Come Back to Me

by Mila Gray

‘I’m sure she won’t mind.’

  ‘OK,’ I say. ‘But not on your bike.’

  ‘Deal,’ Kit says with a smile in his voice.

  ‘And you have to bring me straight home.’ I feel like an idiot for insisting on all these things. I’m pretty sure the girls he’s been with before didn’t give him lists of rules and regulations. Will he figure I’m not worth the trouble?

  ‘Fine,’ he says, then, after a pause, ‘Listen, are you OK with the whole prom thing?’

  I sit up. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You sure you want to go with me?’

  It takes me a moment to realize that he’s worried I don’t want him to be my date and I almost laugh out loud. ‘Yes,’ I say. Then I pause. ‘Are you OK being Didi’s date?’

  ‘Yeah, so long as she is.’

  ‘She’s fine with it,’ I say, then add, ‘Are you sure you want to come? I mean, it’s a high school prom. It’s probably going to suck.’

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ he asks. ‘Yes. I want to come.’ He breaks off. ‘To the prom that is.’

  I burst into a grin. ‘I knew what you meant.’ But now I can’t get the image out of my head of the other thing. I scrunch my eyes shut. No. Still won’t go anywhere.

  ‘On that note, I’m going to say goodnight,’ Kit says, laughing to himself.

  ‘Goodnight,’ I whisper, not wanting him to go, wishing he could stay on the line all night.

  ‘Sweet dreams,’ he murmurs in my ear.

  15

  Kit

  I’m not sure of the protocol for waiting outside a Catholic high school. I’m scared I’m about to be arrested for loitering or trying to solicit. It looks more like a prison than a school – red brick walls block the view, and the only thing visible beyond is the steeple. I can’t believe Jessa’s been going to school here for five years. No wonder she’s never skipped out for a day. I’d imagine they’d come looking for you. They probably stick spiked heads on the walls to warn students off even trying.

  I went to public school with over three thousand kids, so no one really gave a damn on the days I didn’t show up. And the days I did play truant tended to coincide with the days my dad was on a bender, so he didn’t care much either. Leaning back against the hood of the truck and staring up at the wrought iron gates in front of me, inscribed with some words that I’m guessing are Latin, I can’t help but feel like I’m breaking Jessa out of jail.

  At five to four the gates open as though visiting time is over and a gaggle of girls comes racing out. My eyes go blurry staring at the maroon plaid that fills my vision. How am I supposed to recognize her in this blaze of colour? But then I spot her. How could I have doubted for a moment that I wouldn’t recognize her? Even dressed identically to three hundred other girls, she stands out from the crowd.

  She hesitates at the gate, letting a stream of cars pass before she walks towards me, a small, shy smile on her lips. She’s holding a pile of books in her arms and her bag slung over one shoulder. Oh man. I’m down with the school uniform. Does that make me a dirty old man?

  She stops just in front of me and brushes her hair out of her face. She’s biting the bottom edge of her lip. Again she’s not wearing any make-up, but she doesn’t need to – her skin glows and her lips look good enough to eat. Before she can get a word in, I take her face between my hands and kiss her, completely forgetting where we are.

  Jessa opens her mouth almost immediately, inviting me in. I pull on her bottom lip with my teeth and she moans softly before jerking suddenly back out of my arms as though surprised at her own behaviour. A couple of girls walk past, staring at us over their shoulders, eyes round. I grin at them and they scurry on.

  ‘Sorry,’ I say, ‘I got carried away. It’s the uniform.’

  ‘Yeah,’ she says, giving me a sardonic little smile that wrinkles her nose. ‘Don’t tell me, you have a thing for Catholic school girls.’

  ‘I do now,’ I murmur, opening the door for her.

  She climbs in and I jog around to the driver’s side.

  ‘Where to?’ I ask.

  She shoots me a sideways look. ‘Home. I told you, I can’t be late.’

  I pull out into traffic and take her hand across the seat. It feels illicit, dangerous, as though we’re Bonnie and Clyde on the run. For a moment neither of us says anything. We’re still getting used to the newness of the situation. Jessa Kingsley is in my truck, wearing her school uniform, and all I can think about is tearing it off her.

  I ask her about her day and she starts filling me in on all the ridiculous rules, doing hilarious impressions of her teachers. This is the side to Jessa that I like the most, when she’s buzzing and happy and laughing freely. I never see her like this on her home turf where she’s usually on edge, eyes downcast, rarely smiling. And even out of the house, if she’s in a group, she has a habit of staying in the background and not making herself the centre of attention – it’s why it took me so long to notice her, I think. But when she’s like this she lights up a room. It’s like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.

  ‘Why are you grinning?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m just happy to see you,’ I say.

  ‘Me too,’ she answers, leaning across and kissing me on the cheek.

  ‘I wish I could take you somewhere now,’ I say, shooting her a sideways look. ‘Other than home, that is.’

  ‘Somewhere like where?’ she asks, a glint of mischief making her eyes shine.

  ‘Like somewhere for dinner. Or to the beach. Or the park.’

  ‘Well,’ Jessa says, stretching and giving me a flash of skin as her shirt rides up, ‘I’d rather go somewhere private.’

  I look across at her. Her skirt has hiked up too and I can see the tops of her thighs, tanned and seemingly endless. I put my hand on her knee and stroke the soft skin on the inside of her leg. She shifts ever so slightly towards me letting my thumb stroke higher and I almost swerve into oncoming traffic.

  Woah, hands on the wheel. I’m going to crash if this continues. Out the corner of my eye I see Jessa pulling off her tie and then . . . unbuttoning the top buttons of her shirt. What the . . . She starts fanning herself. ‘Don’t you have air con?’ she asks.

  ‘This truck’s older than me. Wind down the window.’

  She does and the wind blows in, ruffling her hair. I put my foot to the floor, overtake a slow driver, and then take the next right.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Jessa asks, sitting up straight.

  ‘A back way,’ I answer, ignoring her quizzical look.

  About eight blocks from her house I pull down a dead-end street that I know winds up at an empty lot. I pull the truck into the weed-covered driveway and kill the engine.

  ‘What are we doing here?’ Jessa asks before turning back to face me with raised eyebrows.

  I look at her sheepishly. Am I being presumptive? I don’t want her to think I’ve lured her here to have my wicked way, though there is definitely some truth in that hypothesis. ‘You want to go?’ I ask, suddenly worried.

  Her face transforms into a grin and I notice the freckles dancing across the bridge of her nose. ‘No,’ she says, looking at her watch. ‘We have fifteen minutes.’

  And before I can say a word she leans over and kisses me.

  I wrap my arm around her shoulder and kiss her back, letting my tongue explore her mouth, running my hand down her throat and through her hair, loosening it with my fingers and tugging out the elastic.

  Jessa starts tentatively, just like the other night, and I match my touch to hers, not wanting to rush her or make her feel pressured. She rests her hands on my shoulders, but as the kiss deepens and we both start to get lost in it, her fingernails bite into my skin and she curls her hand around my neck to pull me closer. Unable to stand it a second longer, I lift her across the seat and into my lap.

  She opens her eyes to look at me and I see the sheen of sweat across her brow, running down her neck, making the skin glisten across the top of her breasts.
I kiss the edge of her collarbone and she throws back her neck with a sigh. I keep kissing all the way up her neck until I reach her jaw and then I kiss a trail of heat all the way along to her ear, finding a particularly sensitive spot that makes her gasp loudly.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about this all day,’ I whisper in her ear.

  ‘Me too,’ she answers back.

  I move back to her lips, sure I won’t ever be able to get enough of them. She grips me by the shoulders and lifts up so she’s straddling me and suddenly I’m conscious of my erection. She is too because she looks at me, flushing, before quickly looking away. I wonder how intimate she’s been before with a guy.

  I take her face in my hands again, brushing her hair out the way, and kiss her gently now, softly, so she knows that I’m not getting carried away. Her hands stroke my hair and then my face, before moving down my chest. At my waist they linger before she slowly slides her fingertips beneath my T-shirt and starts to trace the lines across my stomach. My muscles contract in a shiver. She presses closer so my head is filled with the scent of her and kisses me deeper, her fingers meanwhile keeping up their steady exploration of my chest.

  I let her, keeping my own hands on her hips, just gently resting them there, not pulling her against me, though I’m aching to, and not letting them do any exploring of their own, though I’m aching to do that too.

  Her shirt rises up and my fingertips skim the soft skin at the edge of her waistband. I let them trace a few patterns but force myself not to go any further, just savouring the feel of her on my lap, the warmth and softness of her skin and lips. I totally lose track of time until I hear a car pulling down the road behind us.

  ‘Crap,’ I say. ‘I think we’re going to be late.’

  Jessa instantly disentangles herself from my arms, jumping out of my lap.

  ‘What time is it?’ she asks before remembering she’s wearing a watch. ‘Oh God, it’s four thirty. I need to get home.’

  I’m already starting the engine, though my foot is shaking on the gas and I need to rearrange my pants before I can drive anywhere. Jessa is too busy doing up her shirt buttons and smoothing down her hair to notice.

  I drop her a block from her house. She hops down from the truck and I lean across and kiss her goodbye. ‘Same time tomorrow?’

  ‘Same time and place,’ she answers, before slamming the door and running off.

  16

  Jessa

  ‘Who are you? What have you done with Jessa?’ Didi is looking at me suspiciously, one eye half-closed as she applies mascara.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ I ask as I yank off my tie and start undoing my shirt.

  ‘You . . . you just . . . you seem so . . .’ Didi pauses with the wand halfway to her eye. ‘Different,’ she pronounces.

  ‘Different how?’ I ask, glancing in the rear-view mirror to check no one is around before I pull off my shirt.

  ‘Well, you’re ditching school for one. The Jessa I know would never do that. I think Kit is a very bad influence of the very best kind.’

  ‘What?’ I ask, laughing and pulling a T-shirt on over my bra.

  ‘I like this new Jessa,’ Didi declares, tossing the mascara into her colossal make-up bag.

  ‘You didn’t like the old Jessa?’

  ‘Oh I did, I just think the new Jessa is happier.’ She turns to me, grabs my face between her hands and starts to apply lipstick to my lips. ‘She glows.’

  I pull a face, but Didi ignores me and keeps applying. I think about what she just said. She’s right. I am happier. And I do feel different. I feel fearless, or if not quite fearless, at least braver. And isn’t that a good thing? I’m tired of living my life always holding my breath, cowering as I wait for the bomb to blow. Being with Kit makes me feel alive, wired, excited. It’s like Didi said the other day at the beach – it feels like life is finally beginning after being stuck on pause for the last eighteen years.

  ‘OK, do this,’ Didi says, puckering her lips and blotting them together. I copy her. ‘There, perfect,’ she says, letting me go.

  I wriggle out of my school skirt, keeping my eyes on the wing mirror to check no one is walking past. I made Didi park two blocks from school. Kit’s due to meet me here in five minutes.

  ‘So do you think he’s going to take you somewhere and ravish you?’ Didi asks, her eyes bright with excitement. ‘Maybe he’s booked a motel room! Maybe by the time I pick you up this afternoon you won’t be a virgin!’

  I roll my eyes at Didi as I pull on a pair of shorts, but a shot of adrenaline races through me at the same time. Is that what he has planned?

  ‘What?’ Didi asks in mock offence. ‘You totally need to get on that. He’s leaving soon.’

  ‘Don’t remind me,’ I say.

  ‘Have you talked about it?’

  I shake my head. ‘No. Not yet.’ He’s met me every day after school and we’ve driven to the same spot and made out, each time cutting it closer and closer with the time, and each time I’ve felt like I’m about to explode out of my skin if we don’t do more than just kiss. ‘It hasn’t even been a week, Didi. I mean, I don’t even know how I feel about him or how he feels about me.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask him?’

  ‘And be that girl?’

  Didi shrugs.

  I sigh and slump back in my seat. ‘What’s the point? He’s leaving in three weeks.’ And what am I expecting, I feel like asking her, a declaration of love? I don’t want to find out I’m just another girl to him, so why bother asking? If I can only have these three weeks, then I want them to be magical and perfect and I don’t want to ruin them by asking him on day five where he sees things going. If I ask him that, I doubt things will be going anywhere.

  I’m just buttoning up my shorts when there’s a thump on the window. I jump, my heart rocketing against my ribs, half expecting to find my father or one of my teachers at the window demanding to know what I’m doing out of uniform, but it isn’t. It’s Kit.

  He gives me a sexy half-smile that turns my insides liquid and jerks his head, inviting me to get out the car.

  I turn to Didi. ‘OK, bye,’ I say in a rush.

  ‘Damn, he’s so hot he’d make an Abercrombie model weep,’ Didi whispers, looking over my shoulder at Kit. ‘You have to sleep with him.’ She hugs me. ‘That’s your mission for the day,’ she whispers in my ear.

  I roll my eyes at her again and, grabbing my bag, hop out. Kit picks me up and swings me around, his lips finding mine before I even have time to say hi. I only vaguely hear Didi honking her horn as she drives off.

  After a minute Kit lets me go, though his arms stay around my waist. We stare at each other for a few seconds, both smiling as though lost for words, and I’m struck anew, as I always am, by the colour of his eyes, how much they remind me of a summer sky. I know that whenever I think of Kit in the future I’ll think first of a summer day, because he makes me feel like I’m basking in sunshine, warmed through. He spins me around, takes my hand and marches us towards his truck.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I ask as soon as Kit starts the engine.

  ‘It’s a surprise,’ he answers.

  I grin and slide across the seat so I can wrap my hands around his arm. He’s wearing a grey T-shirt and I run my hand over his bicep and down his forearm. I still can’t quite believe I get to do this after fantasizing about it so often.

  About three blocks from where we started, Kit takes a left turn into a quiet residential street and parks up. I turn to him. ‘What are we doing here?’

  Kit doesn’t answer, he just pings his seatbelt and then opens his door.

  ‘What?’ I ask. ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Swap,’ he says. ‘You’re driving.’

  ‘What?’ I say again, panic gripping my insides. ‘I don’t know how.’

  ‘I know,’ he says. ‘I’m teaching you.’

  I stare at him, my mouth falling open, but he’s already heading around the front of the truck to my side
and I’ve got no choice but to scoot over to the driver’s side.

  He gets in. ‘You’ve got your learner’s permit, right?’

  I nod.

  ‘So we’re all good,’ he says, climbing into the passenger seat.

  I grip hold of the steering wheel. ‘I’m not sure this is such a good idea,’ I say, looking across at Kit nervously. ‘Are you insured?’

  ‘Yes, don’t worry,’ he says, grinning and resting his arm on the back of my seat. He runs me through the pedals, pointing out the clutch and the brake.

  ‘A stick shift?’ I say, pulling a face.

  ‘You gotta learn on a stick,’ he says. ‘No other way.’

  I swallow and stare at the dashboard. ‘OK, I can do this.’

  ‘You can do this – it’s easy, like riding a bike.’

  ‘Except I can only kill myself riding a bike.’

  Kit rests his hand on my shoulder. ‘You’re going to do fine. You need to learn how to drive.’

  He’s right about that, and if I wait for my father to buy me a car or agree to lessons I’ll be waiting until I’m old enough to retire. I turn to face the road and take a deep breath. ‘OK,’ I say.

  Kit shows me how to start the engine and put the truck into gear. He puts his hand on my leg to show me which one to use for the clutch, and my leg jerks up on reflex making me stall. We start again, and this time he doesn’t touch me, he just points. I ease away from the kerb and before I know it I’m driving at eight miles an hour.

  ‘OK, a little more gas,’ Kit suggests and as I push my foot to the floor we start bunny-hopping down the street.

  ‘Second gear,’ Kit says.

  I ram the gear stick down into second and then into third, Kit helping me out by putting his hand over mine.

  After half an hour of driving up and down residential streets, Kit shows me how to park, then he gets me to swap sides with him.

  My pulse is racing and my legs trembling. ‘I just drove a car!’ I say as he moves off.

  ‘You did. And you were pretty good at it,’ he says. ‘You’re going to take your test before I leave.’