First Loves: A Collection of Three YA Novels

by Jolene Perry

  Amber’s hand on my shoulder makes me jump. There’s way too much floating around in me right now. Amber, stupid Kent, Mom, Dad, missed opportunities.

  Her face softens. “You okay?” she whispers.

  “Missed a lot of time with my dad. That’s all.” And for the first time it feels like a loss of something, not a relief.

  “Sorry.” Her hand runs along my back and down my arm before letting it go. Her eyes, again, in my gut. If we were alone, I’d kiss her right now. We both lean slightly in. My eyes float to her soft lips, smooth chin. My hand itches to touch her skin, her cheek, her neck, her…

  “Cards tonight?” Dad’s voice makes both of us jump this time.

  Amber laughs out the nerves I feel.

  “Sounds great.”

  Only kind of great. How on earth am I going to ever be alone with this girl? And the worse thought, what if she’s still not sure? Or what if she’s decided she likes Kent after all? The annoying guy who sends her stupid, funny emails.

  - - -

  Amber and I are on a small island around a large campfire built for the people on boats anchored here. We left our parents behind because they seemed in need of some private time. She joins in the boating conversation with the group; talking in a language I’m only beginning to understand. I’m enjoying just watching and listening tonight. Very few people live on their boats. Most come out for a week or two here and there throughout the year. That seems a lot more normal to me.

  We’ve been out here for hours. The sky is now black, and the last few people return to their boats, leaving just Amber and me by the fire. Without meaning to, I’m watching her. The orange light of the fire sends shadows and light across her skin, her face, her hair. Her knees are pulled up, and her arms clutch her legs. She’s cold.

  I pull in a deep breath. This should be easy, right? Just scoot over and offer her some added warmth. But it doesn’t feel easy. The small scoot between us might as well be a brick wall. Why is she so different? This situation so different? I think briefly about Gem at the party. What can I do for you, Antony? I think about Hélèna, my first in a lot of experiences. A LOT of experiences. She looked over at me. You’re thinking about being with me, aren’t you? Do you want to know what it’s like?

  I followed her to my room at Arnaud’s place. We spent all night, her showing me how to touch her, her touching me. She loved it, and as kind of freaked out as I was, she made it all no big deal. She kept telling me it was no big deal. She’d done it all before. She’s three years older than me.

  But now, here I am, looking at Amber who’s only a couple feet away, and feels like a mile.

  “You cold?” I ask. But my voice sounds all weird and squeaky, betraying how nervous I am.

  Her eyes meet mine. “Just the side of me that’s not against the fire.”

  Now what? I have to move. Now. Move. “Can I scoot in?”

  “Sure.” But her eyes don’t meet mine.

  I slide behind her, put a leg on each side and rest my arms around her waist. It takes her a minute, but she leans back against me. And the relief makes me weak. This is okay. She’s okay with this. With me. There’s this bubble of comfort around her that I don’t totally understand. It’s that her optimistic thinking rubs off or soaks in or something, because I relax into her warmth. I never thought just sitting with a girl would ever make me feel this good.

  She takes my hands in hers and pulls my arms more tightly around her, adding warmth and bringing us even closer together.

  I open my mouth to say something a few times but can’t manage it. It’s like as soon as I start to talk, my throat lumps up. Feeling something so real for Amber brings Mom to the surface. The pain’s still too raw and spills over into everything else I feel. Sucks cause I don’t want what I feel for Amber to mix with that, or to be so heavy. Girls are supposed to feel good, light.

  Hoping she follows, I lean back on the log behind me. She does, scooting to her side and resting her cheek on my chest. I wish it wasn’t so cold, and we weren’t wearing so many layers because I want to feel her skin. But her weight is good, too.

  The waves on the rocks makes this rhythmic, soothing sound. The dark comes in around us even closer as the fire continues to die, but I still can’t bring myself to want to move.

  “I think it’s time to head back.” She sits up.

  “Wait, I…” My hand reaches out and touches her shoulder.

  She spins to face me. And this is it. This is when I get to feel her lips against mine. I lean forward, brushing her cheek.

  “Stop.” Her hand touches my chest. “I need you to think about whether this is actually what you want, or not.” Our faces are close, less than a foot apart. Even in the dark her eyes sparkle.

  “What are you kidding me?” I lean back. Doesn’t she know how she’s been making me crazy?

  “No.” She chuckles, but it’s forced. I know her well enough to know that. “Just. If you still want this in a few days, tell me.”

  “I thought I’d been making it pretty obvious for the past few days,” I say, leaning forward again.

  The dying fire makes a few last pops and gasps for air. The darkness is closing in, and the near silence is overwhelming.

  “You scare me.” She stares down at her fingers tracing patterns in the dirt. “I’m afraid to trust you.”

  “But you know me better than anyone.” I’ve never let myself get this close to a girl before, ever, and I’ve done a lot of stuff with girls. It doesn’t make any sense.

  “And I think that makes you really uncomfortable.”

  I open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes out. She’s right. “Fair enough. But for the record? I’m going a little crazy.”

  Even in the dim light I can see her cheeks turn pink. “Sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. You can’t help it.” My fingers slide down her cheek again, and this time she doesn’t pull away.

  I guess everything with her will be small steps, but she’ll be worth it in the end. I think. At least we’re heading in the right direction.

  Thirteen

  I step out onto the deck to feel the warmth from the sun. The light stabs at my eyes, and I stumble until I find a seat next to the table. I grab a cereal box, not paying attention to what I’m pouring in my bowl.

  “Morning,” Amber calls.

  I jerk my head up to see Lynn and Amber standing on the front of the bow. My jaw drops. Drops. Amber’s in a teeny turquoise bikini. On a boat, in the winter, in a bikini. I mean, it’s sunny, and not freezing or anything, but it’s not exactly warm either.

  “You coming in?” Lynn asks.

  “No way.” I shake my head. Besides, I’d rather watch your daughter.

  “Sun coast. The water’s warm.” Amber smiles.

  Keep your eyes on her face, on her face, on her face. But as soon as she turns away from me, I stare at her toned body. She’s strong. Her arms are toned from handling the sails and her body’s muscled from running. Not as skinny as New York girls try to be. She’s healthy, smooth. I shift in my seat, keeping my lap under the table. No point in embarrassing myself in pajama shorts.

  Dad kicks my foot. I jerk my eyes to catch his. An eyebrow rises.

  I shrug. Who in their right mind wouldn’t look at that?

  I turn just in time to watch her take a leaping dive off the front of the boat into the water. Both Amber and her mom come up sputtering and laughing.

  Dad and I step up to the side to watch. The water’s clear. I can see the rocks way down at the bottom, small flecks of silver fish, and Amber’s body, almost every inch of it.

  “She’s a pretty girl,” Dad whispers.

  “So’s her mom.” My eyes catch his.

  “That she is.” He breathes out.

  I want to press it further, ask him about her, but I don’t. Here we are, two guys, staring at our girls in the water. Knowing he’s probably feeling the same thing as me in this moment helps. Gives us something in common. Something
he can relate to in a way that a mom never could.

  “Still cold, ain’t it, babe?” Dad’s laughing.

  “Join us and find out!” Lynn hollers back.

  “It’s freezing, but worth it!” Amber’s smile fills her face as she rolls onto her back, exposing her stomach.

  And I die a little with wanting to touch her.

  Her eyes close as she lays her head back and floats.

  “I really think we should join them,” Dad whispers.

  And I never thought I’d ever jump off Dad’s boat into the ocean, but it’s suddenly sounding like a perfect idea.

  I’m in pajama shorts. Good enough. I strip off my shirt and stand as tall as I can. I mean, seriously, it may make me sound like a jerk, but I look pretty good with my shirt off. Until coming here, I’ve always worked out pretty hard. I stand on the end of the boat and try not to think about how freezing the water’s going to be when I hit. I glance to my right and Amber’s staring, just like I wanted her to. I take a strong dive off the front, headfirst into the water.

  The cold slices through me like daggers, and I come up sputtering just like they did.

  Amber laughs. The freeness of it fills me up. Mom would love this, and just like that, the lead’s back in my chest. Because Mom’s not here to share this.

  “You’re a bit of a show-off, diving like that.” Laughter laces all through her words.

  But I can’t answer. I’m choking on missing Mom again. I let my head slide under the water, but don’t sink the way I want. Not in salt water.

  Was this what dying was like? Cold? Piercing? Silent? Or was it flames? Burning? Suffocation?

  When my head breaks the surface Amber’s close. Dad and Lynn are in some water fight on the other side of the boat.

  I’m suddenly fighting not to cry. Mom should be here, jumping off this sailboat, breathing, alive. This is not a good time for me to feel this way. Not that there’s ever a good time.

  I take a deep breath, go back underwater, and swim for the ladder. I stay under until my lungs burn, and I start feeling that weird tight forehead feeling I get just before passing out. My face breaks the surface, and I gasp in for air.

  “You okay?” Amber calls.

  But I don’t have the voice to answer. I should. I can breathe. I’m alive. But words won’t come.

  All I want is to push down the weight, the sadness. Death plays over and over in my head and I want that to go away, too. But I don’t know how to get rid of the weight, or the sadness or the thought of your mom is dead.

  I pull myself out of the water and go straight for my bathroom. Head. Whatever. My hands are shaking, and I keep holding my breath, as if that somehow will help me keep in the pressure of the pain I’m feeling.

  I stand in the hot shower for longer than I should. Water on the boat’s a big deal, but right now I don’t care. I slide into sweats and a plain white t-shirt and lie down on my back. My knees are up, and I stare at the ceiling with my hands resting under my head.

  How do I get rid of the heaviness of death? The craziest things bring this on. Ordering a coffee. Standing on the beach. Jumping into the ocean. It’s all random. I can’t figure out a way to avoid everything that’ll pierce me like this. Not when I don’t know what they are.

  I pull out my phone. I haven’t been answering anyone, so I haven’t been hearing from anyone. Nothing. I don’t even want to see my email inbox right now.

  There’s a soft knock on my door.

  “What.” It comes out sharper than I mean it to. I just have no idea how to make nice with anyone right now.

  “Your dad and my mom are occupying the other shower. Do you mind?” Amber’s standing with her towel around her waist, in her swimsuit top, shivering in my doorway.

  I half leap to sitting, and then all I want to do is touch her. That would make this go away. Make me forget for a while. “Yeah. Sure.”

  She has to walk right next to me—my room being the size of a large cardboard box and all. I reach out and let my fingers touch her side and then her back as she passes. She gives me a wary glance over her shoulder as she steps in my bathroom, closing the door behind her.

  Why can’t she be like other girls I’ve been with? The kind who would look at me and say, Antony, you look so sad. And then rub their hands over me and take off their top, or put my hands on their bare waist or something. Even a hug. Instead I get a wary look from Amber. Why does she think I’m this big of a jerk?

  I pull out my phone and send Hélèna a text as the shower turns on. And yeah, okay, I know this is kind of an asshole thing to do, but seriously, I can only take so much.

  I MISS YOU

  She answers immediately.

  MAYBE I’LL SEE YOU SOON

  JE L’AIMERAI

  And I would love it. A smile spreads wide across my face. Okay, so maybe Amber’s right to think I’m a jerk, but a visit from Hélèna, especially when Amber’s still so distant, sounds about perfect.

  Amber uses a nice small, responsible amount of water. The weight of disappointment adds to the rest of the weight when she comes out fully dressed.

  “Can I hang with you in here?” she asks. “Our parents get all crazy on each other when they let themselves, and I don’t think I could stomach it.”

  “I won’t be good company.” Mostly I’ll be staring at you, wishing I could have something that’s apparently off-limits and wishing I didn’t miss my mom so much.

  “I’m in the middle of another good book.” She winks.

  Right, she’s reading mine. “Sure.”

  In two minutes her head is on the opposite side of my bed and she’s stretched out on one side, and I’m stretched out on the other. She lounges with her kindle resting on a knee so she can read. I try not to watch her, but do anyway, glancing over my iPad every few minutes.

  She twirls this loose strand of hair without conscious thought. Her lips press together occasionally, and every once in a while, her eyebrows twitch. It’s killing me to not know what she’s thinking.

  Dad’s chuckle from the other room is followed by her mom’s flirtatious laughter, and now I know what Amber meant, because they sound like a couple of kids chasing each other. When I look back toward Amber, she’s watching me. Her blue eyes look soft, and suddenly her whole demeanor changes as her face pulls into a smirk.

  “Told you they got obnoxious.”

  I nod once in response, every part of my body wishing she was closer. She’s back into the book, but her leg rests off to the side and touches mine. It’s casual but so much. It sends waves through me. Never has something so relaxed on a girl’s part, made me so tense on mine.

  “Sorry.” She jerks her leg up.

  “It’s fine.” I reach out, touch the inside of her knee and relax her leg back down.

  Now, instead of smiling and making eye contact, like I’d do with anyone else. I pick my iPad back up and continue reading. I think that showing her I want her here will only scare her further away. It feels like I’m doing everything opposite of what I normally do with girls.

  After about 30 minutes, our legs are a tangled mess between us, and I can’t think about it too much because getting excited with her here, and while I’m in loose knit sweatpants, probably won’t help my cause of getting closer.

  For me, us sitting here in our hang out clothes, legs together, is way more personal than kissing. To Amber it isn’t. But it leads up to it. I hope.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have sent the text to Hélèna.

  - - -

  “The girls went to town,” Dad says.

  “I figured.” We’re outside of some small city in British Columbia. If the girls aren’t on the boat, they’ll be shopping for food or books.

  “I need to change one of the batteries. It’s not charging. I could use some help.” Dad pulls a few small tools out from under the sink.

  “From me?” I ask. To change batteries?

  “Yeah.” Dad chuckles as he looks up from where he’s crouched on the f
loor. “From you.”

  “Uh…okay.” How the hell am I supposed to help him with a project like this?

  Dad tugs on a small metal nub on the floor and pulls up a huge board, taking away a panel. There’s a large bank of eight batteries below us.

  “How do you know which one to change?” I ask. I don’t even know where to start with a project like this.

  “The boat tells me.” He smirks. “Otherwise, we’d be down here with electrical testers to figure it out.”

  I don’t even want to know what that entails.

  “Here.” He hands me a flashlight. Flashlights I can do. Electricity…not so much.

  Dad climbs down into the hole. It’s almost as deep as his waist. He’s standing on first layer of the hull underneath us.

  “Is that fiberglass?” I ask.

  “Oh.” He looks from the battery to his feet. “Yeah.”

  “So, we’re on a kind of plastic boat?” I chuckle. I hadn’t really thought about it.

  “Kind of.” He pulls the battery from its spot and hoists it to me.

  I nearly drop it when I take it from him. The thing is heavy—like 20 textbooks in a square the size of a loaf of bread.

  “I need the light again,” he says.

  Right. I pick the flashlight back up, and Dad sets the new battery in place. “I don’t like the idea of owning a boat where the individual pieces don’t float if we were to be dashed apart on the rocks or something.”

  “Dashed apart on the rocks?” I force out another chuckle, but it’s not really funny. It never struck me as a possibility. Maybe it should have.

  “You know.” He stands. “In bad weather, or whatever. I like that even if the boat were filled with water, it’d still float.”

  “Oh.” Wait. “So, maybe I’m about to sound stupid here.”

  Dad laughs. “We all sound stupid sometimes.”

  “Great, thanks.” Back to my thought. “How do metal boats float?”

  “Displacement.”

  “What?”

  “Concrete can float, if it displaces enough water.”

  “So it’s just a matter of area, or space or whatever,” I say.