More Than A Kiss (More Than Best Friends Book 2)

by Sally Henson

  The table conversation turns to Lane’s adventure to EIU and girls and dating. His dad tells about all the married couples he knows that met in college. All the adults chime in with the couples they know. It makes the food in my stomach feel like a rock. They’re all sure Lane’s going to meet someone he’ll find worthy to marry while he’s at college.

  Why wouldn’t he? He’s gorgeous and sweet. Not a common combination. My shoulders sag and my body turns to liquid. At any moment, I’ll slink down the chair and under the table to a puddle on the floor, and I’ll disappear without anyone noticing … along with my courage and confidence.

  “I don’t know. There are a few sweet girls around here he might find appealing. Maybe he and Regan might be a good match.” Mom shocks me with her not-so-subtle suggestion.

  My eyes flash to hers.

  She forks another bite of her green beans. When she looks up, her eyes lock with mine. Her look is like a shot from a stun gun.

  I quickly look away down to my plate and try to breathe again. I can’t take this swirl of guilt from the secrets I’m keeping, combined with the anxiety of Lane’s finding someone “worthy” at college. It’s gripping and churning my insides.

  “Oh, Sarah, that would be so sweet. What do you kids think about that?” Mrs. Cary adds her support to the idea.

  Maybe, this might work out. My spine stiffens and I dare look up from my plate at Lane.

  He’s sharing a smile with his mom.

  “Lane’s too old for Regan. Besides, he’s a college boy now. Why would he want to spend time with a sixteen-year-old girl? Right, Lane?”

  The heat of anger and humiliation warms my cheeks to my ears. I look down to my plate, trying to hide from the truth that came out of Dad’s mouth. What little food I’ve eaten sours in my stomach even more. If I don’t get up, I’m going to explode all over the table.

  “Uh, well. Regan’s my best friend, so, I imagine I’ll be spending plenty of time with her.” Lane tries to reach for my hand under the table, but I have my hands clasped together in my lap.

  Dad continues to push the idea Lane is better off without me. “You and Regan are going to be living in two different worlds now. You’ll make new friends at college. You’d have a lot more in common with a best friend who’s male. Don’t you think?”

  Dad continues to pile up the reasons why Lane should stay away from me. I can’t take it anymore. I slip away from the table to the bathroom to ease my stomach.

  The retching doesn’t last long, but I hate throwing up. I reach for the toilet paper and pull off enough to blow my nose. Blah. Disgusting. The food bits that come out make my stomach lurch again. It’s a good thing my hair’s pulled back away from my face in this braid. I blow out a breath and rest my palm on the top of the toilet tank. The coolness feels good against my skin and keeps me in recovery mode. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and flush the toilet.

  This taste in my mouth is vile. I wash my hands and glance in the mirror. You look terrible. My skin is pale and clammy. Yuck. I rinse my mouth and brush my teeth, gargle with mouthwash … anything to get the taste of partially digested fried chicken marinated in stomach acid out of my mouth.

  My skin is slick with sweat, so I wipe my face and neck with a cold, wet washcloth.

  Knock, knock, knock. “Sweetie, are you okay?”

  I thought I kept things quiet. “Yeah.”

  Mom cracks the door. “What’s the matter?”

  I open the door and try to walk past her. “I’m okay now. My stomach was upset.”

  Mom presses her wrist to my forehead to check for a temperature. “Do you need to lie down?”

  I shake my head. There’s no way I’m going to stay in my room before Lane takes off for EIU. “I’m okay. The chicken didn’t sit right in my belly or something. Do we have any ginger ale?”

  She steps back into the hallway. “I’ll check. You go sit down.”

  “I think I need some fresh air.” I follow her down the hall and into the kitchen to get the soda. Leah, Lilley, and their mom are cleaning up the kitchen. “Thanks, Mom.” I take the soda and head outside.

  I peek my head around the corner by the patio. Lane’s sitting with our dads. I turn to go back inside, because I can’t stomach more verbal injury from my dad.

  “Hey.” Lane comes up behind me, catching my arm. “You okay?”

  I turn around to face him. “Yeah. Sorry about that.” My nose scrunches at the vivid memory. “The chicken mixed with my dad didn’t sit too good.”

  Lane tilts his head down, narrowing his brow. “Are you sick?”

  I shake my head and make eye contact with him. My lips twist to the side. “No.”

  He shoves his hands in his pockets, tilting his head toward his truck. “Come on.”

  We walk side by side to his truck.

  “I can’t believe your dad.” He looks down, shaking his head as we approach the tailgate.

  “I can.” I try not to think about the words. We don’t need a repeat of the events from the bathroom.

  “After you left the table, I tried to get him to see that we’re different and I won’t, can’t walk away from you. That you’re too important to me.”

  My brows shoot up. I tilt my head to look at his eyes. “What’d he say?”

  He shrugs and looks down to his dangling feet, contorting his mouth to one side. “He didn’t. I didn’t know how hard to push it, you know?”

  I nod and take a sip of my ginger ale.

  He snorts. “Dad backed him off, though. Told him just because I was going to college was no reason to end our friendship.”

  I snicker. “At least your dad has some sense.”

  “Our moms stood up for us too.” He smiles grimly and lies back on the bed of the truck. “They don’t know how we feel about each other, though.”

  I lie back too, resting my feet flat on the tailgate. The leaves of the trees above us gently rustle. Tiny rays of sunlight dance through the canopy like streams of hope. “You didn’t say we’re more than friends?” I keep my eyes focused on the leaves. The breeze is so light down here on the ground, I only notice it from the fine, sun-bleached hair on my arms lifting.

  His hand brushes against my arm, slides down until his fingers curl around my wrist, settling our connection on the truck bed between us. “No. I wanted to blurt it out, but didn’t want to risk it at the same time.”

  I turn my head and his eyes meet mine. “I guess Linc was right.”

  His lips spread into a thin line. “As much as I hate to admit it, it looks that way.” His thumb gently rubs the back of my hand. “So now what?”

  I bite my lip. Lane has never wanted to keep us a secret, and I don’t want to lie to my parents. “So now I have to decide if I want to keep kissing you or not?”

  He puffs out a breath and looks at the trees above us. “I was sure—” his phone alarm sounds. We both let out a frustrated sigh as he pulls it out of his back pocket to shut it off.

  He grabs my hand again and squeezes. His eyes glass over, making mine sting even more.

  “Lane.” His strawberry-blonde-haired sisters come running up to us. Lilly shakes his leg. “Mom and Mrs. Stone have food for you to take with you.”

  My heart sinks when he lets go of me. It’s time for him to say his goodbyes. Time for him to leave for the week. Time for him to find his college girl worthy enough for him. I grimace about it all. At least he’ll be back Friday night. I hope.

  After everyone takes their turn hugging him, I wrap my arms around him.

  “I'll call you tomorrow after practice,” he whispers as he hugs me goodbye.

  I nod against his cheek, but I can’t say anything or I’ll start crying. The lump in my throat is growing, and I try to swallow it down, but it stays in place.

  I have twenty-four hours to decide what to do.

  Lane pulls out of the driveway. My body is weak, and the tears are burning my eyes, trying their hardest to stream down my face. After my humiliat
ion at the dinner table, I think I’ll dismiss myself to my room and suffer in silence.

  6

  Lane

  This bites.

  I still can’t believe Regan’s dad thinks I should find a new best friend. He’s never had any problems with us hanging out all the time, being best friends. This doesn’t make sense. It took me months to get the courage to tell Regan we are more than friends and it took less than twenty-four hours to blow it to smithereens.

  Between Linc and Mr. Stone … Argh! I pound my hands against the bed. A burst of lightning spiders across the sky. Great. Just perfect. This is exactly the way my afternoon went yesterday—why not my first day of classes?

  Okay, she didn’t say forget it or no or drop it. So … I take a deep breath. Man, I’ve never had to deal with anything like this. I just knew Mr. Stone would be more than okay with us being a couple. This whole summer has been me figuring out what I want and pushing to get it, mostly out of desperation to stay close to Regan.

  Wait, what time is it? Maybe I should call dad. Why didn’t I think of this last night? No, he’s at work. If I would’ve got out of bed when my alarm went off the first time, I would’ve had plenty of time to call him.

  I stand and get ready for class. It’s probably not a good idea to be late on my first day.

  My chest threatens to split apart when the thought pops in my mind. My eyes scour the backpacks and shirts of the dudes in front of me as we ride down the elevator. What if she changes her mind? She could. She might. She wanted to stay just friends to begin with. But … a smirk lifts at the corner of my mouth, mending my chest back together. She couldn’t get enough of my kiss. I kept my lips to myself until she instigated it.

  We can wait until after her practice today. We’ll be okay. I step out from under the awning of my dorm. Rain hits the brim of my cap, shielding most of the wetness from my face. Note to self: get an umbrella.

  I had no problem finding my first class and even arrived before it started. My problem? The class itself. There’s no way I can handle this professor. I’ve never seen such an arrogant, self-righteous jerk in my life. Five-page paper due Friday on the dueling aspects of philosophy and religion. It’s a first-year history class, for Pete’s sake. I sit through the class with my elbow resting on the top of the desk, supporting my chin while trying to cover my mouth. I bite my lip to keep from calling him out.

  His pointy face and albino white spikey hair would make the perfect bulls-eye for the dart board suctioned to my dorm window. Cam made an excellent choice getting that for my dorm. I have a feeling I’ll be tempted to use the professor as a real dart board if my advisor doesn’t get me out of this class. This is total B.S.

  When he dismisses us, I snap a photo of him with my phone to send to Cameron later. He’ll come up with a great story for that one.

  Pre-Calc isn’t bad. How does the professor get away with having an assistant teach his class? She seems okay. I wonder if she gets paid to do it. Not my problem, but getting to Composition on time is. At least it quit raining for a while.

  People move in groups around here. I snuff. It kind of reminds me of high school. Mm, I stretch my shoulders, arch my back. If Regan were here, she’d rub my shoulders for me. I sigh, I wish she were here. She’d probably make the grades. I shake my head and chuckle. Seriously. Most of my classmates went to Southern Illinois University or to a junior college. I’m the only one at Eastern from my graduating class, not that I’m great friends with anyone other than my little group.

  I open the door to the building and glance back at the library. Regan would love the three-story glass entry of the library. Maybe one day I can show it to her. I check my schedule: Phipps room 111.

  This hallway is not the dated old tile-covered wall I was expecting. The walls of the hallway are painted a brilliant orange, lined with quotes and titles in alternating black and silver lettering. “Only those who will risk going too far can possibly find out how far one can go. T.S. Eliot” is written on the wall to my right. To my left is “A word is dead when it is said, some say. I say it just begins to live that day. Emily Dickinson”. They continue through the corridor, beyond the door to my Comp. class. I kind of liked the poem section in English last year.

  Poems remind me of song lyrics … like the one I wrote about Regan last spring. It was an assignment, and I didn’t start out writing it about her. It just ended up that way. The words flowed from my pen as if they’d always been there, waiting to come out. There was no way I was going to turn that in and have the class hear it, so I wrote something else and tucked this private one into a little pocket in my wallet.

  I walk through the door of the large lecture room, scanning the theatre seating for something easy to get in and out of. Someone runs into the back of me and I nearly stumble down the steps.

  “Oh, sorry, man.” The guy picks up his phone he dropped.

  I step to the side, out of the way. “Yeah, me too. Didn’t realize I was in the way.”

  He holds his hand up in surrender and scurries down the steps.

  The professor takes the podium, introducing herself to the class, and then begins to take roll. I find a seat off the main aisle a couple rows from the front. I raise my hand when she calls my name. I’m typing in the date on the top of the document when she calls a name that freezes me. My eyes scan to the left and right. When I look over my shoulder I see her.

  No way. Johanna.

  She flashes me a smile, wiggling her fingers in a wave.

  I nod and turn back around, forcing myself not to turn and look at her again.

  All through class I can’t believe my lousy luck and only halfway listen to the teacher. The words Johanna left me with when she moved echo in my brain all through class. They sting just as much as they did when they left her mouth … and for months after she moved. I want to punch the wall and throw up at the same time. I can’t believe they still affect me like that. Regan’s a junior now, she’s no longer in junior high and not a little girl anymore.

  After class dismisses, Johanna waits for me to approach her row. She looks better than I remember.

  “Hi, Lane. Small world, huh?” Her long curly eyelashes flutter, thick with mascara.

  I used to love her big brown eyes. “Yeah.” They don’t really compare to Regan’s, though.

  “How are you? What dorm are you in?” She hooks her thumb in the strap of her bag. “I’m in Lawson.”

  Someone bumps me as they pass. I step closer to the seat. “Sorry.” I’m still stunned to see her. She didn’t used to wear this much makeup. “Um, Douglas.”

  She starts chattering about her classes and dorm and roommate and everything else I don’t really care to hear about. I’m starving. Somehow, she manages to accompany me to eat lunch.

  We catch up. It doesn’t take me long to eat my food, but she tells me every little detail of her life. I finish my lunch before she lets up. She asks if I’m seeing anyone. I start to say I’m seeing Regan, but stop. What should I say? Does she still have connections in Stelmo? What if I tell her I’m seeing Regan? Will she make fun of me? Not that I care.

  “Uh, yeah. I’m seeing someone.” I stand and grab my trash. “Look, I need to get going. It was good catching up.” I sling my backpack on my shoulder and start to walk off as she says she’ll see me tomorrow. I drop my head. Tomorrow? Crap. I’m going to see her three times a week. It’s raining again. My hand readies to push the door open and make a run for it. I’ll think about telling Regan after biology.

  Ugh, this rain. The temperature’s not bad outside, but sitting in an air-conditioned room in wet clothing has me chilled to the bone. By the time I make it back to my dorm, even my underwear is wet. I change into something dry, clean up my wet tracks on the floor, and set up the darts Cameron gave me at my going away party.

  I imagine Johanna’s sophomore face in the bullseye as I aim and let loose the last dart. Grr, miss. It might be easier not to tell Regan about her. I’m tempted. Regan’s already jeal
ous of her, not that she has any reason to be. It was kind of cute at the time. It was the best day of my life. Regan met me at Lake Nellie for lunch and finally conceded we’re more than friends. She couldn’t even say Johanna’s name that day. It was icing on the cake for me to know she didn’t like the fact I dated Johanna. My hand swipes down the side of my face, spreading across my mouth and down my chin. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure Regan’s ever said Johanna’s name. I’ve seen some girls get stupid with jealousy and ruin everything. Regan wouldn’t do that, but if she can’t even say her name … No. No secrets. If I’m up front with Regan and communicate like my parents say makes a good relationship, it’ll be fine.

  It’s only my first day away and it feels like I haven’t seen her in weeks. I check my phone again. I’ll do some homework. It’ll be an hour before she’s out of practice. My body crashes on top of my bed, and I hook up my earbuds to listen to some music. I wish Regan had her own phone. I need my ray of sunshine.

  7

  Regan

  School started a week ago, yet today seems like my first day back. The high-pitched squeal of the bus brakes brings me out of my head to the present. The driver stops at the double doors between the main school and the agriculture buildings and pulls the lever to open the folding bus door. High-school students make their way off the bus. Sean, a freshman, stops at my seat to let me slide into the row of zombies exiting in a mannerly, single-file line. The jovial shoving and trash-talking among the boys begin at the entrance to the school.

  I'm able to escape through the doors unscathed and head to the gym to wait for Tobi, Haylee, or Cameron—whoever gets here first.

  Haylee’s tiny frame makes its way toward me as I put my backpack down on the bleachers and sit beside it. It's a little awkward between Haylee and me right now. She's hiding her more-than-friends relationship with Cameron, and I'm hiding my more-than-friends relationship with Lane.