No, chocolates and flowers were nice, his biceps were nice, but I didn't really want to go out with Robbie Marshall.
I decided that the best response was simply to say I couldn't, no, wouldn't go out with him.
Unfortunately, this went over like "Edelweiss" at Ozzfest.
"Why not?" he asked, whininess tingeing his voice. "It's just a movie!"
I looked down at the flower, twirling it absently. "I'm sorry," I said lamely. Then I looked at him and asked, "Why'd you pick this flower?" I realized that the question wasn't clear, so I added, "I mean a hibiscus flower. Why not a daisy, or a, I don't know, snapdragon."
He laughed. "There's such a thing as a snapdragon?"
I couldn't help smiling back. "Yeah. Would have been a more appropriate choice, huh?"
He took the flower from me and put it in my hair so the stem rested on my ear. "This is a vacation flower. A have-fun flower. A gone-surfing flower." He was standing very close to me now and was smiling. "The movie starts at seven-thirty. Can I pick you up at six? Take you out for dinner?"
Slowly, I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Robbie. I already told you no."
He grinned. "But the flower's saying yes!"
It was cute. Very charming. And I almost, almost, caved and said why not? But it just didn't feel right. "I really appreciate everything, Robbie, but...I just can't." I took the flower off my ear, put it on his. "You go have fun without me," I said quietly.
Then I turned and walked away.
62
Accounting
WHEN I MET UP WITH ADRIENNE AT BREAK, the look on her face jolted me right back to the fiasco with Paxton. "What's the matter?" I asked, praying that she was upset about something, anything, besides me kissing the new love of her life.
"There are rumors," she said, holding my arm and pulling us both into a sitting position on the edge of our cold, very hard brick planter in the quad. "Rumors about you."
"Such as...?" I asked, still praying that Paxton wasn't involved in these rumors.
"Rumors that you've gone mad kissing people. I knew about Robbie and Justin and Blake, of course, and last night you told me about Stu and Andrew, but people are saying you've also kissed Eddie Pasco and Trevor Dansa! It's just gossip, right? You haven't actually kissed those guys, right?"
The name Paxton had not left her lips.
My whole being felt washed with relief.
"Why are you smiling?" she asked. She gave a little squint. "I know that smile...that's a guilty smile! So you have kissed them? When? Why didn't you tell me?" Her squint grew severe. "And Trevor Dansa? What were you thinking?"
I gave a little shrug. "It was a diversionary tactic to stop Eddie from talking about a dream he'd had that involved me and honey."
"You and honey?"
"Exactly. Trevor was there, so I grabbed him and kissed him."
She put a hand in front of her mouth and shook her head. "You are out of control!"
"No, I'm not."
She leaned in a little. "Kissing some random guy to avoid another guy you've kissed is definitely out of control! You are never going to find the perfect kiss that way!" Then she mocked me, saying, "A crimson kiss does not reside on the lips of Trevor Dansa--even I know that!"
She had me there. But I pursed my lips and held my ground. "That was a mistake, okay? But I am in control. I am so in control." I put my fists on my hips. "You want to know how in control I am? I turned Robbie down for a date this morning."
The warning bell rang.
"What? Oh my God. How am I supposed to keep up with you?" She stood up. "And why didn't you tell me about Eddie last night?"
I looked down. "You were excited about Paxton, and everything you said made him sound so...terrific." I shrugged. "Which made the whole thing with Eddie seem ridiculous." I smiled at her. "How are things with Paxton, anyway?"
"Weird," she grumbled, then hurried off to class.
63
Barking Up Trees
I WAS GREATLY RELIEVED that my kiss with Paxton hadn't been part of the gossip Adrienne had heard, but I couldn't help feeling a little queasy that people were talking about Eddie and Trevor. And even though I had my (very rational) explanations, it did seem a little out of control.
Things did not improve at lunchtime. I hadn't packed myself a lunch, so once again I was stuck in the Snack Shack line. Only this time instead of being accosted by Sunshine Holden, this girl named Jan Pratkay cut in line and stood uncomfortably close to me. "Your problem," she said conspiratorially, "is that you're barking up the wrong tree."
I delivered an extremely sharp-witted "Huh?" but a moment later her meaning crystallized in my brain.
Jan Pratkay, you see, is a lesbian.
I'd met Jan in middle school, but since she was never really a friend, I chalked up her ninth-grade transformation from quiet girl with long, auburn locks to spiky-haired tough chick as teenage rebellion.
"Coming out" was not part of my vocabulary at the time.
But when someone finally clarified things for me, I figured, Oh. Well, that makes sense.
And while I halfway expected another confrontation from Sunshine over the hibiscus-flower incident, I never in a million years saw this coming.
I took a step back from Jan and said, "By 'barking up the wrong tree,' you're referring to the whole forest as opposed to, say, a particular tree?"
"Assuming the forest is full of boy trees, that's right."
This was one bizarre conversation.
I took a deep breath. "Well, the forest I'm barking in is just fine with me."
She laughed. "You are so in denial."
"No...," I said, keeping my voice low, "I'm not."
"Don't deny it until you try it...," she said, grinning.
"Uh, Jan?" I asked, easing away from her. "I've heard that you just know. Like, from a very early point in your life, you just know. Isn't that right?"
One shoulder bobbed with a shrug. "If you listen to yourself."
I caught up with the rest of the line. "Well, I've listened, and I know that the forest I'm in is the right one for me."
"Look," she said with a pragmatic air. "Rumor is you've gone crazy kissing guys. I'm just saying that what you're looking for may not be in the place you're looking for it."
"Look," I said back, "it's a big forest! There are a lot of trees! I just haven't found the right one yet."
She finally gave up and returned, presumably, to her own shady glen, but she'd left me with a pounding headache. I dragged myself to the quad to meet Adrienne and tell her about these strange new developments, but Adrienne wasn't there. And rather than chase all over campus again trying to track her down, I just parked on the ground and unwrapped the turkey sandwich I'd bought in an effort to eat something better than a sucky burrito.
What I discovered was that the bread was soggy, the lettuce was slimy, and the mayonnaise had...eeew...little black specks. Maybe these specks were pepper, but with the way my day had gone, I couldn't help imagining they were bits of bug legs.
I wound up chucking it in the trash.
64
Hitchin' a Ride
AFTER SCHOOL I FOUND BRODY'S TRUCK idling in the parking lot. "Hey, Bro," I said, leaning in the open passenger window. "Can I hitch a ride?"
"Sure," he said.
So I got in, and to my surprise he put the truck in gear and released the brake.
I looked out the window. "What about Adrienne?"
"She had something going on after school."
It was somewhat strange being in the truck alone with Brody. The pattern we'd fallen into was that if Adrienne was staying after school, I walked. But here we were, alone in the truck, him being a conscientious, polite, and law-abiding driver, me feeling exhausted, famished, and uncomfortable with the weird silence between us.
I turned on the radio, which was already tuned to my favorite station. "Steady as She Goes" by the Raconteurs was playing. "Looking forward to graduation?" I asked in a lame attempt to ge
t a conversation going.
"No," he said as he eased into the exit line.
"No? How can you not be looking forward to getting away from this insanity?"
"I actually like it here," he said, then added, "And Connecticut's not exactly next door."
I sat up and turned down the radio. "Wait. You were accepted at Yale? Already?"
He nodded, looking straight ahead.
"Congratulations!"
"Thank you." He glanced at me. "I wish I was as enthused about it as you."
"Are you kidding? I would die to go to Yale!"
He glanced my way again. "You think you might?"
A cloud gathered quickly over my exuberance. "I don't know if they'd accept me." I sighed. "And what's tuition?"
"As you would say, insane. But you're smart and resourceful.... I'm sure you could get a scholarship."
"Did you get one?"
He nodded. "I wouldn't be going if I hadn't."
We talked about college and majors, and he advised me to apply to schools early, and when we got to the condo, I smiled at him and said, "Congratulations again, Brody. That's awesome."
He nodded. "Thanks."
I thought he was going to say something more, but he didn't. So I got out of the truck and waved. "See ya!"
He waited for me to get inside the condo okay, then put his truck in gear and purred down the street.
65
Clam Chowder
THERE WERE NO FLOWERS or notes or other appetite-killing surprises waiting for me at home, so I was free to gorge myself on whatever I could find to eat.
Raiding the refrigerator didn't yield much. I ended up making a Velveeta sandwich, which doesn't qualify as real food, but I was desperate.
Then, re-inspired by Brody's acceptance into Yale, I settled in at my desk and got serious about my homework. Finding the equations of rotated conic sections in math was pretty straightforward, and I took extra care in the graphing, using a blue pencil for the ellipse and a red one for the rotation.
I admired my handiwork when I was done.
Nice!
I did the usual tedious Wednesday-night word search handout for Spanish (ridiculous waste of time, if you ask anyone in that class) and the assigned reading for Miss Ryder. And I actually buckled down and studied for Mr. Anderson's world history test. The copy of Adrienne's notes was a godsend!
So I was feeling extremely happy with myself, and flirting with the idea of walking the five blocks to Taco Bell for something more enticing than a Velveeta sandwich, when my mother unexpectedly jangled through the door.
"Hey!" I called, forgetting that I was upset with her.
"Surprise!" she said, depositing her purse and keys and an overflowing sack of groceries on the kitchen table.
I pawed through the sack. "Oh, thank you!" She'd brought a bag of salad, French bread, clam chowder, croutons, milk, orange juice, deli cold cuts, a gorgeous tomato, and apples. "I am starving!"
She smiled. "So let's eat."
She did try to broach the subject of my dad during dinner, but I pointed at her with my spoon and said, "Not while I'm eating," which actually made her laugh and say, "Okay."
So she talked about work--personnel gossip mostly, but she had some pretty entertaining customer anecdotes, too, and a hilarious story about sticky, icky apple juice all over Aisle 5. And midway through my scrumptious bowl of chowder, it struck me how happy she seemed.
How much she was laughing.
How her eyes were twinkling.
How her smile was back.
There was, of course, only one explanation.
My dad.
I watched her and wondered how a man who had caused her so much pain could still make her so happy.
66
Mysterious Phone Call
BEFORE BED I cleaned off two days of makeup, snipped some split ends off my hair, took a piping hot shower, listened to my favorite cuts from Surrealistic Pillow (which did, unbelievably, include "White Rabbit"), and vowed to make a fresh start in the morning. I was going to pack a nutritious lunch! Ace every quiz that got thrown at me!
I was also going to forget about the bad kisses and find a good one.
Brody had called me smart and resourceful, and it was time I applied that to kissing. I needed to figure out what made a kiss crimson! I needed to find a better way to make my fantasy a reality!
I sat up in bed reading segments of Welcome to a Better Life. It helped me feel like I was in charge--like my actions would have positive reactions and happiness could be mine if I just believed I deserved it.
And I did deserve it!
I did!
In the morning, I packed a lunch, coordinated a sizzling outfit of my mom's jeans, a sparkly tank top, and a fur-trimmed hoodie, applied some fresh makeup (including some shimmering eyebrow highlights), slipped in oversized hoops, and headed for school.
This was a new day!
A new beginning!
I felt good!
My new beginning started with Robbie Marshall ignoring me during math. I should have been relieved, but I wasn't. He'd been really sweet the last few days. (And he was, undeniably, hot.) Did I just miss the attention? Or maybe there was a rumor circulating about me being a lesbian and he was mortified to have kissed a gay girl.
The thought suddenly gripped me.
What if people thought I was gay?
Aw, what's it matter? I told myself. If the dweebs at this school want to think so, what do you care?
At break Pico Warwick, class joker and chum-to-all, came up to me and swept me up onto the quad stage, where he made an exaggerated show of dipping me backward and planting his smackers directly on mine. It was so ridiculous, so Hollywood, and so Pico that I couldn't do anything but laugh when I was upright again. People clapped and whistled while he made a grand bow and I curtseyed, and for the rest of the day I felt great.
And when stinky, oily Roper Harding came in for tutoring and Mrs. Huffington insisted that I help him, I stood up and walked out. I'd find some other way of doing community service. Something real. I'd feed the homeless! Paint City Hall! Pick up trash at Prager Park!
Anything was better than twenty hours of smelling Roper Harding.
When I got home, I was jonesing for something sweet to eat, so I went directly to the freezer.
The double-fudge ice cream was gone (a casualty, no doubt, of late-night conversations my mom had had with my dad). There were vestiges of vanilla-orange swirl in a half-crushed carton, but it was more ice crystals than ice cream, so I set it to melt in the sink.
Besides, I didn't want vanilla-orange swirl. I wanted chocolate! Deep, rich, bitter chocolate. There had to be some somewhere!
The phone rang as I was ransacking a cupboard.
"Unless you've got chocolate, go away!" I shouted into cans of beans and boxes of couscous.
The person on the other end ignored my command.
Or perhaps they had chocolate!
On the sixth ring I scrambled to answer the call. "Hello?" I panted.
A voice whispered, "You're nothing but a stupid tease."
Before I could fully absorb what I'd just heard, the line went dead. It had been a girl's voice...but whose?
Sunshine's?
It had been disguised as a baby-girl voice, so it was impossible to know.
I laid the phone carefully on the counter and stared at it for a full ten minutes. And as much as I told myself that the call had been mean and stupid, I still felt icky inside.
The condo number was unlisted--who besides Adrienne would have it?
When I thought enough time had passed, I pressed star-sixty-nine.
After twenty nerve-racking rings, a man answered the phone. "Hello?"
It was a voice I didn't recognize. "Hi. I missed a call from a friend? I'm not sure whose house this is?"
He laughed. "It's not exactly a house. It's a pay phone outside of Starbucks."
"The one in the Baldwin Center?"
"Yeah
," he said.
I thanked him and got off the phone, racking my brain.
Adrienne would never do such a thing.
Who else had my number?
67
The Halls of Hell
CLUES TO THIS LITTLE MYSTERY began surfacing the following day. I was still reeling from Mr. Anderson's insane history test when Adrienne came rushing up to me at break and blurted, "Someone's writing your name and phone number on urinals."
"On urinals?"
"Brody told me. It's in the boys' bathroom in the four hundred wing and in the five hundred wing. It says 'Call me! Kiss me!' then your name and phone number. He's already talked to the janitor--they're going to clean it off."
I gasped as I connected the dots. "I got a crank call from someone last night."
She gasped, too. "No!"
"But...it was a girl."
Her eyes were enormous. "What did they say?"
So I told her the whole story, and she said, "Well, if they were disguising their voice, maybe it was a guy!"
"I thought it was a girl, but now...I don't know!"
"Don't worry," she said, putting an arm around my shoulders. "We'll figure it out."
My heart swelled. Even though my going after a crimson kiss was something she didn't entirely get, Adrienne had really tried to help me. And now, despite the fact that she thought my kissing had gotten out of control, was she abandoning me?
No!
Adrienne Willow was more than just a friend. She was my ally! Someone who would get to the bottom of who'd done this! Someone who'd make sure that the creep who'd turned me into target practice didn't get away with it!
I hugged her and said, "Tell Brody thanks, okay?"
The bell rang. "Why don't you tell him?" she called, hurrying off to class.
So despite everything, I was actually feeling okay until some guy with bushy sideburns (who I'd seen around campus but didn't actually know) came up from behind me and said, "You Evangeline?"
"Huh?"
He eyed me up and down with a disgusting grin. "Ooooh, baby!" he laughed, and hurried off.
All through third period I felt flushed and angry.
So I'd kissed a few guys. So what!
Confessions of a Serial Kisser Page 12
