Kissing In Cars

by Sara Ney

  Me: rick is a P-I-G pig!

  Tasha: he needs 2 b spayed and neutered

  Me: wanna work on project 2gether?

  Tasha: ttlly :)

  Excellent. Now if Rick decides to bug me about it again, I have a legitimate excuse.

  I spend the rest of the class period rolling my eyes as Rick tries to impress me by constantly raising his hand. Each time he does, he glances back with a deliberate expression of self-satisfaction. What he thinks he knows is beyond me. I can't help but find it amusing, and if I had a blog I'd totally write about it. I guess since I haven't had an actual boyfriend since, well - freshman year - I should be somewhat flattered. But...I am not.

  Not. At. All.

  After forty-five long minutes, the bell finally rings. I'm not one of those students that has all my supplies packed up before the class officially ends, so I'm still sitting at my desk gathering my things when most of the students have piled out of the room. Even Rick has fled.

  I take my time, entering the hallway full of bustling students. It's somewhat of a crush, but as I move down the corridor greeting friends along the way, a smile spreads across my face.

  You know the scenes in the movies where the girl is walking down the hallway and suddenly everything is in slow motion because the boy she's fantasizing about sees her and turns to watch her from his locker? And sometimes in the movie a slight breeze blows, causing the girls hair to blow around her face, making her appear incredibly hot? Well, that's exactly what I'm going to pretend is happening to me right now.

  Every fiber of my being urges me to look away because, okay, I'm panicking a little.

  Because seriously just like the few times before, Weston's dark eyes are watching me so intently my skin is getting hot.

  He's got one arm raised up over his head, bracing himself against his open locker door, and my eyes trail down to the waistband of his dark jeans, which hang low on his hips exposing a slice of his washboard abs. Don't stare at his abs, don't stare at his abs I chant inside my head. Then...Please don't let me neck get red, please don't let my neck get red. My eyes quickly roam his body and I notice he's returning the favor.

  His eyes are raking over my body, too. I silently give thanks for my great boobs and long reddish hair, because he obviously appreciates it. Thank you mother for the wonderful genes.

  I tilt my head and look him directly in the eyes, smiling warmly.

  He cocks an eyebrow, obviously taken off guard.

  I resist the urge to smirk in satisfaction.

  I pass by and can feel his gaze trailing after me. When I turn my head to focus on walking, I run smack into a solid chest. Great. Just freaking great. Rick Stevens of all people, probably on his way to Weston's locker, since Rick follows Weston pretty much everywhere like a puppy dog. The books in my arms get jostled loose, falling to the floor. I don't wait for Rick to help me (mostly because he's such an ass), bending at the knees to pick them up.

  And instead of being a gentleman, the swine Rick stands there and begins to feign a moaning sound, gyrating his hips and loudly groaning out "Oh yeah baby...give it to me," while my face is level with his crotch.

  I have a strong urge to punch him in the balls.

  Here's a million dollar question: how does this nimrod manage to get dates?

  Rick has this bad-boy persona that has girls falling all over themselves to get close to him. In my opinion (and trust me on this one) he looks like Kevin's brother Buzz from Home Alone - you know, the chubby brother with the buzz hair cut? Yeah. When you think Rick Stevens, think Buzz.

  If the guy wasn't a hockey player he could kiss his free ticket to, well...you know...goodbye.

  Because at River Glen High School, hockey players far surpass everybody as royalty.

  They are treated like teenage Gods.

  "Oh come on," Rick laughs. It seems like he's laughing at himself, but he's actually laughing at me. I know exactly what he's thinking; that I'm a prude. My face has got to be bright red because I can feel it burning.

  I look over at Weston.

  He's watching the exchange intently, his mouth in a hard line but saying nothing.

  Interesting.

  I shift to get around Rick, but he blocks my path like the hockey defenseman that he is. "So listen, I was thinking. You. Me. Friday night." He is pointing back and forth in between our bodies.

  "Rick, look, I'm really flattered..."

  "Of course you are," he interrupts me.

  "...but I'm not going out with you Friday. Or, um, ever." I actually whisper this last part because to be honest, I'm a little scared. Rick is an intimidating guy. Tall, maybe 5'10. Big and a tad chubby. Buzz haircut with sideburns, he has more of a sneer than a smile. Under his right eye is a fading bruise, and there's a cut on the bridge of his nose. I busy myself by rearranging the books re-stacked in my arms, and nod at him curtly.

  End of discussion.

  But clearly he isn't going to take 'no' for an answer.

  "Friday doesn't work? What better offer could you possibly have?"

  Gee, thanks asshole.

  "I'm not going out with you. Sorry."

  "I don't think I heard you correctly. Did - Wait. Are you turning me down?" Rick is practically shouting this last part. His eyebrows are pinching together slightly, confused. And yes, he's angry. I clutch my books tighter and look over at Weston, who has his eyes narrowed at Ricks' back. What the hell is his problem? Is he pissed that I just rejected his best friend? Whatever the reason is for the scowl, I can't look at him. I'm too embarrassed.

  Humiliated even.

  Scared too. I can feel the tears prickling behind my eyes.

  "I'm sorry," I repeat, walking away before I start to cry. My heart is beating so fast. So fast. For so many reasons:

  1. How often do I get asked on a date by a wildly popular guy at school? Um, hardly ever. Okay. More like never. The last time I checked, my last date was in the school marching band and didn't play a sport. But still, an asshole is an asshole, and I'm not dating one no matter how popular he is.

  2. I've never actually told someone to their face I wasn't interested in dating them. Mostly just via text, or Jenna does the rejecting for me. I hope I never have to do it again. It's a horrible feeling.

  3. I've never turned one guy down for a date, while the guy who makes my heart beat wildly watches from the side. That in itself could give a young girl a stroke.

  Screw them both.

  WESTON

  "I know I've never been on a date with her, but anytime I see another guy talking to her, I wanna punch him in the face." - Cousin Jack (what not to do)

  I turn towards Rick just as Molly rushes off down the hallway, resisting the impulse to chase after her... even thought I know it's the right thing to do. She was clearly upset and now I feel like a shithead for just standing there letting Rick act like an asshole. Right now, I feel like it may as well have been me demeaning her in public; which is exactly what I think Rick was doing.

  I cannot stand being his friend.

  The desire to go after her is immediately replaced by the urge to plant a facer on Rick - right here, right now - in the hallway at school. I clench and unclench my right fist, which hangs at my side and is my punching arm.

  Rick lets out a loud satisfied sigh and says, "She'll come around eventually. They all do," He clamps his hand down onto my stiff, aching shoulder in an effort to be congenial.

  "Don't fucking touch me," I growl, shaking out of his grip.

  "Dude, what the hell is your problem?" He grabs a Pop Tart from the box I keep in my locker for emergencies because - well - I'm always hungry. Rick proceeds to rip open the foil wrapper, making a ton of noise, than stuffs it in his mouth. "Man, you really need to get laid." As he chews my Pop Tart, crumbs fall from his mouth. Now I really want to pound the piss out of him.

  "Couldn't you just leave off when she said she didn't want to go out with you? Christ you're pathetic." I snarl at him as I slam my locker shut with a
loud bang that echoes in the corridor, and walk off leaving him gapping at me.

  Chapter Five

  MOLLY

  "I am not the Jerk Whisperer. If I was, I'd write a book about it and make millions." - Tasha

  A few hours later, Jenna and I are lying around my den snuggling up on the couches, texting our friends, and of course, gossiping. Pretty Little Liars is on in the background. As usual.

  "So okay. Tell me again how Rick tried sticking his junk in your face," Jenna says, snickering.

  "Oh my god shut up Jenna. It was terrible."

  "But also kind of funnyyyy....or....no.......?"

  "You're a shitty friend, do you know that?" I shout it out, even as we both burst into hysterics. I can't help it - the girl makes me laugh.

  I pick up a pillow and throw it at her.

  "You know, I bet he has a small penis," Jenna says as she reaches for the pretzels sitting on the ottoman and pops one in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. "That's why he had to grind his hips in your face, so you'd know it was there."

  "Yeah, probably."

  "Well Lana Dubois said he does and I guess that's enough proof for me."

  "Well Lana would know. She's seen enough of them." We snicker. Hey, I'm not trying to be rude, but Lana gets around....if you know what I mean.

  "So... you didn't try to look at all?" Jenna tries again. "Check out the package? I mean, since you were down there by it..."

  "You're sick, do you know that?"

  "You're not sick enough!" She tips her head back and talks to the ceiling. "I try and I try with her... she's such a disappointment." Jenna shakes her head in mock disgust, and I throw my head back too before I burst out laughing.

  "You try with me?! How?! All you think about is sex and you haven't even had it yet!"

  Of course, this is the exact moment my mom decides to pop her head into the room, because duh, that's how life works when you're a teenager still living in your parents' house. They always catch the dumb shit you don't want them to hear.

  "Ladies." She doesn't say anything else, but instead stands there assessing us from the doorway. She's wearing an apron and has an oven mitt on her hand. I know she heard the shouting, and I know she heard the word 'sex' peppered into my last sentence. I can tell she wants to say something, but she puckers her mouth and chews on her lip instead (this is my mom's classic signature move: pursing her lips when she's displeased).

  "What's up mamma?" Jenna asks, smiling broadly. Ugh, she is such a brat - but a brat that both my parents love. "Are you baking Mrs. W?"

  Odd, given that it's almost 7:00 in the evening. My legs are getting hot, so I stick my feet out of the blanket that's covering my lower half.

  "Actually, yes. I started baking cupcakes for Shelly's Bunco party tomorrow night. I won't have any time tomorrow because Rex needs to be taken to the vet, among other things." Rex is our 7 year old Golden Retriever. "If you hear the doorbell can one of you grab it?" At my questioning gaze, she asks, "Has your dad talked to you yet?"

  "About....?"

  "He has some students coming over for that focus group. You know, for the changes they're making to the sports stadium? I don't know if he mentioned it, but the meeting is tonight."

  "Yes!" Jenna pumps her fist. "Ba-ring on the hotties!"

  Remember how earlier I mentioned my dad is on the school board for our district? Well, our region was fortunate enough to receive a grant with sufficient funds to completely overhaul the sports complex (which is crazy outdated) - so my dad created a steering committee of actual student athletes to provide insight; which only makes sense since they're the ones who use the facility. Volleyball, basketball... hockey.

  I'm really proud of my dad. How he finds time to volunteer in the community, work full-time, and spend time with us, I'll never know. But what an amazing guy.

  A little too busy - but amazing.

  "Oh mamma, you know we have no problem getting the door when the jocks arrive." This from Jenna. My mom stands there and takes a long look at us before shaking her head.

  "I don't know about you two sometimes," she laughs. "Have you eaten anything tonight Jenna? I have leftover pot roast in the fridge."

  "Thanks, but I had pizza with Alex. Hey, did Molly happen to mention she had junk in her face at school today?"

  "Jenna!" I yell, jumping up from the couch and pounce on her. She is a giggling, hysterical mess as she tries to shove me off. "You loud mouth!" I feel a leg connect with my stomach and I roll to the floor. "I swear, one of these days I'm going to stuff a sock in your loud mouth."

  My mom crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. I can tell she's trying to determine the validity of Jenna's statement.

  Apparently she's decided we're morons, so she walks off.

  This is how the next half hour of the night went: me and Jenna hopping off the couches with each chime of the doorbell. Kind of like Trick-or-Treat on Halloween night. Seeing the first few kids dressed up is always exiting and then....not so much. Then you spend the rest of your time waiting for the dawdlers so you can get on with your night. First arrival, Dean Reynolds, a Junior on the basketball team. Before we can even get to the door to let him in, Dean has his face pressed to the glass and is peering in.

  What. A. Weirdo. Didn't his mother teach him any manners?

  I throw open the door unceremoniously.

  "What's up Dean." More of a statement, less of a question.

  "Not a whole lot, not a whole lot." He looks around nodding his head, taking in the foyer. "Start a new job this Thursday, so I guess I shouldn't say nothings up, right? Right?" His voice elbows me in the ribs. Like, 'yuck yuck let's share a chuckle.' Only I don't chuckle.

  But Jenna does.

  For real Jenna?

  Politely I ask "Oh yeah, where at?"

  "I'll be flipping burgers at Bub's Grill. The pay is shit but I need a job that's flexible with my practice schedule." He shrugs.

  "Yeah, I can imagine," Jenna says. "You guys are having a great year. I'm surprised you even have a job."

  "My dad said he'd kick my ass if I sat around scratching my balls when I didn't have practice, so it's not like I had much of a choice." Dean's eyes are roaming around the room and it looks like he's casing the joint. Suddenly his phone beeps and he immediately pulls it out like his life depends on it, flips it open and begins texting.

  Great. Weird and rude. What a pleasant combination.

  We're spared from any further conversation by the arrival of Kayla McQueen: Volleyball star.

  "Hey guys!" She bounds in thru the open door and greets us all enthusiastically. I stare at Dean and Kayla standing next to each other in the entry of my house. Wow they're tall. I mean, I'm no shorty myself, but they tower over me.

  "Wow you guys are both so tall," I blurt out. Crap, why would I say that outloud?

  "Duh...." This from Jenna (remind me to thank her later for that).

  And now things just get awkward.

  "Okay, so... let me just take you down the hall to my dad's office. He's been waiting." I lead them into my fathers' office, to which he's added an extra table and chairs in a temporary meeting spot. "Dad, first arrivals are here." I announce. My dad gets up from behind his massive desk and walks over with this arm extended, greeting Dean and Kayla with a shake of the hand before turning to me.

  "Thanks sweetheart." My dad puts his arm around me then. "I'm only waiting on the boys from the hockey team, so once they get here you're off the hook." He kisses the top of my head, and shoe's me on my way.

  Wait, what?

  The boys from the hockey team?! Ugh, of course they're going to be here - they play in the sports complex almost all year long. Why didn't this occur to me before?!

  Before I can let it sink in, the doorbell chimes again.

  I race to the powder room in the hallway, flip on the light and stare into the mirror to assess the day's damage. After getting home from soccer practice, I didn't give much thought to my appearance and had tossed on gray
Jenna's Secret PINK sweat pants with a purple tank top. My hair is still damp from the shower I took over an hour ago, and of course I have not a drop of make-up on.

  Groaning, I make my way down the hall.

  My angst skyrockets at the same time my spirits immediately deflate.

  Because when I get to the foyer it's not who I'm expecting - and hoping - to see and I think my shoulders sag in disappointment. Yes, they actually sag. For the last arrivals from the hockey team are Derek Hanson and Adam (something-or-other), a couple of Sophomores I don't really know too much about and not Weston McGrath.

  Jenna however, is neither phased nor disappointed and is flirting up a storm in the entry hall.

  "Oooh Molly, come see who's here," she chirps in a flirtatious voice.

  I saunter over as casually as I can. "So guys, you're the chosen ones, hey?" My brain is in overdrive, asking me over and over 'why isn't Weston here, why isn't Weston here, why isn't Weston here? I mean, not to be Captain Obvious here but I really want to know why he's not here!

  "Chosen ones for what?" Adam scratches his head, not getting my question.

  Jenna sighs loudly and rolls her eyes. "Where is Weston?" she asks, cutting to the chase and pouting (and by the way, when Jenna pouts, she literally sticks her bottom lip out).

  Derek's brow wrinkles, and I can't tell but I think he's irritated. "I don't know, I'm not his babysitter. He's probably at home getting iced up and shit. Why do you even care, dude?"

  "Oh em gee, did you just call me dude?" Jenna is utterly affronted, and I just stand there watching the exchange with wide eyes.

  Very entertaining.

  "Why? Does it bother you - dude?" Yup, Derek is totally irritated. He and Jenna stare each other down until finally Jenna turns up her nose and stomps loudly out of the room.

  Well, as loudly as someone can stomp in socks on a tile floor.

  "What's her problem?" Adams asks tossing his head at her retreating form.

  "Yeah, what the hell," Derek adds. "What a bitch."

  I snort. "Oh lord, where do you want me to start?" It would take me a year to point out all Jenna's triggers to pissing her off (being called dude is apparently one of them), and quite frankly, we don't have that kind of time. Obviously.