Stage Kissed

by Cassie Mae

  Thank goodness the grades topic was short and sweet, which makes me feel even more guilty that they trust me so much. I shift my weight in my seat. I landed hard on my butt today, so sitting is a bit of a problem.

  “We won the tournament this weekend and our record has us seeded first in conference. The road to State should be fairly easy because of that.”

  Dad taps the table. “Make sure you get us that schedule. Put it on the fridge.” He points over his shoulder where papers cover the front of the big silver box. “If we have to get other parents to take the girls to their games we’ll need to arrange that early.”

  “You bet.” I rest back in my seat, holding my full stomach. Four pieces is enough.

  “You always go to Kate’s games,” Becca whines and crosses her arms over her chest.

  “Now honey, you know that’s not true. We go to all of your games equally. There are only two of us and three of you. We try our best,” Mom says.

  “You go to Kate’s games because she’s more important.”

  “Oh stop it, Becca,” Ginny grumbles as she picks at the cheese on her pizza. “They do not go to her games more. She can drive now. If anything, they go less.”

  “No.” Becca turns to Ginny.

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  Ginny looks at Becca. “Stop acting like you're five.” She flicks her hair over her shoulder.

  “Why don’t you?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  I can’t help but chuckle as I watch the two from across the table.

  “That’s enough, girls,” Dad warns.

  “Ow!” Ginny yells and rubs her arm where Becca pinched her.

  “Becca, sit next to Kate. Now.”

  Becca gets up and sits next to me, arms still across her chest and a pout on her face.

  After a moment of silence, with me still trying not to laugh, Ginny asks, “How’s the play going? You practice that kiss yet?” Ginny winks from across the table and my mouth drops.

  “No.” It comes out a few octaves higher than I would like. “How do you even know about that?”

  She shrugs. “I Googled it. Never heard of Oklahoma! so I thought I would see what you got yourself into.” She giggles as she picks at the remaining pizza on her plate. “Nick is playing Will, right?” Her nose crinkles and Dad laughs.

  “Nick? Like, little Nick?” Dad holds his hand up at shoulder height from where he’s seated.

  I nod and laugh. “Yeah, little Nick. Though he’s not so little anymore.”

  Dad coached my co-ed soccer team when I was eight. Nick was on the team and was the tinyest kid ever. He was super fast, though, and a really good soccer player. Still is.

  “You and little Nick.” Mom smiles and shakes her head.

  I place both arms on the table. “It’s a stage kiss.” My gaze flickers between Mom and Dad. Then I stare down Ginny. “It means nothing,” I sit back in my seat. “Not that there’s anything wrong with Nick.”

  Ginny pushes her lips together, eyes twinkling. “He is pretty cute now. So is his brother.”

  “Stephen?” I sit farther up in my seat and steal a look at Dad. Does he know about this? “Are you two, like, a thing?”

  Ginny shrugs and looks at Mom. “Kinda. I mean, he’s taking me to the dance.”

  Mom nods. “Can she borrow one of your dresses, Kate?”

  My mouth is open a little, my arms back on the table. “You have a boyfriend?”

  “Why is that so hard to believe?” Ginny asks, her voice a little sad.

  “It’s not.” I shake my head. The last thing I want is to make her feel bad. She’s just so young. Do people date in eighth grade? I never did.

  I’m not a good comparison, though. I’ve never dated anyone.

  “That’s really cool, Ginny. Of course you can borrow a dress. You might have to alter it a little.” I focus on her chest, one that hasn’t quite developed yet.

  “Oh geez.” Dad rolls his eyes and takes a bite of his pizza.

  Ginny and I share a look and burst out laughing. Becca rolls her eyes and continues to wallow. It’s fun to bring up “women things” when Dad’s around.

  “So what about you, Kate? Any boys in your life?”

  I glance at Mom. This is a topic as awkward as grades. She and Dad were high-school sweethearts, so she believes young relationships can last. Which, since they are still happily married, can be the truth, I guess. But I don’t want to even think about dating. Worrying about when to spend time with them, whether they’re happy…it sounds like a lot of work I just don’t have time for.

  “A lot of friends, Mom. Nothing like Stephen.” I look at Ginny again and smile, making sure she knows how happy I am for her.

  “Oh, okay.” Mom sips her water. “I’m just thinking it wouldn’t hurt for you to keep your options open. Prom is coming up.”

  “I hear ya, Mom.” I want to say more, but it won’t be very nice so I keep my mouth closed. I don’t want a fight. We’ve already got one fuming sister.

  “What about that new guy that works with you?” Ginny asks. “You two seemed to be hitting it off when Amber and I were there a few days ago.”

  “Seth?”

  Ginny nods. “He’s really cute. He’s got that shy, nerdy thing going for him.”

  I stare at her for a few seconds, visions of Seth popping between us. She’s not wrong. He is cute. But he’s made it very clear we’re just friends.

  “He’s nice,” I say. “A good friend. My JJT friend.” I smile wide even though our situational friendship is still rather sad for me.

  “I don’t know all these new texting lingo stuff so you’re going to have to help me out,” Dad says.

  “That’s not texting lingo, Daddy.” Becca laughs, as though she was never mad. It’s amazing how quickly her moods shift.

  “Oh, well. Help me out anyway.” We all chuckle and I continue.

  “He’s my Jamba Juice and Theater friend—JJT. He runs the AV room for the musical.” And apparently has some killer dance moves, I recall, my grin growing wider.

  Dad’s eyebrows rise. “I see.”

  With Dad’s eyebrows still in his hairline, mine scrunch in confusion. Why’s he saying it like that? Why is everyone around the table looking at me like that?

  I shrug and search for something to change the topic.

  “Oh!” I say a little too loudly. “Suzi is having a party this Friday. Can I go?” I look at Dad because he usually has the final say.

  “Will there be drinking at this party?”

  No use in lying. “Probably. But I would never—”

  “You better never,” Dad says, his finger raised. “Things get shady, you get out. Got it? Call Mom or me. You’ve got college applications and sport scholarships on the line. Be smart, Kate.”

  I look across the table at my sister, over at Mom, and then back at Dad. I’m just going to hang out with some friends and have a little fun.

  “No drinking, I promise. If anything looks even remotely shady, I’m out.”

  “So, your Corolla or mine?” Kate yanks off her Jamba hat and shakes out her brown hair before pulling it back into its typical ponytail.

  “Uh, what?”

  “Seth, we went over this.” She sighs and crosses her arms over her chest, giving me that Kate smile she uses when she thinks I’m being dumb on purpose. “You’re my date tonight. Every party person needs a date, and that means we show up together.”

  I think I must’ve blacked out during that part of the conversation. I’m usually so good at paying attention to everything Kate says, and I know I would’ve heard the word date if she used it.

  How Kate convinced me to go to Suzi’s party, I have no idea. Even Dylan hasn’t been able to get me to a party…not that we’re invited to many. I’m pretty sure I was in the middle of a mathematical equation on how to split the tips for the night and mumbled a “sure” before I knew exactly what I was saying. Again, out of character for me. I’ve j
ust become so accustomed to talking with Kate, my mouth spouts off before my brain catches up.

  That, and I think part of me wants—really wants—to spend more time with her, even if I have to jump way out of my comfort zone to do it.

  I clear my throat and shake out my hands. “Well, I can drive. Th-That’s fine.”

  “Great, I’ll just get my bag.” She bounces over to her car and the top half of her body disappears as she reaches in the backseat. I quickly whip my Jamba shirt over my head and straighten the white tee I’ve got on underneath. After taking my visor off, I run my hand over my hair, flopping the strands across my forehead and hoping I look decent enough to be at a party with Kate.

  Her eyes rake over me when she comes back, a small twitch pulling at the corner of her mouth, creasing the dimple on the right side. A blush creeps across her cheeks; it’s the first time I’ve ever seen them red from something other than exercise. My heart beats an extra thump and my legs feel like bolting from the spot. I drop my eyes and do an inspection of my shirt, my pants, my body, trying to find the source of why she’s blushing. There’re no sweat marks—surprising since I turn into a human waterfall when I’m around her. My pants don’t have any smoothie stains or holes in embarrassing places. Why is she looking at me like that?

  I don’t think I’ve seen her look at anyone like that.

  Because I feel way too exposed, I whip my hoodie from my backpack and zip it up. My hand tightens around one of the strings.

  She shakes her head like an Etch a Sketch and turns to my car. I quickly click the key fob because she’s already at the passenger door before I can even move a foot off the ground.

  “Okay, don’t mind me,” she says, pulling a skirt from her bag as I slide behind the wheel. “And don’t drive too fast because I can’t do this with my seatbelt on.”

  “Do what?”

  Her hands curl in the fabric of her shirt, and she pulls it over her head. My eyes zoom to the windshield. Is she changing in my car? Right there in front of me? Yeah, she’s wearing an undershirt; I catch that much. Still, she pulled out a skirt. Which means…her pants are coming off, too.

  I can’t find any air. It feels like there’s no oxygen going to my brain. How can one girl affect cognitive functioning this way?

  A hefty gust of air leaves my lips, and I focus all my energy on keeping my eyes on the road. My hands are glued at ten and two. I try to shut off my eardrums so I’m not hearing every move, every shuffle, every giggle that slips through as she twists and turns in the front seat.

  Ten and two, ten and two.

  “Uh, Seth?”

  “Yeahhummmmuhuh?” Now I'm just making incoherent noises at her.

  A burst of laughter fills the air, and my sweaty hands slip from the wheel.

  “That was a stop sign.”

  I slam my foot on the brake, and we fly forward. Kate slips off her seat and lands on the floor. Her knees scrunch up against her cheeks, and she lets out a round of musical giggles.

  “Well, you’re a little late!”

  I try to smile, but I can’t. She’s dressed at least, but it’s what she’s dressed in that makes me blink to make sure I’m not hallucinating.

  She sticks her arm out. “Help?”

  I gulp so loudly it echoes around us as I take her hand, her skin cool against my heated palm, and pull her back into her seat. She quickly yanks the seatbelt across her body, over the off-the-shoulder deep-purple sweater, and it clicks next to the gray skirt that goes just above her knees. She lets out a sigh as she tugs on some glossy high-heeled boots.

  Her eyes flash to mine, and I quickly stop ogling her bare legs.

  “Brit is making me trapeze around in these things.” She shakes her head and zips up her left boot. “It’s your job to make sure I don’t fall flat on my face.”

  I laugh, but the analytical part of my mind finally makes an appearance. The clothes are nice. Kate looks good—really good—in them. But they aren’t her. I can tell she’s uncomfortable by the way she pulls at the shirt to try to make it cover both shoulders. Several times it looks like she wants to put a foot on the dash, but the heel of her boot and the length of her skirt don’t allow her to. Why does she do things she’d rather not do, just to make other people happy?

  Kate sighs, then smiles at me as I park down the street from Suzi’s front door. The street closer to her house is already lined with cars. Kate's hand twists around the elastic in her hair and pulls. “Okay, date. You have my back in there, right?”

  Her hair is really long. I never noticed that before. She’s fluffing it and brushing it out with her fingers, letting it fall around her shoulders and…other parts.

  “Seth?”

  “Uh, sorry, what?”

  “Are you okay? You seem distracted.”

  That would be because I am distracted.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Then, you have my back, I got yours?”

  I nod, though I don’t really know what “having her back” at a party means. Do I have to literally touch her back as we maneuver around in there?

  “Good.”

  I hear the music about three houses away from Suzi’s. People spill out onto the front lawn, mostly couples glued together at the lips. Kate rolls her eyes as we walk past. I stuff my hands in my pockets, unsure of what to do with them.

  Kate’s foot hasn’t even landed on the inside of the house before she’s pulled away from me and boom! She’s gone. I can’t see through the sea of people to find her anywhere. I hear her name, but it sounds like it’s being echoed across the entire room.

  “Kate! Hey, you came!”

  “Oh Kate! Great game last week!”

  “Yo, Kate! Come get a drink!”

  “Kate…”

  “Kate…”

  “Kate!”

  My hand goes through my hair, and I wish I could turn around and wait in the car for Kate to emerge from wherever she’s drowning. But I’m supposed to “have her back.” And I’d better find her so I can throw her a life preserver if she needs one.

  At school, I zoom through the hallways. But parties, I’m finding out, are much different. I’ve never touched this many people in our school, and as I shrink back from one person I bump into another. After a few mumbled apologies which aren’t heard even by my own ears, I throw in the towel. No one seems to care if you accidentally touch them as you pass.

  There’s no way I’m going to find her like this. And logic says to stay put when you can’t find someone. I’m going with that since I’m sure Kate is twirling between the basketball players, the theater group, the student government, and yearbook committee. I’ll stand up against a wall and wait for her to come into view.

  “Seth? Is that you?”

  A cup gets thrust into my hand before I’m wrapped into an unexpected hug. Whoever it is towers over my five-foot-eight body, making my nose press right above her cleavage.

  She pulls back and takes a large sip from her SOLO cup, covering half her face for a second. Brit’s smile pushes her cheeks up and makes her squint as she looks at me.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Uh—”

  “Oh! Did Kate come with you?” She pulls my arm, sloshing whatever drink she put in my hand all over my wrist. “Let’s go find her!”

  Brit’s friendly, but I didn’t peg her as this friendly. I wonder what she’s drinking from that SOLO cup.

  We weave through people, Brit tugging my arm the whole way. Maybe it’s a good thing she bumped into me. She certainly knows her way around a party.

  Something hits me in the gut unexpectedly as she tugs me through the crowds. My palms are getting sweaty, and I want to rip away from her, find an open space to get some breathing room. I don’t know where Kate is, and it’s making my chest tighten up. I know people here, but I don’t know them. I can barely talk. I don’t think I’ve said a word since I walked through that door. If I did, I don’t remember.

  Then something other than
anxiety barrels into my chest. I know Kate wouldn’t ditch me, she’s too nice for that, but suddenly I’m worried over who’s with her. Is it Scott, finally getting a chance to ask her out again? Or Nick, who won’t stop asking Mr. Steiman to practice All Er Nothin’ just so he can do Will and Annie’s kissing scene? Or there’s Trevor, and Jeremy, and Aaron, and Brandon, and Billy, and Jesse… The list goes on. All the guys who give her attention that she doesn’t seem to notice, but I sure do.

  I just have no idea why I care so much.

  Brit steers us to the dance room. I use the term loosely because in my opinion what all those people are doing in there is not dancing. It’s more like an excuse to rub up against each other and not get smacked in the face over it.

  “Ah,” she says, dropping my arm. I put the cup down on the mantel, and my hand goes right back in my pocket. “There she is.”

  That kicked feeling in my stomach comes back for round two when I see Scott leaning over Kate, his arm above her head and his lips awfully close to hers. Why do I care so much about that? It’s not like I think of Kate as anything other than a friend, and it took me a while to even think of her that way. I just don’t think a lot about having any relationship, friend or otherwise, with anyone. But Kate, yeah…she’s my friend. So why are my fists clenching in my pockets? Why are my teeth grinding against each other?

  The heat in my neck flares up just as Kate’s eyes meet mine. And that’s when I know why. Because she’s looking at me with wide eyes, jerking her head as if she’s waving me over. This is my cue—I’m her date, and I’m supposed to “have her back.”

  The logical part of my brain says to do it smoothly. Think this through. Don’t just storm over there in a possessive, this is my friend, and I’m saving her from your lack of personal space way. But for some reason, that part of my brain isn’t functioning. So the backup part, the part I don’t use often because it makes no sense, takes over. My body moves across the room, and I shove my way between them, facing Kate. “Hey, Kate. You want to dance?”

  Her eyes go to perfect circles before her face relaxes and she nods.

  I feel about six feet tall—which has never happened before—as we walk to the dance floor, but the collar of my shirt gets tugged from the back, choking me as I stumble backward.