by Siera Maley
I felt myself make a sound more than I heard it, then, and was immediately hit with a wave of embarrassment, but Chelsea just shifted a little and kissed her way down to my collarbone, encouraged.
We were moving too quickly, and even through the fog in my brain I knew it. I grasped at her for a moment, clinging to the last few seconds of her lips on my skin before I swallowed hard and pulled away, withdrawing my hand from under her shirt like I’d burned it. She took the hint and let her head fall back to her pillow, and I planted my palms on either side of her and pushed myself up so I could look down at her. We were both breathing audibly and I could see the flush in her cheeks even in the dim lamplight.
“I didn’t mean to—” I started, aware that I’d been the one to escalate things, but she shook her head.
“You don’t have to apologize.” She reached up and tucked some of my hair behind my ear, then cupped my cheek in her hand, sat up, and rejoined our lips again. It felt like a gentle goodnight kiss for a moment, or at least like that had been her intention, but then it was suddenly deep and passionate and it wiped my mind in two seconds flat, and then we were shifting apart to give her more space and she was pulling away to fumble for her shirt and yanking it up and over her head. It hit the floor somewhere beside the couch.
I felt my hands trembling as I grasped at her and pulled her back into me, and then we were kissing hard again, hurtling forward past several lines I hadn’t intended on crossing tonight. I touched her everywhere her skin was exposed and felt my pulse jump every time she gasped or her breath caught or her back arched. She fumbled for one of my hands and I realized she was trying to direct me to the clasp of her bra.
It took everything in me to stop it.
“Wait.” I breathed the word into her mouth between kisses, still tugging her into me with a hand on her neck despite my own protest. She kissed me again and then pressed our foreheads together, breathing hard.
“Wait?” she echoed softly, and I nodded against her and closed my eyes, catching my breath for a moment. I felt her brush her nose against mine affectionately and almost hated the way I couldn’t help but smile.
I leaned back to look at her and knew instantly I wouldn’t ever forget the memory of seeing her like this. She was studying me now, a small smile of her own on her lips and a deep flush in her cheeks while the lamplight cast shadows over her upper body. She was toned and absolutely gorgeous, and I felt shame and want course through me all at once.
“What?” I managed to ask her, self-conscious somehow even though I was the one still fully clothed.
“You’re just really beautiful.” She murmured it so sincerely that for a moment I didn’t doubt her. Then she leaned in toward me. For a moment I was wary that she’d kiss me again, but instead she tilted her head and pressed her lips to my cheek. My skin tingled where she made contact and my fingers itched to touch her again.
When she pulled away, she reached for her shirt, abandoned on the floor beside the couch, and moved to pull it back up and over her head, just like that. As though I had the final word and it was just how things were going to be, no questions asked.
“You don’t want to—?” I asked her, just to be sure, and she laughed a little.
“Of course I do. I really want to.” Her gaze drifted down my body in a way that nearly made me shiver, and then she was looking up into my eyes again, a warm smile on her lips. “But only when you want to.” She reached out and squeezed my hand. “Night, Zoey.”
I nodded without saying anything else and then stumbled off of her couch and over to my own, trying not to give away how shaken I still was by what had happened between us. Chelsea got up to turn the lamp off, and then it was too dark to see her anymore.
I settled under the covers and she didn’t say anything else after that. I lay still, staring up into darkness, and then mouthed, so quietly I knew she couldn’t hear it, “Shit.”
I wondered then if she’d have trouble falling asleep, too.
9
There was a note waiting for me on the kitchen counter when I got home the next day. It said: We thought you might sleep in at Chelsea’s and miss us; we’ll be back from church just after lunchtime. Hope you had a good time with your new friends! Love, Mom and Dad.
I sighed as I set it down, thinking of my morning, of shyly catching Chelsea’s eye across the breakfast table in between conversations with her parents and her friends, and then of the long goodbye we’d had on her front porch. She’d tasted like the syrup we’d had with our pancakes and again it had been hard to stop.
I wanted to call Skylar and tell her everything, but part of me knew that it wasn’t a good idea. I’d pictured my new first kiss with Chelsea so much differently than the reality. I’d imagined something closer to what had almost happened back in her bedroom at her birthday party, minus the overdone attempt at being suave. There’d be a moment I’d let her seize so that she’d think she had all the power. But a part of me had lost control last night. I’d expected it to be technically good, given our shared experience. I hadn’t expected passion.
But Skylar couldn’t be avoided, regardless. So I collapsed on my bed and spent way too long crafting a short text to her.
“Things are still going well with Chelsea. We kissed.”
Skylar didn’t bother pretending she hadn’t been waiting with bated breath. Her response was nearly instant, and gone was the tension from our earlier talk at my locker. For the sake of the mission, it seemed that for now we were going to move past our fight. Still, I could sense the nerves behind her text: “How was it?”
That was a loaded question if ever there was one. I decided it was best to spare the details. “Fine. I mean, she’s had plenty of practice.”
I swallowed hard when I saw her response. “You didn’t, like…feel anything, right? You know she’s playing you?”
I set the phone aside and laid back, resting my hands over my eyes. I couldn’t take too long to respond or she’d know something was up.
I was going to lie, I knew. It was the first time I consciously acknowledged it. Some part of what Skylar had said in the parking lot had been right. Chelsea’s story had gotten through to me and I was starting to crack. I was starting to let myself think that maybe we weren’t pretending.
I squashed the thought in my head before I could mull it over further and snatched up my phone. “Of course not! I’m not stupid.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just worried.”
“And I worry that you’re going to say something to Alex to make her hate Wes. Or to make her hate me even more.” It felt like a good idea to change the subject. I waited intently for her reply, and finally, it came.
“We can just focus on Chelsea for now. Wes and Alex aren’t going anywhere. If things work out with Chelsea, then everything will work out with Alex.”
Again, the threatening implication was there, but still I felt relief wash over me and a weight instantaneously left my shoulders. “Thanks, Sky.”
“I probably owed you one anyway. What I said at the lockers was harsh. I know you’re doing this for me.”
And just like that, the weight was back, pressing me down into my comforter. Before, it’d been from worry.
Now it was from guilt.
“You were right, btw. SO worth the wait.”
I got the text by my locker on Monday just before my first class with Skylar, and felt a smile growing on my lips before I could help it. Then a hand tapped hard on my shoulder and I wiped the smile from my face, already fearing that Skylar had witnessed me staring goofily at my phone and was here to call me out on it.
Instead, I turned and saw the last person I’d expected: Alex. She wore a tense expression and wouldn’t look me in the eyes.
“Hey,” she mumbled.
“Alex. Hi.” I wanted to say more, but I’d been struck dumb by her mere presence. She offered me a pair of sunglasses she held in one hand and I blinked at them, confused. Then I realized they looked vaguely familiar.
“Oh.” I took them from her and our fingertips brushed. I didn’t feel the spike in my pulse I’d half-expected. “I didn’t actually notice they were gone.”
She still wouldn’t look at me, but her expression told me that hadn’t been the right thing to say. “I was trying to be nice.”
“Sorry,” I blurted, finally getting on the same page. I understood what this was now. An offering. The first step to peace. Skylar’s talks were working, which had to mean she was still trying on my behalf. “Thanks.”
“Yeah. Whatever.” She shrugged and seemed to consider whether or not to offer a goodbye, then stiffly moved away without saying anything more. I watched her go, half-convinced I’d just imagined our entire conversation.
When she was finally out of sight, I twisted around and used one hand to put the sunglasses into my locker while I pressed the other to my racing heart. We were making progress. Eventually I’d be back to the world I’d been happiest in: surrounded by my best friends, back before the drama with my parents and Skylar’s broken heart and this whole convoluted Chelsea plot.
This was what I was doing everything for. I had to remember that.
Chelsea knew I had Wednesday evenings to myself while my parents were out at church, so Skylar took a backseat again when I got an invite to go out on another date. I vowed beforehand to keep my hands to myself and not let my emotions get away from me like I had on Saturday. We still had a long way to go until Prom, and if history had told me anything about Chelsea, it was that she’d only wait for so long. I had to keep her roped in, and that meant teasing and taking things just slowly enough to keep her interested until Prom night.
We only had a couple hours to get out and back without alerting my parents, so whatever she’d planned didn’t involve dinner. When she pulled into the driveway and stepped out of her car, it was with a smirk on her face and a blindfold in one hand.
“You can’t be serious.” I laughed as I went to her. She’d told me to dress up a little for this one, and we were both in shimmering dresses that just went past our knees. She’d pinned her hair all up in the back save for a few wavy tendrils framing her face.
“Dead serious,” she confirmed, reaching out for my hand and pulling me close. She held out the blindfold suggestively. “It’s a surprise.”
I exhaled heavily and took it from her. “Alright, but let me get into the car first.”
I slid the blindfold into place as we left my neighborhood and knew Chelsea was checking to make sure I’d done it correctly when she said, “Don’t peek!”
“Do I really need to have this on during the drive?” I wondered aloud. “Isn’t that for like, when kidnappers don’t want their victims to know what route they’ve taken?”
“Oh, fine,” she huffed, and I felt her fingers press against my temple and then nudge the blindfold down onto my nose, where it caught and stayed. I scowled and she grinned over at me. “Just put it on when I tell you to.”
We drove for another fifteen minutes or so before she motioned for me to blindfold myself again, and I felt her car take another couple of turns before it slowed to a stop. I heard Chelsea unbuckle her seatbelt and so I reached for my own.
“Wait one second; I’ll come get you,” she said. I waited for her to walk around and open my door, then reached out blindly with one of my hands until it found her wrist. She laughed and pulled away, then slid her hand into mine instead. “Careful.”
She helped me out of the car and onto what felt like pavement, and then guided me forward several feet. A door swung open and then I was moving forward onto wooden floors instead. She stopped me a moment later, just after the door swung shut and closed behind us.
“Okay,” she said next. “Ready?”
“I think so.” I was nervous despite her relaxed demeanor. For a moment, a vision of her removing my blindfold to a room full of her angry friends ready to confront me about my deception played behind my eyelids. Then an even worse scenario took over—one that involved a hotel bedroom with mood lighting and rose petals on the bed.
She stood behind me and touched me lightly on the shoulders, then reached up for my blindfold and gently pulled it up and off of me.
We were in a gym. Well, specifically, her school’s gym, judging by the “GO BROOKS BENGALS!” painted across one wall. A large cloth with a picnic basket and a small portable speaker on it had been placed near the edge of the basketball court, and on top of the picnic basket was a single red rose. Chelsea looked almost nervous as she moved to retrieve it.
“I thought I’d show you a little of my world,” she said, straightening up with the flower in her hand, “and I knew I could get a guy from the basketball team to make sure the door was unlocked, so…this seemed like a good spot.” She exhaled sharply as she came to a stop in front of me and offered me the rose. “I hope it’s okay.”
I raised my eyebrows at her, surprised. “Of course it’s okay. It’s more than okay. You set this up for us?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I just thought after the other night…I guess I just wanted to show you that I meant everything I said, and that what happened…” She paused, chewing on her bottom lip, and then looked frustrated at herself. “I’m not very good at this.” She glanced over her shoulder, embarrassed, and then added, “I hope you’re a little hungry. I know we said no dinner, but I brought dessert. You mentioned you like chocolate cream pie once.”
I gaped at her. “You brought chocolate cream pie?” Then I grasped at her hand and pulled her toward the picnic basket, trying not to linger on the warmth blooming in my chest. I couldn’t even recall telling her about my favorite dessert, but she’d remembered it anyway.
She laughed as I tugged her along and was beaming at me by the time we were sitting down on the cloth together and opening the basket. I raised the flower to my nose and inhaled, hiding a smile as she lifted two saran-wrapped plates of pie. She handed me a fork and I set the flower aside to work on the saran wrap.
“You like this,” she noticed, watching me with something that looked like a mixture of pride and affection.
“You had me at pie,” I agreed, digging into my dessert with more determination than necessary in order to avoid thinking too much about the expression on her face.
She ate slower than I did, looking around at our surroundings with reverence. “It’s so strange that we only have a few months left of high school and then we’re just done forever. No more Bengals. No more meeting up with our friends at our lockers. I’m even starting to think I might miss the shitty cafeteria food.”
I set my plate aside, finished, and dabbed at my mouth with a napkin she offered me. “I’ll miss high school a lot,” I admitted. “I’m scared of what comes next.”
“That’s kind of what makes it exciting though, isn’t it? I mean, there’s a lot I’ll miss, but maybe change can be good.”
I shook my head and scrunched my nose. “I don’t like change.”
“Maybe you just don’t like growing up,” she suggested with a half-smile. I could tell she was just teasing me.
“I don’t mind aging. I just wish everything else could always stay the same.”
She shrugged her shoulders and set the remnants of her dessert aside. “Well, I think if nothing ever changed, life would just be boring.”
“I’ll take boring over terrible any day.”
She smiled at me. “Well, fortunately, you never bore me.” She shifted closer and took my hand. “And I’m happy when I’m with you. The bad experiences are part of what makes me appreciate everything that’s happened these past few weeks. The good parts make it worth it.”
“And what if things change?” I asked her. “What happens then?”
She seemed caught off-guard by the question. “Well.” I felt her tug on my hand and realized she wanted us to stand. “We don’t have to worry about that.” She pressed a few buttons on her phone before sett
ing it aside on the ground, and music began to play from the speaker. I stood with the same guilty weight from before growing heavy in my chest, and she pulled me close, guiding me out toward the middle of the court. I glanced toward the speaker with a small, forced laugh, recognizing the opening notes.
“The Beatles. So now you have taste?”
“I’m full of surprises,” she joked, then her expression softened and she placed my arms over her shoulders, moving in even closer until we were inches apart. I felt her hands on my waist. “Do you know how to dance?” she asked me.
“A little.” I tried not to look at her lips, but looking into her eyes was almost even more distracting.
“Here.” She tugged me forward and then guided me into a light swaying motion. I hooked my fingers together behind her neck and accepted that there wasn’t anywhere else to look but into her eyes with us so close like this. She smiled fondly at me and together we circled slowly.
The longer we stayed pressed together the way we were, the more my nerves slowly faded. One song ran into another as we lost track of time. I rested my chin on her shoulder and she encircled my waist with her arms, and I realized with incredible sorrow, “You make me really happy, too.”
I knew she was too lost in the moment to catch my tone when her warm reply was a quiet, “I really, really like you, Zoey. More than I’ve ever liked anyone.” And it was the strangest feeling, wanting so much to believe something and also wanting it to be a lie.
I pulled away a little to study her, and her eyes fluttered open to stare back at me. I traced every inch of her face, from her eyes to her nose to her mouth to the few freckles splashed across her cheeks to the slope of her jaw and her chin. Then I cupped her cheeks in my hands and kissed her.
