"Why didn't you do the Elf Extravaganza with the rest of the choir?" I asked.
He looked at me with a slight cock of the head. "I transferred here at semester?"
"Oh," I said in a big, stupid, stretchy-faced way. "Sorry."
He laughed. "Not a problem."
We were still walking along together. "So where'd you transfer from?"
"Missoula, Montana," he said, drawing out the vowels. I was reminded of the way I'd seen him sing during choirpractice in the Performance Pavilion. Big O's, dropped-jaw A's.
He had a very expressive mouth.
"Tell me about Missoula, Montana," I said, mimicking the way he'd pronounced it.
We were approaching the parking lot now. "I don't know if we have time for that," he said. "Where'd you park?"
"Oh, I'm walking home."
He seemed surprised. Like walking was not something one did in Missoula, Montana. Or maybe not something one should do as a Larkmont High upperclassman. "You want a ride?" he asked.
I smiled at him. "Why not?"
We got into a sharp white Lexus (of all things), and by the time we reached the second intersection, I'd already heard a lot about Missoula, Montana. Not that I was absorbing it. I was too fascinated with the curls in his blond hair. With the curve of his sideburn as it swept back toward his earlobe. With the strong lines of his nose and cheekbones. With his lips. His lovely, expressive lips as they popped and pushed and projected words into space.
He reminded me of something...David of David and Goliath? A Greek warrior without the armor? He was different from other guys at school. He had a different way about him. He was more storybook...more noble.
Suddenly it struck me that maybe that was what I'd been doing wrong! Maybe I'd been looking for a fantasy kiss from ordinary guys! Bad boys, even. Maybe what I needed was a guy with an air of nobility! Some classic chivalry and charm!
By the time Paxton had pulled up to the condo, I was frenzied; consumed by the need to know! Did those noble lips hold a crimson kiss? Would they transport me to that world between worlds, where beating hearts and tender lips were all that existed? Where the dizzying spin of passion vanquished all else?
I had to know!
And so...I kissed him!
57
Cataclysmic Kissing
APPARENTLY PAXTON HAD NOT BEEN ADMIRING my expressive lips or anything else about me. Apparently he was just giving me a ride home.
My luscious lips were met with a single-handed push back and bugging eyes. "What was that?" he gasped.
"A kiss...?"
"But I barely know you!"
According to my rapidly accumulating knowledge of the teenage male, this was not a standard complaint. But here he was, quite literally freaking out.
I was suddenly mortified. What had I been thinking? That I was so hot that any guy in the world would be happy to kiss me? This was sure one ice-cold bucket of reality!
"Why'd you do that?" he was asking.
I just shook my head and opened the door, desperate to escape.
"Do you have a crush on me?"
I looked back at him. "No!"
"Then why'd you kiss me?"
I got out of the car, frantically building a protective barrier around my badly bruised ego. This guy wasn't noble. He wasn't even normal. "Sorry if I offended you," I said. "It won't happen again."
And I was about to slam the door when he said, "I wouldn't tell Adrienne if I were you!"
I hesitated, then slammed the door. But as I let myself into the condo, I kept thinking, Adrienne? What's Adrienne got to do with this?
For someone who's supposed to be smart, I couldn't seem to wrap my head around this. In the back of my mind, there was a theory developing, but I didn't want to hear from the back of my mind. I wanted the back of my mind to leave me alone.
My father actually came in handy as a distraction. It wasn't just the memory of that morning's clash in the intersection, either. On the kitchen table I discovered that he'd left me a letter and a vase of hibiscus flowers.
"Who let him in?" I grumbled. "We moved here to get away from him." I turned on the kitchen faucet and shoved the flowers bloom-first down the garbage disposal. And as they were mincing up and getting gobbled down the drain, I ripped up his letter. His five-page mini book of justifications, rationalizations, explanations, and lies made lovely confetti. (At least I assumed that was what was in the five pages. I stopped reading after "Dearest Evangeline.")
The confetti, then, too, went down the garbage disposal.
I cranked up Velvet Revolver and ate a massive bowl of double-fudge ice cream through "Sucker Train Blues," "Do It for the Kids," and "Big Machine." During the next few tracks I faced off with a mountain of clothes that I'd tried on and tossed aside, skipping over "Fall to Pieces" when it started wailing. I shouted along during "Set Me Free" and "You Got No Right" and reveled in my favorite cut, "Slither."
Then, in the short interval before the next song started, I heard the telephone ringing, so I turned down the music and picked up the phone.
It was Adrienne. "Can you come over at five-thirty instead of six?" she asked. "Mom's got a class to go to at seven."
Thanks to my dad (and Velvet Revolver), I'd successfully forgotten what I'd been trying not to think about. But there it was again, louder than ever.
I desperately wanted to bail on going to the Willows', but the back of my mind was tired of being ignored. The back of my mind wanted to know if it was right.
"Sure," I said, like I hadn't a care in the world. "I'm on my way."
58
Vow of Silence
FAMILIAL BANTERING DID NOT PLAY A BIG ROLE at the Willows' dinner table that night. Mr. Willow (or Pops, as he's known to Brody, Adrienne, and me) was working late, and Brody had already left for karate class, so it was just us chickens.
"Hens," Adrienne corrected.
"Huh?"
"The roosters have flown the coop."
"Oh, right," I said, then added, "I can't believe Brody's still taking karate. He's been doing that since, what? Fifth grade?"
Adrienne nodded. "He tests for his black belt in two weeks."
"Wow." Mild-mannered Brody with a black belt. It seemed like an unexpected collision of opposite energies. "Wow," I said again.
Mrs. Willow beamed as she placed grilled salmon and veggies on the table. "We are so proud of him, aren't we, Adrienne?"
Adrienne nodded and changed the subject. "Are you ready for the world history exam?"
I groaned. The unit test was coming up on Friday, and I hadn't even organized my notes.
"I did summary notes if you want a copy."
"Yes!" I said. "You're a lifesaver!"
"I thought you two didn't have any classes together," Mrs. Willow said as she served herself some salmon.
"Oh, we have the same English and history teachers," Adrienne said, "just different periods."
"Well that's not so bad," Mrs. Willow said.
"Yes, it is!" Adrienne and I said together, then looked at each other and laughed.
So for a moment, for a brief, happy moment, I felt at home. I listened to Adrienne catch her mother up on school and choir and the whims of her geometry teacher, while I ate (with actual silverware) a healthy, balanced meal served on real plates. No paper, no plastic in sight; this meal was substance on substance.
Then Mrs. Willow deflated my mood by asking, "What about you, Evangeline? How is everything?"
I almost said, Fine, just because that's the easy, disposable answer. But this was Adrienne's mom. My mom-away-from-home mom. So I sighed and blurted, "It's a mess!"
"How so?"
Hmm. What did I want to tell her?
Not about school...
Not about kissing!
I chose the subject that would interest her the most anyway--my parents. "My dad's decided Janelle Phillips is not the one for him after all, so now he's trying to convince my mom to forgive him." I picked at my salmon. "I think she
's falling for it."
She hesitated. "You mean they may be getting back together? Why, that's wonderful!" She turned to Adrienne. "Wouldn't that be wonderful?"
Adrienne gave her mother a look that said unmistakably, Back off!
Mrs. Willow took a deep breath, smoothed the napkin in her lap, and said, "Well, whatever happens, you're always welcome here."
"Have you got adoption papers handy?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood.
She chuckled, then said, "I don't think we'd be able to afford three in college. I'm worried about two! Besides, you'll be emancipated in, what, a year and another week or so?"
Oh, yeah.
My glorious birthday.
Whatever would I do to celebrate?
When dinner was over, Mrs. Willow wouldn't let us help with the dishes. "Shoo! You have exams to study for! Homework to complete!" She grinned over her shoulder as she made her way into the kitchen. "Boys to discuss!"
And that is exactly what Adrienne was dying to do. When we were alone in her room, she threw herself on her bed and said, "I want to hear everything that's going on with you, but first I've got to tell you...I think I'm in love!"
Uh-oh.
I managed, "Really?"
She sat up, bounced on the edge of her bed, and yanked me beside her. "He's smart and cute and tall and nice. He's funny and complimentary and...and I think we've got chemistry! Lately when I'm with him, I feel all light-headed and electric! When he smiles at me, my insides turn to jelly!" She was really bouncing now, taking me along for the ride. "Can you guess who?"
Oh, no, I groaned on the inside. Oh, no-no-no.
My forehead was beading with sweat. My stomach was knotting. "Do I know him?" I asked as innocently as I could.
"Guess!" she squealed.
"I have no idea!" I lied.
"Here's a hint: He sings like an angel!"
I kicked into avoidance mode. "Well, does he like you back? Is this official? Are you saying you have a boyfriend?"
"No! But--lately he's been talking to me before choir, waiting for me after choir...and today he sort of put his arm around me as we went through the door." Quickly, she added, "It wasn't an official arm wrap...he was just being polite, letting me through the doorway first, but he didn't have to put his arm out; he didn't have to touch me!" She bounced harder. "Guess!"
"Let's see. He's in choir...he's tall..."
"Oh, come on, Evangeline! It's Paxton!"
The back of my-mind said, Du-uh, while the rest of me withered.
"Paxton?" I asked, feigning surprise. "But you barely even acknowledged him in tutoring today!"
She looked enormously pleased with herself. "I played it so cool, didn't I?"
"I'll say."
"He is so different from other guys, Evangeline. He thinks about things. Music, books, politics...he's so interesting to talk to! He makes me think. I love that! I love the feeling that there's so much I haven't thought about before; that the world is full of so many...connections!"
She was glowing. And she sounded so...enlightened, whereas my mind felt like a panic-stricken blank.
All I could do was blink at her.
Blink, and vow to never, ever tell her what I'd done.
59
Give Me a Little Less Conversation
I DID TELL ADRIENNE A LITTLE about my kissing adventures with Stu and Andrew, but I avoided the subject of Eddie entirely and blocked Paxton from my mind. I kept the whole thing short and breezy, acting like it was all a big joke...which I was starting to think it might be.
Just not a very funny one.
When I got home, my mother tried to talk, but I wasn't in the mood for that, either. I knew where she was going with her seemingly innocent questions--straight to the subject of my dad.
I told her, "I do not want to talk about him," and managed to escape to my bedroom.
The door opened up a minute later.
I groaned, "Can we please just call it a night?" but she parked herself at the foot of my bed and said, "Not until I find out what you thought of his letter."
"I didn't read his letter."
"So"--she glanced around--"where is it?"
"With his flowers and my opinion of him--down the drain."
She took a deep breath and didn't say anything for a whole minute. Maybe two.
So I kicked out of my jeans (hers, actually), put on a nightshirt, and got into bed.
"Honey," she finally said, "you're not being fair to him, or to me."
"Not fair? Who's not being fair? First we move out of the house--I've got to adjust to all of that, and you bawling your eyes out for six months...now you want to do a U-turn and go right back?"
"What I want is for us to talk about things. Openly. With a counselor."
I snorted.
"Evangeline, look. I'm the one he wronged. And I'm deeply touched by your loyalty, but I need you to be on my side now, too. And if I'm going to be completely honest, I have to admit that there are things I should have done differently. It's not all his fault."
She was being so calm. So rational. And although something about what she was saying seemed off, I was too worked up to figure out what.
Besides, I had other things on my mind.
Bigger, more worrisome things.
Like my best friend being in love with a guy I'd recklessly kissed.
60
Risky Business
I WOULDN'T CALL WHAT I DID that night sleeping. And as if the conversations I'd had with Adrienne and my mother hadn't been enough to keep me up all night, the fact that my mom sneaked a call to my dad after she left my bedroom sealed the deal. I cracked my door open so I could hear, but apparently she noticed, because she closed hers tight. They had a long conversation, too. She finally put the phone back in the charger at two A.M., then poured herself three bowls of cereal.
Apparently reconciling with an adulterous jerk gives one a monstrous appetite.
When morning finally arrived, I was wiped out. And since I hadn't cleaned off my makeup before bed, my eyelashes were all caked and flaky, and there were dark smudges under my eyes. I should have started all over, but I was just too tired. I patched things up the best I could, downed some orange juice and an energy bar, and escaped the condo.
I knew Adrienne had choir practice before school, which meant that Paxton had choir practice before school, which meant, if I played it right, I'd have the opportunity to apologize to him, plead rash impulsiveness, and beg him not to tell Adrienne. After worrying about it all night, I decided that his comment about me not telling Adrienne was no guarantee that he might not let it slip.
Lady Luck, it appeared, had taken pity on me, because as I entered the side door of the Performance Pavilion, I saw Paxton--and he was alone!
"Paxton!" I called, hurrying toward him.
He froze when he saw me.
"Hey, it's okay," I said, but he obviously didn't think it was okay.
"Stop stalking me," he said between his teeth.
"I'm not stalking you! I'm--" And then I saw Adrienne approaching. She was up on the stage, only a few yards away. "Oh, there she is!" I said, smiling at her like I'd finally discovered her whereabouts.
"Hey!" she said cheerfully, then sat on the edge of the stage and gave Paxton a rosy-cheeked "Good morning!"
He smiled at her somewhat stiffly, then looked at me and walked away.
Adrienne grabbed on to me. "You didn't tell him, did you?"
"No!"
"Well, what were you saying to him?"
"I was just looking for you!"
Fortunately, she didn't ask why I was looking for her. And as soon as I could get away, I did. Obviously, apologizing to Paxton was risky business. Steering clear of him would probably be much wiser.
So with half an hour to kill before school, I found a quiet corner in the library and did the psychology worksheet that Mr. Stills had given for homework, longing the whole time for a frappuccino.
When the warning bell rang, I
packed up and dragged myself across campus to math. We have six whole minutes from warning bell to final bell, and I still barely made it to math on time.
As I entered the room, I noticed that there was a flower on my desk.
A beautiful, pink hibiscus flower.
I approached as though it might attack me.
What was a hibiscus flower doing on my desk?
And there was a note, too!
A note that said Evangeline across the envelope.
My face flushed hot. How dare my dad harass me at school!
How dare he invade my...my educational space!
Weren't there laws about unregistered adults roaming campus?
Why hadn't someone stopped him and tossed him out on his ear?
What kind of place was this, where harassing fathers were allowed to roam freely through the halls, leaving emotional land mines on estranged daughters' desks?
I wanted to rip the petals into mincy little shreds. I wanted to crumple up the note and hurl it! But then I saw Robbie Marshall's face; his open, smiling, expectant face.
I collapsed into my seat as I realized that my father hadn't been there at all.
Robbie Marshall had.
61
"Edelweiss" at Ozzfest
THE NOTE SAID: Will you go to the movies with me on Friday?
I slipped it into my binder and deliberately did not look at Robbie for the entire class period.
It was my first real date invitation.
And it was from the hottest guy on campus.
It crossed my mind that maybe we'd just started out on the wrong foot.
Or, rather, the wrong kiss.
Maybe he was a redeemable kisser. Maybe he just needed some guidance.
What if he was willing to read A Crimson Kiss?
Hmm. Not likely.
And how embarrassing would that be? Here, Robbie--read this romance novel and then maybe we'll go out. He'd think I was a total dweeb. I'd be a total dweeb!
And aside from the kissing, what would we talk about? Sports? I couldn't hold up my end of that conversation. And he obviously didn't know much about blues-based rock. What did we have in common?
Confessions of a Serial Kisser Page 11
