I suds myself with soap, swelling as my breath quickens with the reality of how Grady is right downstairs. I plunge into the bowl between my legs until I’m satisfied. I force myself out of the shower, practically panting. I hurry and get dressed, my hairbrush in hand when I get downstairs.
Grady relaxes on the indoor hammock strung up on the enclosed front porch. He holds a bottle of beer, half empty, in his hand. He pulls me close and I crash into the hammock. I koala onto him so I don't fall. My cheeks flush.
“You’re so hot. And I do remember what you said last night or was it this morning?”
Lying beside him, Grady O’Rourke goes on for miles and days. It's like even after the intensity of this last week, getting to know him would take a lifetime. But I want to explore the territory that lies just before falling in love. I’m not ready for all of that, but instead for the anticipation, the flirting, and the lust that comes first.
“Should we get going?” I ask, afraid of what might happen if we continue to lay here, pressed together in the hammock. Getting caught this time probably won’t go over as well. However, I don’t make an effort to move. He smells like soap and boy, with the faintest note of pizza.
He dangles the keys over my palm. “You’re driving.”
I jump to my feet. “I can’t drive your car.”
“You have to. I don’t think the both of us will fit on your skateboard.”
I run through my head for how that could work, but in the end, I get behind the wheel.
“You look good over there. Dripping wet hair, backlit by the sun." He snaps a photo with his phone. "So I'll remember this.” He looks at me as if he's counting my freckles, taking note of the space between my teeth, the little studs in my ears, and that I'm wearing my bracelet with the anchor.
Despite my warm cheeks, I look at him. Brown eyes, brown lashes. Three freckles. No twelve. It’s like watching stars appear. I’ve never noticed there were so many.
Then his lips are on mine. His fingers twine into my hair, cupping my head like he can’t get enough of me and damn it the gearshift is in the way. I want to be closer to him along with the other hundred things I’ve fantasized about. His lips are hungry and I’m starving and we both seek the other to satisfy our appetites. Then I accidently press down on the accelerator and the car revs. We startle and then laugh. If this is what the last seven days until graduation are like, I won't let a minute slip by unaccounted for. I release my ruminations about Teddy and Joss and allow this surge of hormones to torch me.
I pull out of the driveway, forgetting that I’m a terrible and self-conscious driver. The tension between us undergoes nuclear fusion and I sense we're making out in our minds: fantasy lips smooching, hands groping, bodies pressing together.
When I change gears, Grady’s hand travels up my arm. He leans close and whispers, “Next left,” reminding me we’re actually driving somewhere and not using the speeding car as a symbol for what we both want.
I park in the nearly empty lot in front of the hockey rink. “You handled this thing like a boss,” Grady says, clapping the top of the door where the window disappears.
His mouth. Mine. I can't stop thinking about it. Grady + me + lips solves for X. I've parsed out this simple equation.
When I pull the keys out of the ignition, he leans in. Just as his lips are about to land on mine, the door flies open and Augie hollers, “What? You wouldn’t let me drive it, but you let her.” He’s joking, but the little wrinkle in his chin tells me he’s hurt.
“If you don’t recall, you drive things with wheels off of roofs.”
“And she crashes into swimming pools,” Augie argues, somehow recalling me skateboarding from that scatterbrain night.
“Empty ones,” I interject.
“She was on a skateboard. You don’t need a license for one of those,” Grady says in my defense.
“You slay me, man. Fine. What’s the plan?” He rubs his hands together as if ready to hatch a devious plot.
Grady looks at me, the craving between us paused and left to wait in the car for our return.
He looks around the empty lot. "The tanks should be here with Hansel any minute and then we're good to go."
"How’d you get here?” Grady asks.
“Walked.” Augie scuffs his tattered sneaker on the cement.
He and I aren’t that different; both of us vying for Grady’s attention. He’s lonely and wants friends, thus the theatrics. Me, I’m not entirely sure what I’m after. A good time? An answer? A fantasy fulfilled? All of it. However, I wish my mind had a setting for uncomplicated and straightforward.
I put my hand on Augie's shoulder, not wanting him to think I’m coming between him and his best pal. “Let’s do this,” I say.
“I always knew she was cool, just not how much,” Augie says approvingly to Grady.
Shortly after, the guys arrive in a box truck with more helium tanks than is sensible.
The iceless hockey rink acts as a warehouse as the guys and I fill balloon after balloon. With the ample amounts of helium at our fingertips, it doesn’t take long for them to devolve into squeaky voiced caricatures, leaving me in hysterics. After we fill the box truck, we prepare another truckload of balloons to drop off at the school. I’m glad for the quiet moments on the beach with Uncle Guzzi earlier as the influx of helium makes the guys bounce with energy.
We contain the balloons in giant tarps so they don't float away or pop. For the tenth trip to the school, I go in the box truck for a change of scenery. No one mentioned preparing a prank is tedious. Fill, tie, fill, tie, fill tie…
When we pull up to Puckett, Asher says, “We have to be stealth because word is Whitaker has been keeping close watch on things, but he’s off golfing this weekend. Everyone put in a word with whoever is in charge of the weather. We need clear skies otherwise he might come back early.”
After releasing the last load, the results of our efforts go free—drifting and bobbing down the hall like students, like us. I turn toward the door with the same untamed exuberance as Grady, Augie, Asher, and Berlin. The scratches of resentment from having to arrive by first bell, sit in stuffy classrooms, and listen to dull lectures wash away in one synchronistic and triumphant whoop as we run down the hall, jumping, and pumping our fists in the air. Grady grabs my hand as we rush through the double doors out to the waiting cars and truck. "For Cordelia!" We shout, honoring the lost Parker sister.
We own the school. We own this night.
“Okay, guys. We’ll finish this later. Now, we party,” Augie squeaks, ever the champion of mischief and mayhem despite his damp eyes at the memory of his sister.
We pile into the Mustang. The others follow in the truck.
“Where to?” I ask.
Augie pipes up from the back seat, his voice still not quite back to normal. “Hansel and Gretel’s.”
Disturbing images of Teddy and Gretel kissing fill my mind. I almost stall the car.
“Naw, let’s not go there. It’s always so lame and Gretel is bossy,” Asher says.
“You like her,” Augie teases.
“Liked, dude.”
“I saw her making out with someone the other night, but it wasn’t you,” Augie says to Asher. “Did that ruin it for you?”
I stop listening and focus on driving.
We pull up to the brown gambrel and there are a few cars already parked in the driveway, but no sign of the Grapesicle.
The others hunt for shenanigans, leaving Grady and me on the couch in the basement. He shifts closer and then I’m stretching my neck to reach his lips and our eyes are closed and we’re messy and sloppy fools for each other. His hand reaches up my shirt just as footsteps march down the stairs. We quickly pull apart and straighten hair and clothes like two teenagers caught by the wicked witch.
“Why?” Grady mutters, presumably because we keep being interrupted. He rubs his hands down the thighs of his jeans. I crane my neck toward the stairs. Joss smirks at me and Teddy avoids my
gaze.
Grady says, “The others are out back. I think Gretel is running interference.” He laughs nervously, as if he hopes they’ll take the hint and leave.
Seconds later, there’s a stampede down the stairs, including the Clearwaters. Music comes on and the room blurs in a rainbow of stereophonic symphony.
Almost everyone weaves into a circle; seated on the floor and crowded on couches and chairs. I'm shoulder to shoulder with Grady. Joss sits opposite me, her lips ever on the edge of breaking into anarchy.
“I’m going first,” Gretel says, holding an empty glass bottle.
Hansel argues. “We’re not twelve anymore.”
The outskirts of the room suddenly fascinate everyone as they find something to focus on that isn't playing spin the bottle.
“No, but this is the last time we’re doing this. Ever,” Gretel argues, looking around for support.
No one protests as the spinning bottle smears green against the yellow rug as we say one last goodbye to our old selves.
The bottle stops.
Gretel and Teddy leave to cheers. Not relegating the pairs to the closet, the circle gets smaller as the group disbands two-by-two, disappearing into hidden nooks and empty rooms. When the bottle lands on Augie and Grady, they both laugh and Augie spins it again. He wanders off with Dolphina. Ziggy gives him a look of warning as they disappear into the far shadows of the basement.
On my turn, I give it a gladiator worthy spin. It spins and spins and spins past Grady. It stops on Joss. There’s hooting and kissing noises. I twirl a loose piece of my hair.
Grady nudges me and winks. "It's just a game."
I laugh nervously, follow Joss upstairs, and out to the back deck. Smoke hangs in the air and a chorus of crickets sings from the bushes. We sit on the steps leading to the dark backyard and the woods beyond. She could seriously light up the night, but I feel like I need the privacy of the clouded moon.
“Seven-minutes in heaven?” I say, joking.
“Have you ever kissed a girl for seven-minutes?” she asks.
Jittery excitement makes my pulse knock against my veins. “The first girl I ever kissed was you, the other night. And although my memory is hazy, I think it lasted about seven-seconds.” I giggle because no matter how much I want this, it's unfamiliar territory compared to the long-standing fantasies and near-constant bombardment in real life of hetero interactions. I know the basic mechanics of girl-guy stuff. Girl-girl is a foreign softness I want to become acquainted with.
“Do you want to do it again?” she asks. Her pale eyes saturate mine.
Definitely yes. I lean in closer. Her gaze is velvety and she closes the space by half, already knowing the answer without me having to say the words.
With her pointer finger, she draws my chin toward hers, gazing intently at my lips. Her breath is warm against my cheek before she meets me on the mouth.
We’re as hungry for each other as Grady and I were, but it’s a silky, gentler appetite. Like appetizers and dessert. Her mouth is an indulgence. Moisture beads my skin at the thought of my shower earlier. Our hands grip and grope, searching for more, more, more. Whatever this is, where I am right now, I never want it to stop, but my mind wanders to Grady, wondering what happens after tonight.
Chapter Fourteen
☼
Sunday
168 hours
I spend the morning in my tree in the backyard, hoping fresh air and distance from the ground will help me make sense of the previous night. I brought my Kindle for a distraction, but it's parked on the same lit-up page. The edges of the words refuse to pull themselves into solid black lines. My head pounds the near-sleepless night before back in saturated chromaticity, like a photograph. Grady and me. Teddy and Gretel. Joss and me. I consider taking a walk, but all this uncertainty would be sure to follow along with my headache.
My mom shouts back to me about going out to brunch with them and Uncle Guzzi, but this mass of confusion keeps me rooted in the tree replaying the kiss that lasted longer than seven minutes.
Joss's lips were like wine, like summer, like Lady Liberty incarnate, minus the elegant gown. The torch she carries illuminates my inner longing and the book probably says something about being true to myself or whatever. I have one of Teddy's favorite songs stuck in my head: Katy Perry's I kissed a Girl. The irony that he knows every word isn't lost on me.
If it hadn’t been for the guys moving the party back to the ice rink and emptying the remaining helium tanks, I might not have survived the night. Instead of going there, I purposefully got lost in transit and made my way home. For all I know they might still be filling balloons. Or passed out.
I let the mighty tree trunk support me, following the knotty roots before gazing up to see where my branches might lead.
I trace the letters WW and TW etched into the smooth bark of a branch. They’re not joined by a plus or encircled with a heart, but they may as well have been because there are relationships that go deeper than boy-girl and just friends. I thought of Teddy Westing as my brother, and now I don’t know what we are or who we are.
☼
After the pink Bug's engine stops ticking in the driveway, I venture inside, hoping my parents or uncle sensed my gastrointestinal distress and returned with a complimentary greasy meal.
My mom and dad are in the home office and a Styrofoam takeout container sits at my place on the kitchen table.
Guzzi appears holding my blinged out cell phone case in his hand. “Your cellular social life keeps beeping.”
I snatch it.
He raises an eyebrow.
“Did you read the messages?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says with an impish grin.
I should care, but my headache and need for the world—or at least my life—to right itself wins any argument I might make.
“Someone named Joss wants you to skip school with her today.”
At the sight of her name, I have a physical reaction that’s somewhere between a startle and me bouncing in my chair. I scroll through. Uncle Guzzi wasn't teasing, that's what her message says. “But it’s Sunday.”
He shrugs. I check the time and date stamp. She sent it a half hour ago.
I thumb back Cool. Then I delete. Sure. Delete. Okay. No way, lame city. "Um…"
Guzzi chuckles. “Just say yes.” Then he adds, “I don’t know how you deal with being connected like that all the time.”
“I don’t know how you don’t call for an entire year.”
“I call on Christmas.”
“Collect.”
“Pay phones are harder to come by than you’d think.”
“I don’t even know what that means.” But of course I do. The idea of disconnecting and disappearing appeals to me, at least for a day. At least until I figure stuff out. I type back Yes and set my phone in the middle of the table.
She instantly replies Be there in an hour.
I devour the eggs, toast, and home fries in front of me.
When I come up for air, Guzzi says, “That lighthouse, your parents have a real vision for it.”
“Yeah. It’ll be cool if they get underway.”
“What would you think if at some point, I came back and helped them work on it?” He runs his hand down his beard like he’s pulling out strands of thought.
“What about Europe?”
“I may be adverse to cell phones, but I do fly. I can come back. You know, air transport, thousands of flights per day, three-hundred-sixty-five days a year. It’s not that modern an invention.”
“Ha ha.” I say dryly. “Fiona?”
“She’d love it here. Anyway, it’s something I’m thinking about.”
“Settling down?”
“No, following my compass. I’ve learned that it’s okay for plans to change midstream. Course correcting if it feels right in here,” he gestures to his chest, “is badass.”
I shower and dress. Then redress. Then question why I basically have a uniform: denim and cotton.
I put my hair up and then down, annoyed that I’ve never done anything more creative with it like Heather’s pixie cut or experimented with color.
I take one last look in the mirror and a beam of sunshine washes through the window. I see a girl, golden. Me. Just me. Plain. Tall... Curious. Loving. Inclusive. A warm thought radiates through me like a steam bath. I like who I am, even if from day to day I’m not sure exactly who that girl is.
☼
Loud punk rocks the granny-car. Joss drives with one bare foot on the seat, her knee leaning against the door. It’s already hot and her short-shorts reveal a rebellion of fuzz on her legs. I run my hand over my smooth leg.
She doesn’t turn the music down but shouts over it. “Teddy said you wouldn’t skip school, so I thought today was the better choice.” She threatens a laugh.
I suppose that means they were talking about me and answers the question of how she got my number.
“Last night," she says with a nod.
“Last night,” I say, agreeing because what else is there to say without sounding like a pair of goobers having a gush fest. I accept my dorkiness, but I can't go goober, that's too far.
“Teddy stayed at Gretel’s. Walk of shame this morning.” She smirks.
Jealousy prickles. Why did she know that and not me? Does he leave her messages like, "Hey, Joss, have you ever combed your hair with a toothbrush? Talk to you later."
“How do you know?” I ask, coaxing my voice over a screeching guitar.
“I stayed there too,” she says. “He’s told me everything. Yes, we kissed. He was my first. I was his first girl-kiss. No, it wasn’t magical.” Her upper lip crimps. "It was all hypothetical."
I want her to put on the brakes or at least slow down. My jaw quivers. I could cry.
But suddenly this situation, the flipside of life just weeks ago, makes me hysterical. Instead of the tears that threaten, I start laughing uncontrollably, the I-can't-catch-my-breath, tummy-clinching kind. I kissed Teddy and it missed the mark. I kissed Joss and it lit the fuse. I kissed Grady and fireworks, baby.
Chasing Days Page 13
