cry again. “That way, when they catch the killer, we’ll have their premeditation in writing. It won’t make you feel better, but Mom and Dad will sure sleep at night knowing that lunatic is finally locked up for good.”

  My stomach bounces with nausea. “Stop, Ben. It’s not funny.”

  He pats my back before heading for the house. “I never said it was, sis.”

  Laurie pulls me in by the elbow—perhaps the closest form of affection she’s capable of displaying. “Do you need to talk?”

  “No. I’m okay,” I lie because I’m not sure what Laurie would think of this horrible situation I’ve landed myself in. Laurie was cheated on once, and things ended badly for the other girl—very badly. I believe four flat tires and a shattered windshield were involved, but I don’t even have a car for Kelly to destroy. All Kelly can slash and thrash is me. Anyway, I bet Laurie would take Kelly’s side over mine, and I don’t think I could handle that. “Do you think you can give me a ride somewhere?”

  “Sure.”

  Laurie drives me all the way to the Miller’s house and drops me off just shy of their property.

  She leans in as far as the wheel will let her and squints in the distance. “Are you sure this chick is home?”

  I never said it was a girl. Laurie just assumed, and I’m not about to correct her.

  “I’ll be fine, I swear. Tell Mom I’ll be home in an hour or so. I know it’s a school night.”

  She takes off, and I hobble my way to the window that belongs to Joel’s quasi-underground lair and gently tap it a few times with my crutch.

  Joel’s face pops up, and he gives a lopsided grin. Before I know it, he’s right here next to me, holding me in the murky air as evening turns into night. I think we need the darkness, the lack of clarity that daylight provides to make this thing between us feel that much more possible.

  We walk over to the side of the house, and I lean against the wall just looking up at him. Joel Miller is beautiful. I know that’s no way to describe a boy. I know that very descriptor would probably warrant a straight-up F from Mr. Sardona, but I think it fits best right where I put it.

  Joel nods as if we’ve already said enough words. His eyes steady into mine, and it’s as if I can see the entire history of time in them, the entire history of us expanding endlessly in either direction. It’s as if we’ve always been together—as if we’ll always be just that—together. His finger wipes away a tear I didn’t even know was rolling down my cheek. He bows his head toward mine and brushes over my lips with his own. I have only ever kissed two guys before this—Chris Rubio while playing Spin-the-Bottle and Danny Lorado during Seven Minutes in Heaven, or more aptly named Seven Minutes of Saliva. But this? This wasn’t a game—was it?

  I pull him in close and indulge my mouth over his as each of my muscles, my bones, my blood roars to life at a cellular level. That dull ache that churns for him night after night pulsates in waves as his tongue moves over mine. My stomach swims wildly with its own bouncing ball of emotions. I love this feeling. I never want it to end.

  I didn’t really need to talk to Joel tonight.

  I just needed to be near him—to do this.

  Doing this will always be the answer.

  Won’t it?

  Joel

  The window rattles like thunder, and I jolt straight out of a dream to the harsh glare of the sun.

  I whip the blanket off and head over to see what’s going on. This isn’t the sweet knock that Melissa gave last night. This is aggressive and brutal—the I’m-going-to-beat-the-living-shit-out-of-this-house-until-you-get-the-hell-up kind of a pounding. I don’t get halfway there before I see Kelly’s blonde hair rising like a skyscraper.

  Shit. “Be right out,” I grumble. This isn’t exactly the start to the day I was hoping for.

  I check the time—quarter past seven. I take a piss and throw on a jacket before heading outside.

  “What’s going on? How did you know I was down there?”

  “I looked through the window.” She taps her mint green heel against the driveway. She’s wearing a florescent pink T-shirt with the words Frankie Say Relax printed in large, bold letters. It’s so bright I have to squint to look at it. Freaking neon. “Rumor has it, you like girls who knock at your window—or is that only something you prefer at night done by mice with crutches?”

  “What are you talking about?” I blink the sleep out of my eyes, running my fingers through my hair in frustration. It’s too early, and right now, I’m too disoriented to have a conversation with anyone, let alone Kelly. You need to have all cylinders firing just to keep up with her wrath on a good day.

  “Rosemary Perry lives across the street.” Her finger points in that direction, indicting Rosemary for who knows what reason. “She’s my eyes. She sees everything.”

  Crap. I scowl over at Rosemary’s two-story brick house that looks as if it’s been pieced together with Legos—poorly at that.

  “So what’s this about?”

  “I know you said you needed some time—” Kelly looks skyward, blinking back freshly fabricated tears. Kelly prides herself on the fact nothing ever makes her cry—she’s a machine that way. In fact, she also prides herself on the ability to manufacture tears on cue, which I’m guessing is the option she’s exercising now. “You want some time to think.”

  “No, you don’t get it. It’s—”

  Her finger lands hard over my lips. Her eyes bulge with a silent threat. Kelly’s eyes are heavily drawn in with blue shadow—so much so she looks as if she’s sporting two black eyes. For once, Kelly looks just as damaged on the outside as she is on the inside.

  “All I’m asking, Joel, is that you don’t turn my senior year into some crap-fest. I gave you the best of me. I gave you my fucking virginity.”

  Not true. I spoke with two other dudes who graduated last year who also claimed to have taken her “virginity.” The reason I chose to believe them is because they separately made a comment about those weird rabbit faces she makes in bed. I’ve seen them dozens of times, and at first I thought she was kidding—mocking someone, as she’s prone to do. I almost laughed out loud, but when she got right back to barking out orders, I realized she had no clue what her face was doing. Someone like Kelly needs to feel like she has power over you, and telling you something like that can land just the right guilt trip when she needs it most. Sorry. Not this time.

  Mr. Nelson, my next-door neighbor, comes out clutching his bathrobe and snatches the paper off his driveway with a smirk. He shoots me the stink eye to make sure I know I’ve disrupted his beauty sleep.

  I apologize with a wave.

  “What do you want, Kelly?” I’m pretty sure no matter what she asks for I won’t be able to give her.

  “I want you.” She pulls me in by my flannel. Case in point. I definitely can’t give her that. “I want you to want me.” She bats her lashes at me while rubbing her body over my crotch in a cheesy dance maneuver. “We had some good times—didn’t we?”

  “We did.” I won’t deny that. It wasn’t all a pile of crap, but lately it has been, and I just want out. A clean break—not some spiral fracture like I gave Melissa. Although if anything, if anyone has the ability to spiral out of control, it’s Kelly. “And I’ll always appreciate that. But maybe now is a good time to move on. See other people. We’re headed to college next year.” I speed up my speech in the event she decides to circumvent it with a knife to the gut. “We didn’t even app at the same universities. I think senior year should be a little looser than what we had before.”

  Her mouth falls open. She cocks her head to the side as if trying to make sense of the garbled words spewing from my mouth. “So like you’re still open to having a relationship with me.” A smile bounces on her lips. “Cool.”

  What? I rub the sleep out of my eyes. It’s like running in a circle with her. “Yes. I’m open to anything.” I’m mostly open to you getting the fuck off my lawn. I glare at her a moment too long. “But
right now, I just need to focus on school, on keeping my grades up. I have football eating up every hour of every day.”

  “And what about Mouse-akowski?” Her demeanor darkens again.

  “Don’t call her that. Why do you feel the need to put that poor girl down?”

  “Because you’re doting over her like you’ve never doted over me.”

  “That’s because I broke her fucking leg!” I knew if given half a chance this would escalate. “I’ve effectively altered her junior year—and maybe her life. She was in cheer like you. Remember? Only now she can hardly walk.”

  The front door rattles, and Mom steps out in her bathrobe, a common theme in this neighborhood before eight A.M.

  “Is that you, Kelly?” She lifts her coffee in lieu of a wave. “What’s going on?” She trots over with her hair in rollers and her oversized glasses on that she uses to read the paper. Tiffany used to cuss her out if her friends, or God forbid, her boyfriend ever saw my mother dressed this way. I’m more on the opposite end of the spectrum. I’m just glad she’s dressed.

  Kelly folds her arms over her chest with that look on her face that says I’ve got you now, bastard. “We were just discussing how much time Joel is spending with that little girl he hit a few weeks back.”

  Little girl. She wishes.

  “Are you still doing that?” Mom’s eyes blink ten sizes too big behind her lenses, and it looks unnerving. They’re Coke-bottle glasses with bright red rims.

  “Yes,” I say incredulously. Honest to God, even if my mother asked me to stop, I don’t think I would.

  “Thank God!” She glances skyward a moment. “You keep up the good work, son. I’m telling you, the statute of limitations is forever and a day with things like that. I spoke to our legal team a couple of weeks ago, and there’s not a thing we can do if they want to take us to the cleaners. Nothing at all! They can make all kinds of ludicrous claims. They can say you damaged her for life—that she’s not right in the head or something. That single act of carelessness has the ability to clear out everything that your father and I worked so hard to build. We’ll be living in my parents’ rental in Encino faster than you can say what the hell happened.” She flicks her wrist toward Kelly. “Excuse my language. Can I get you some coffee, dear? I can microwave you a cup.” Her lips expand toward Kelly with pride. I’m sure she doesn’t need to microwave a cup since the pot is still on, but she likes to work that boxy reheating wonder into just about every conversation with another woman. She’s pretty proud of the fact we’re able to cook in a flash with the best of them. My parents have never shied away from any technological advances, especially where bragging rights are concerned.