Pucker Up

by Sara Hubbard

  “I need that back,” I say.

  He smiles, but it’s sad. When he holds it out, I grab and hug it tight against my chest. “These are my notes. Scribblings, actually. Please don’t take my work and use it. That wouldn’t be ethical, right?”

  He nods. “You’re absolutely right. I wouldn’t use your notes. But it wouldn’t be hard to find details of my own given one big detail I happened to read.”

  I lean back in the chair and stare at him, waiting for him to continue.

  “You discovered Ozzie’s real name. It wasn’t hard to find every detail of his life out once I had that.”

  “You can’t print details about his childhood. After all that was thrown at him, you can’t make it worse by letting everyone read about it and pity him. He’ll hate it. And he’ll…”

  “Hate you?”

  I take a breath to steady myself. I feel my eyes burn, the threat of tears imminent. “That doesn’t matter. He won’t want this story printed. Please…give him a break and leave it alone. The story I wrote will be good enough.”

  “Yes. Good enough. But not great. And I want a great story for our last issue.”

  “So, this is journalism,” I say, my voice choked up. “Stealing and using and manipulating to make money or look good. I’ll admit, I wanted this. I’ve wanted it since I was a kid, but I never really thought about how cutthroat it is, and this is university! Not a regular paper. I guess I have to thank you for showing me this side of it before I wasted my life on a degree I won't use.”

  “Don’t be dramatic. You’re right. You shouldn’t be a reporter if you don’t have the stomach for this kind of thing.”

  I shake my head at him and rise to stand.

  “Oh, calm down,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “I’m not going to write his life story. If the school finds out I used a stolen day-timer to get information, they’ll have my resignation. It wouldn’t make the school look good. And, in case you’re wondering about the person who gave it to me, the Dean will be dealing with her personally.”

  I relax in my seat. I don’t want someone to get expelled—if that’s what going to happen—but whoever did this to me and Ozzie deserves to be punished. “So, his secrets are safe?”

  “I’m afraid so.” He shakes his head at me. “I don’t understand why you look so upset. Your story will be in the paper, after all. And I’m a man of my word. If you change your mind and want a spot here next year, you’re welcome. But you’ll need to toughen up, or you won’t last long. It won’t bother me to cut you loose.”

  I stare at him for a beat, my wants and needs clearer than they’ve ever been. I don’t want his. Never have. Why hadn’t I bothered to listen to Mom and Emily all the times they tried to tell me this. When I speak, my voice is confident.

  “Jack, I appreciate the offer and the opportunity. It’s everything I thought I wanted. But, you forced me to take a long look at myself and I’ve realized that this was never my dream. Not really. I wanted this for the wrong reasons and I can’t lie to myself anymore. You won’t ever have to cut me loose, because this isn’t for me. I hope you can understand.”

  He scoffs at me. “You frustrate me for almost a full year and you’re going to walk away now?”

  With my head held high, I say, “I am. I told you you’d miss me.”

  He rolls his eyes but I hear him chuckling at my back as I hold my head up and walk out the door.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  How much did Piper or Sam tell Ozzie? Does he know about the details I wrote in my day-timer? Or does he simply know I was writing a story about him? It’s not like Piper or Sam would tell me if I asked. But this is important, since giving the day-timer to Jack means they’re willing to tell his secrets to anyone. As if he doesn’t hate me enough right now. I have to tell him his secrets won’t be in the paper but they might be circulating around campus.

  I leave school, skipping my one o’clock class. I hurry to his shared house, almost breaking into a jog across the soccer field. At the edge of the field I meet a hill a little too steep to jog down. With difficulty, I hobble down but pick up too much speed. The ditch comes upon me too quickly, and I can’t slow down. I slam into it, somersaulting into the muck, letting out a little scream. When I’ve stopped and I’m flat on my back, my legs inclined on the other side of the ditch, I discover that, other than a massive bruised ego, I’m absolutely fine. My clothes are covered in dirt and there are cuts to my hands and face from the stray rocks, but I’m fine.

  I try to stand, but stumble. My head is woozy.

  A couple of guys walk by and laugh at me. Not one of them asks if I’m all right or if I need help. Assholes. They just snicker and keep walking. I trudge up to the sidewalk. I could still go to Ozzie’s, but I don’t want to show up like this, so I go back to the dorm and grab my shower caddie and a robe.

  In the bathroom, Sam is in front of the mirror washing her hands. She’s smiling at herself with her lips pulled back, looking at her teeth. I want to scream at her, accuse her of being a bitch and a traitor. She claimed to care about Ozzie, yet she, or her friend, decided to give the editor of the school paper sensitive information about Ozzie? She doesn’t give a damn about him, no matter what she says.

  I walk past her, and from my peripheral, our eyes meet in the mirror. She leans back and watches me with a cat-like stare. I head to the shower. It’s a two-stall affair, one behind the other. In the first is a change area the same size as the shower, then a curtain separating it from the shower. I put my caddie on the bench and yank the outer curtain across before peeling off my dirty clothing. They stick to me like glue. As it comes off, pieces of dried dirt fall to the floor in clumps. The janitor is going to freak out.

  After I'm undressed, I listen a moment. I still haven’t heard the door, so Sam’s still in here. What is she waiting for? God knows, she might try to prank me or do something to my stuff while I shower. I wait another moment.

  She yanks the curtain open, and I cover my bits and pieces, though it’s not that easy. She’s not looking at my boobs, though. She’s staring me hard in the face. I grab a towel and wrap it around me. It’ll be dirty now when I get out of the shower. I have another reason to dislike her now.

  “Can I help you?” I snap at her.

  “No. You’ve done enough.”

  I pull the curtain back across and heave an exasperated sigh. I untuck the front of the towel to take it off again, but then I change my mind. My anger builds. But I’m not just mad at her, I’m mad at myself. I always back down in these situations, let people walk all over me, and then hate myself later when it’s all over. No. I won't give her that, too.

  She’s opening the door to leave when I yank the curtain open. “I know what you did,” I say.

  With her hand pressed against the door, she glances at me from over her shoulder. She turns on a heel and folds her arms across her chest. “Excuse me?”

  “You told Ozzie about my story.”

  “He needed to know.”

  “That’s not why you told him. You couldn’t stand the idea of him with me. But it wasn’t enough to break us up. You wanted him to hate me. It drove you crazy to think he might forgive me. That he might be happy with me.”

  She laughs. “You’re insane. Yeah, I told him about the story. Don’t blame me for that. You only have yourself to blame. I was only doing something you should have done from the beginning. I was protecting him from you.”

  “Bullshit!” I say. “If you really cared for him, you wouldn’t have given my notes to Jack.”

  “Who?” she says, her face scrunched up in annoyance.

  “Don’t play dumb with me. The editor of the freaking school paper.”

  “You’re high. I never gave anyone anything.”

  “And I’m supposed to believe you?”

  “Do you honestly think I care what you believe?” She takes a few steps toward me.

  She has a point, but I won’t let her fool me. “You’re lying. You think
I’ll tell Ozzie and he’ll hate you, too.”

  “I don't have a clue what you're talking about!” She throws her hands in the air. Her expression changes from annoyed to concerned. “That editor has the notes?”

  I eye her, looking for signs of lying, but I don’t see a single one. Damn her. I want to hate her so bad, but it seems like my anger might be misplaced. And if she didn’t give him the planner, then what she says might be true. She might have told Ozzie for his benefit. And it makes me feel like an asshole—again.

  “He’s not publishing it. He knows it was stolen. He thinks the school will look bad if it gets out. But whoever gave it to him is going to be in a whole lot of trouble.”

  There’s a beep and a rumble from a vibrating phone. It’s coming from Sam’s back pocket. She reaches around her hip to pluck it out and taps on it to unlock it with her thumb. Her eyebrows reach her hairline as she reads a message.

  “Fuck,” she says.

  “What?” I still, hoping to God things haven’t become worse.

  She holds her phone out. “Piper did this.”

  Of course, she did. How’s this news to her? I look at the screen on her phone.

  http://www.notebook.com/9493920304000

  “What is this?” I say quickly, afraid of the answer.

  The message is from Kiera Francis, a girl on Emily and Sam’s soccer team.

  I click on the link, and it’s an album of photos, each of them photographs of pages from my day-timer. “Oh, my God.” Besides all the secrets about Ozzie, my private thoughts are there for everyone to see, including my interest in sixty-nine. I feel around for the counter, needing the support. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  “I swear I didn’t know she was going to do this.” She heaves a shaky breath. “I didn’t want to destroy either of you. That’s not me—not really. I so was jealous when I saw your notes. From the beginning, he showed you who he really was, and he never let me see that part of him. I didn’t know his parents died. Or his sister… God, how awful must that have been. I just wanted him to love me. I love him, you know?” Her eyes grow watery. She blinks and a tear falls. “I’m so sorry, Charlie. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I swear.”

  The room is closing in around me. Any minuscule chance I had to mend things with Ozzie is gone. And now the whole school will be laughing at me behind my back. It’s like high school all over again. When will shit like this end?

  “I’m sorry.”

  I believe her. I thought of her as a villain, but she’s not the bad guy here. If anyone is, it’s me. “It’s okay,” I say, soothing her.

  “Why couldn’t he love me back? What was so wrong with me?”

  Beautiful, smart, athletic Sam. A girl every guy would die to be with. Even though I didn’t see her appeal before, I see it now. She’s not ugly inside like I thought. She’s like me. A girl with insecurities. A girl who wants someone to make her feel special. And she tried hard to hold on to what mattered to her when she should have just let it go.

  I try to wrap my arms around her, but she pulls away. Whatever moment we’re having, it’s not powerful enough to make us friends. And I guess both of us know this. More tears stream down her face, smearing her mascara down her cheeks.

  “I don’t want your pity.”

  “I'm not pitying you, Sam. I just…I get what you’re feeling. And I never in a million years thought we’d have anything in common.”

  “Ozzie’s going to be so mad.”

  Yes, he is. It was bad enough when Sam and Piper knew. But the whole school now too? “Why would Piper do this?” I ask her.

  She backs up and leans against the sink. Her hands reach behind her, and she grips the edge so hard her knuckles are white. With a shake of her head, she says, “Piper's a bitch. She gets off on watching other people suffer.”

  “Why are you friends with her?”

  She sighs. “I honestly don’t know. I don’t think her parents hugged her enough as a child. She…I don’t know…she’s a lot of fun most of the time. But sometimes she takes things too far. After I told Ozzie about you, I told her to give you back your notes. She said she would, but I should have known she’d do something with them.”

  “I need to tell Ozzie.”

  She laughs without humor. “It’s on Facebook. What makes you think he doesn’t already know?”

  I take the quickest shower of my life. After I get out, I put on the first thing in my drawer and jog to Ozzie’s. When I knock on the door, I’m out of breath, heaving for air, sure I’m about to pass out.

  Michael answers the door. With a pizza in hand, he frowns at me, his eyes flickering from looking at my forehead to my cheeks and then my eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “Sure. I'm great. Is Ozzie here?”

  “You have…like, red blotches all over your face.”

  “I'm allergic to exercise.”

  He tips his head to the side and studies me some more. “For real?”

  “No. Well, not really.” I take another deep breath. “Ozzie?”

  “He’s upstairs…but I don't think he’s up for company.”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “Your funeral!” he calls after me.

  Because I don't have the energy to rush forward, I drag my feet to the stairs and push on my thighs to propel myself upward. His door is closed. I lean forward and listen but hear nothing on the other side. The silence is deafening until I hear some yelling and laughing down the hall.

  I catch my breath finally and knock lightly.

  “Busy!” he yells.

  I lean my head forward to touch the hardwood. If he knows I’m here, there is no way he’ll let me in. I knock again, this time a little louder.

  “What?” he snaps.

  I turn the handle and find it unlocked. My heartbeat picks up. Blood thunders in my ears. I’m so afraid of what he’ll say to me that I consider running away. The girl I used to be would have turned tail and ran, never looking back. I would have avoided him forever if it meant never having to deal with a confrontation. But I can’t leave things like this. The thought of him assuming I did this, that I could be the kind of person who would do something so cruel…it makes me nauseous.

  I slowly push open the door.

  Ozzie sits on the window ledge, his legs straight out along the thick wooden sill, crossed at the ankles. He wears some sweats and a threadbare white T-shirt. He looks out the window, deep in thought. When he turns to look my way, I try to swallow a lump in my throat, but my mouth is so dry it won’t go away.

  He tips his head back against the wall as he stares at me blankly. I won’t meet his eyes so I look down at his chest. Only now, I notice his bleeding knuckles. Then to his left, a hole in the wall that I’m sure wasn’t there the last time I came here.

  “Hi,” I say softly.

  He says nothing back, just continues to stare at me.

  “I had nothing to do with it,” I say quickly.

  “You’re good. I'll give you that.”

  “I swear I didn’t do it. You can’t believe it was me? Did you not see the embarrassing things I wrote? They were all posted, too. There for anyone to see.”

  “Well the trouble is that since you lied to me once, I don’t believe a fucking word you say anymore. Maybe you put the other stuff up so I would buy it this time.” His tone is calm, but there is an edge to his words that makes me believe that there’s a caged beast raging inside of him. It’s the first time since I met him that I can actually see what he might have looked like after his parents died, when he was “out of control.” I couldn’t really picture it before.

  “I took notes. Yes. But they were mine. No one else was ever meant to see them. And when Brinks asked me to come up to the front of the class after the bell the other day, I left them on my desk. Piper took them. That’s how Sam knew I was writing an article.”

  “Sam. She doesn't look so bad anymore. Not compared to you.”

  I retract my head as if I�
��ve been slapped. “You’re trying to hurt me.”

  “Fuck. I was so wrong about you. All year I thought you were this stubborn, motivated, intelligent girl who got so embarrassed when she laughed that she’d cover her smile. I thought that girl would be so sweet. So easy to be with. A girl I could have a conversation with and who actually listened. Someone who was trustworthy. Turns out the fantasy was better than the reality.”

  I take a few steps closer.

  “Don’t come at me right now. I’m trying so hard to be good. Trying my best not to freak the fuck out. Everyone in my house, on my team, in this fucking school knows about my childhood. You should see the way people look at me now.”

  “Yeah? Well, someone asked me for a sixty-nine on the way over here. So there.”

  “You’re comparing the two?”

  “No, but how could you possibly believe this was me? That makes no sense whatsoever, and you know it. You want so badly to believe I’m the bad guy so you don’t have to let me back into your life. You don’t want to let me in because you’re afraid of getting hurt, but guess what, I’m afraid of that, too.”

  He grits his teeth, suddenly quiet. He paces the room, his hands fidgeting at his sides. “You didn’t get the answer to your second question, though, did you? Nope. Didn’t see that online.”

  “What question? What are you talking about?”

  “Well, you wrote 1. Who is Ozzie and where did he come from? Then, you wrote 2. Why did he sit out for playoffs? You never asked me that question. Not that I would have told you. Why? Well, it's not your business. But since you desperately want to know. I’ll tell you now. You can put it on Facebook with the other notes."