First Loves: A Collection of Three YA Novels

by Jolene Perry

  Dread starts to seep in. How will I explain Hélèna to Amber or Amber to Hélèna? “It’s pronounced Ellen-ah, Dad. She’s French.” It’s all I can say right now.

  “Well, I would’ve said something sooner if I thought you didn’t know.”

  Hélèna. In a Prius. And me without a decent haircut since I got here. Also, I’ve totally let myself go, wearing nothing but t-shirts and jeans. It’s just…in Podunk, Washington, what the hell else am I supposed to do? “You know what her flight info is?” I ask.

  “Check your email, son.” Dad smiles and then continues typing away. Guess that’s my dad’s version of an ‘I told you so.’

  My email’s a mess. I have over a thousand unread messages. I do a search for Hélèna’s address and come up with the letters from her. I don’t look at what she wrote—just scan until I see her flight info. Shit. I have three hours to get ready and make the hour and a half drive to pick her up.

  What about Amber? The thought scrapes around in my head as I shower and shave. Do I tell her? Do I not tell her? Is she speaking to me? I mean, I think she is. It was weird when she left last night, but she said she’d call, and it’s noon, and she hasn’t. What does that mean? Now I’m pulling out clothes and trying to find something worthy of Hélèna. When I start to take off my third pair of jeans I realize I’ve practically lost my balls. No one but girls should spend this much time worrying about relationships and getting ready to go out.

  I grab my wool coat and step into the living room. “I’ll be back… I don’t know, later.”

  “You look good. Back to your New York self.” Dad leans back, still in front of his laptop.

  “Thanks. I thought I’d take her to dinner or something, while we’re still in Seattle.”

  “Sounds good. We’ll see you when we see you. If you’re going to be past midnight, I’d like a call.”

  “Okay.” And this is the cool thing about Dad. He really does treat me like an adult, or an equal, or something. It’s nice. Makes me feel good.

  My phone’s in my pocket in case Hélèna calls, or Amber calls, and I really hate that these two girls keep ending up in the same freaking sentence.

  Amber’s not on the docks, and I drive by the coffee place to see if she’s there. She isn’t. Guess we’ll talk later.

  For the first time since I got here, I kind of hope she doesn’t call. I need some time to get my head on straight so I know what to say.

  - - -

  Hélèna looks like she always does—too cool to talk to, and too beautiful to touch. Her short dark hair is shiny and flawless, even after her long flight. She’s perpetually in heels and the tightest jeans she can fit her tiny ass into.

  “Antony!” Her hand comes up in a small wave. Her Louis Vuitton is bigger than she is, and I have no idea where I’ll put the thing once we’re on the boat.

  “Bonjour.” I lean in to kiss her cheek, but her lips meet mine.

  And Hélèna knows me, knows my body, my mouth. Before I can make a coherent thought to step away our tongues are swirling together in the way she taught me.

  “Merci.” She cocks a brow as she pulls back. Her elfin face and smooth lips looking nothing but smug. “Tu veux parler français?”

  It’ll feel good to speak in French. I’ve used no language but English since arriving. “We can speak French if you like.” My accent’s sloppy, but not terrible.

  “Very nice, I’m glad to see you haven’t lost your touch…in anything.” She winks.

  “I don’t. I mean, I can’t…” But now I’m not sure what words to use, even if we were speaking in English. How do I tell her no kissing? No touching? I have someone else?

  “So, Antony is living on a boat with his estranged father.”

  “Yes.”

  “You need to start answering your emails.” She raises her brows.

  “I know.” And as we walk toward the car, I realize that Hélèna and I really are friends. We’re more than that, or we have been until now, but at the core of our relationship, we’re friends. Funny that I didn’t really see that past all the other stuff we do together. Sometimes the physical feelings sort of take over the rest of it.

  “I’m so sorry about your mother. I know you don’t want to hear that, but I really am. No one had a cooler mom than you.” Her hand pulls my arm more tightly.

  “Thanks.”

  “You feel different.” She pushes her lower lip in a pout.

  “What do you mean?” Even though I sort of do. Normally I’m a shameless flirt around her, knowing how we’ll be finishing off our evening.

  “I mean, usually I can’t keep your lips or hands off me.”

  “Have you ever tried?” I tease. The moment the words are out, I know I shouldn’t have said them. I just don’t know how to be around Hélèna as just friends. It’s not how we are.

  She laughs. The open-mouth carefree laugh that only she can do.

  We stop next to the car. “It’s Dad’s,” I explain.

  “I live in Paris. Everyone has small cars, remember? Or has it been too long since you’ve come to see me?”

  “Too long, chérie.” I kiss her cheek as I open the car door.

  The way she looks at me is questioning. If I didn’t have Amber, I’d probably have pinned her against the car and kissed her until she begged for breath. And I will have to find a way to stop having these thoughts if I don’t want to screw up. Though, I kind of already have. It adds to the constant weight in my chest. I push it down with all the stuff I can’t deal with right now.

  Louis fits in the trunk. Miraculously, and after folding down the backseat. Maybe after she unpacks, Louis can stay out here. My chest sinks. How long will she want to stay?

  “You okay?” she asks as I take the driver’s seat.

  “You’re aware of the accommodations?”

  “A sailboat. An Oyster. They’re nice.” She smiles, resting a hand on the inside of my thigh. Very high. “I’m sure we’ll find room.”

  I’m strung up so tight I almost run into two cars on our way out of the lot, but how do I tell her to move her hand when it’s usually me seeing what I can get away with?

  “You look older, Antony.”

  “I am older.” I allow myself to glance at her. Nearly black hair, incredible jaw line. She knows she’s the perfect stereotype of the hot French girl who lives in Paris. She loves every glance, every look, and has always, always, been older than her actual age. Her mother is single, wealthy from I don’t know what, and seems to always know people in high places.

  “You know what I mean.”

  I do know what she means. She means because of Mom, and I have to stop the thought there, because crying in front of Hélèna is not an option.

  I take her to the restaurant Dad, Lynn, Amber and I all went to. All I can think about is Amber’s legs. Hélèna keeps telling me how sorry she is that she didn’t come sooner, that I look lost. I try to brush it off. My mouth opens to tell her about Amber, but I can’t. It won’t work.

  Hélèna’s twenty-one. She drinks a bottle of four hundred dollar wine with our dinner. She even tries to pick up the check.

  We get curious looks all through dinner. We continue speaking French. It feels great. Hélèna and I always speak French together. Mom didn’t speak well enough to keep up, especially with the amount of odd slang Hélèna’s always used.

  We head for Dad’s car. Again, she stands by the passenger’s door, waiting for me to make a move on her. She slowly lowers to sitting when I don’t.

  “I’m so tired.” She leans the chair back as I climb in.

  “Go to sleep.” I rub her shoulder a few times.

  “You’ll have to carry me when we get there.”

  “I think I can manage.” I smirk. But as soon as I do, I realize I’m falling back into our flirtation again, which I really need to quit. I just don’t know how to be around her in any other way.

  “There you are.” Her finger touches my dimple. “My Antony.” Her eyes close
and she drifts off as I drive.

  I’m wound up tighter than I’ve ever been. What am I going to tell Amber? What will I say to Hélèna? This whole thing is a disaster. I pick up my phone and flip it in my hands, knowing I need to call Amber, knowing I need to try and explain, but I don’t know how to do that when Hélèna’s sleeping in the passenger’s seat.

  I’m pretty sure I’m screwed here.

  - - -

  Hélèna’s still asleep or passed out when I get back. I grab her trunk first and haul it onto the boat.

  “Wow.” Dad’s brows go up as I lower the trunk in.

  “You’ll see why tomorrow.” Because Hélèna will look impeccable, even though we’re in small-town, Washington. She’ll stick out here as someone who definitely doesn’t belong, but she won’t care a bit. In fact, she’ll thrive on it.

  I walk past Amber’s boat, and almost knock, but chicken out and continue up to the car.

  I pull Hélèna out of the car and cradle her in my arms. It makes me feel strong, like a man. Good. Her head lolls against my chest.

  “I sorry, Antony. Drank too much at dinner.” Her voice is soft and sloppy.

  “I got ya.” I chuckle. “You weigh nothing.”

  It’s tricky getting through the door and I walk very slowly down the ramp and nearly run into Amber.

  My first instinct is to drop Hélèna, but she’s miraculously still in my arms. Amber and I stand, still staring, my heart banging this moment into my memory.

  “I didn’t know Hélèna was coming. I found out hours ago.” I shift to make sure I don’t drop her, and she’s incredibly still asleep against me.

  “Antony.” Hélèna’s hands clasp me more tightly, but her head’s still solidly resting on my, and her body’s still limp.

  Bad timing.

  “Long enough to drive all the way to the airport, hang out in Seattle, and carry her to your boat without calling?” Why does Amber have to be so impossible to read? Is she mad? Really mad? Hurt? Frustrated? I don’t know how to tell.

  “Shit. I should have called. I didn’t know what to say.” My heart’s hammering so loud, I’m worried I won’t hear her if she says anything to me.

  “You don’t have to say anything.” Amber steps around me and starts up the ramp.

  I can’t very well yell with Hélèna in my arms. “Amber please. She’s just a friend.”

  She spins at the halfway point, her eyes narrow. “Oh, I remember the arrangement you have with Hélèna.”

  “Amber…” I start toward her. But the whole damn situation is ridiculous. I can’t very well chase one girl while carrying another. Shit.

  Amber slams the metal gate door behind her, and I continue to Dad’s boat. It’s all I can think of to do.

  Getting up the back of the boat is tricky. It’s a good thing Hélèna’s so small.

  I kick the door a couple times before Dad opens it up.

  “Some help?” I ask.

  “Oh.” His brows go up. “Is she okay?”

  “She can’t sleep on planes, and I know she’s been traveling forever. She also had too much to drink at dinner.”

  “How did she manage that?”

  “She’s older than me. Twenty-one.” I carefully step down the stairs and lay her on my bed, next to Louis. There’s nowhere else on the boat that trunk would fit.

  “Antony.” She rubs her face. “Aides-moi avec mes vêtements.” Help me with my clothes.

  I ignore her request, take off her ridiculously high heels, and slide the blankets over her.

  “Merci.”

  “Bonsoir.” I touch her hair before stepping out of the room and closing the door behind me.

  “Well…” Dad breathes out.

  “That’s Hélèna.” Stupid thing to say since it’s pretty obvious.

  “I guessed.”

  “I’ll be right back.” I take two steps to the door.

  “Where you going?”

  “I ran into Amber on the way here.”

  “Carrying Hélèna?” His brows go up.

  “Yeah.”

  He nods. I run.

  I knock on her boat door first. No one’s there. I scan the parking lot, but she isn’t there either. I start toward the coffee shop. I’m not sure what time it is, or if they’re still open. Amber’s walking with Kent and Brit.

  “Hey!” I throw my hands up in the air as she turns around. I swear just speaking French with Hélèna for a few minutes brings it all back. The French asshole guy stuff. “So, did this happen before or after?” I gesture between her and Kent.

  “Before or after what?” Amber puts her hands on her hips. “You not calling?”

  Shit.

  “I don’t know why you think you’re better than me in this situation!” She’s just standing there, with stupid Kent, and his stupid grin that I really want to punch off his face.

  “I didn’t know she was coming!” We’re thirty feet apart on the sidewalk. Half of me wants to grab her and kiss her the way I always want to kiss her, and the rest of me wants to turn around and walk away from the work and exhaustion and the wholesomeness that’s Amber.

  “Well I planned this study session, for Biology, a class you’re not in, over a week ago!” Her face is in a true scowl now.

  I rub my hands roughly over my face. “Amber, I just want to talk for a minute.”

  “We’re going to study, Antony.” She lets out this long, exhausted breath that makes my stomach sink. “You and I can talk tomorrow.” She turns and they continue up the street. Together.

  “Tomorrow,” I say. If I live that long.

  - - -

  “Looks like you’re in a pickle.” Dad chuckles as I step back into the boat.

  “It’s just… I don’t…” I have no idea what to say.

  “Sorry.” Dad’s arm goes over my shoulders. “I didn’t mean to make light. You do realize how many guys your age would die to have two beautiful girls after them, right?”

  “Only because they don’t know what it’s like.” I press my fingers into my eyes, as if the pressure will force some brilliant idea to come to mind.

  “You’ll do the right thing. You’ll figure it out.”

  “Well, I’m glad one of us thinks so.”

  “I’m guessing you’ll take the couch tonight?”

  “Definitely.” And there will probably be very little sleep involved.

  “Night, Antony. Let me know if I can get you anything.”

  “A drink?”

  He frowns. “I don’t mind a drink once in a while, but don’t use it. Make sense?”

  “Makes sense. I’m gonna try to crash.” Guess that means no drink.

  I lie in bed feeling torn. I shouldn’t be torn. I know how I feel about Amber. It’s deeper. It’s more. It’s different. But Hélèna and I have this connection, too. I miss my old life, a lot. More than I realized. I like how polished she is. Maybe the difference is that Amber makes me work, and at the same time, she doesn’t make me work. I want to do it. To do what it takes to be with her.

  Amber is exciting in a completely different way. I would always feel like Hélèna was only half with me. When Amber’s in the same room as me, she’s completely there, with me. Maybe that’s really all the answer I need. I pull my phone out.

  MISS U

  And hit send.

  R U SURE U HAVE THE RGHT GIRL?

  That one hits my gut. She’s mad.

  ABSOLUTELY SURE

  K - SEE U TOMORROW

  TOMORROW. AND I DO MISS U

  THX

  Will that short interchange help me sleep? Probably not.

  I lie back and close my eyes. Nope. Not going to help me sleep. My body refuses to let go of the tension. I stand up and go to my room to crack the door. Hélèna’s unmoved from where I left her. Why is she here? If she was going to come because of Mom, I’d have seen her in New York. I’m not sure why it suddenly feels weird that she made the trip, but it does. It’s both like and unlike her to just drop in t
his way. She never plans too far ahead, but it also feels like she’s looking for something. Hopefully it’s not me.

  Eighteen

  How Hélèna manages to crash and still look practically perfect while sleeping is beyond me. I’ve been up for a while, and she hasn’t moved. This buys me some time to find Amber and try to explain something I don’t understand.

  She’s not on her boat. She’s not at the coffee place. As I wander back down to the docks I notice her truck is gone. My chest sinks. Great.

  Now I guess I’ll have to face Hélèna, who I also don’t know how to talk to, or even how to be around since most of our normal activities are sort of off-limits.

  I send Amber another text.

  PLEASE CALL OR COME BY AS SOON AS YOU’RE BACK

  I wait and wait, but get no response.

  Perfect.

  I sit on a bench in the parking lot, trying to pretend I just like the bench and not that I’m desperate for Amber. But I sort of am. I’m being stretched and pulled in too many directions to make a good decision about anything. I know it’s rude to leave Hélèna alone on the boat, but I still don’t know what to say to her or how to handle her, or if I can even say “handle” when I’m talking about a girl or if it’s something I should be giving myself a black eye over.

  And then there’s Amber who I just want to hold and force to understand how I feel. But I can do neither because we’re not in a great place for talking, much less holding. What sucks is that I have no idea how Amber’s feeling because I’ve never felt that way, but I do know I made her uncomfortable and that me carrying Hélèna didn’t help things any.

  If Mom was here, she’d know what to tell me, but I can’t think about Mom. It starts churning around all the stuff I’ve been shoving away.

  At somewhere between one and two in the afternoon, I give up and go back to the boat.

  Hélèna steps out of the room as I come in, stretching her lean arms over her head.

  “Bonjour.” She blinks a few times in sleepiness.

  “Bonjour.”