by Jessica Roe
I kiss him back. Obviously I kiss him back, and not only because his skin smells like warm sunshine and his tongue tastes like the ice cream samples we ate at the mall and even though he's nerdy, grumpy and drives like an old man, he might actually be the sexiest guy I've ever met. No, I kiss him back because I can't not kiss him, because I can't stop myself, and isn't that the best kind of kiss of all?
He leans his head to the side to kiss me deeper and I wrap my legs tightly around his waist to stop myself from falling, though I don't need to because he moves one hand down to my hip and grips me tightly, like he never wants to let me go.
Silver pulls back just a tiny bit, but we're still so close that our lips brush and I can feel his breath on my skin. “I don't think I've ever met anybody I like this much who also pisses me off this much at the same time,” he murmurs, and leans down to brush a kiss over my shoulder.
I blush for the second time, just because he said that he likes me, and though I know I should feel stupid for blushing, I don't really care. I slip my hand behind his neck and pull him closer so I can kiss his neck, and he makes a cute little grunting noise and grasps the back of my hair in his fist. “Kiss me again,” I demand, and he immediately complies.
The front door creaks open and Silver rips his lips from mine. By the time Granny Yo steps out he's standing back against the wall, but the damage is pretty much already done. His hair is wild and his lips are swollen and he's panting, hard, and I know I must look exactly the same.
She looks between the two of us, back and forth, an I can see the exact moment comprehension dawns. Her eyes widen and she makes an O shape with her mouth.
“Well, you probably shouldn't do that again,” she exclaims. “Don't you know who you are? To each other?”
Silver and I glance at one another, confused, and then back at Granny Yo. “No?”
“Blair, honey. Silvester is a teacher at your new school.”
I MADE OUT with a teacher. I made out with a teacher. I'm not sure whether that's gross or kinky or awful or stupidly hot. I'm going for all four.
Shock strikes me like a lightning bolt, quickly followed by dismay and then the tiniest hint of amusement, because even I can appreciate the fact that the completely random guy I hooked up with at a completely random diner turned out to not only be my neighbour but my frikkin' teacher too, and it's kind of funny. Or it would be, if it weren't happening to me. I try to hide my entertainment, however, because Silver looks seriously horrified. He paces endless circles, running his hands through his hair again and again until his curls stand on end. He looks, ironically, like a mad professor, and it's so cute that I just want to...I stop myself before I can think more dirty thoughts about him; I definitely can't go there again, not even in my mind.
I feel like I should say something comforting because he seems like he's about to keel over, but all that comes out of my mouth is, “I knew you worked in a suit and tie.” I should have tried harder to sound less smug.
He spins one more circle and then stops, facing Granny Yo. “Why didn't you tell us earlier?”
She folds her arms defiantly. “Well, I didn't think you were going to wrap yourselves around each other and practice tongue wrestling after you'd only just met, did I?”
He turns my way, blinking rapidly. “But you can't be...I mean, I thought you were...Oh God, we...” For a teacher he's finding it surprisingly difficult to get his words out.
“You know,” I muse. “I really should've guessed you were a teacher. You do have the whole nerdy professor thing going on. But I just figured you worked in an office selling insurance or something mind numbingly boring like that.”
“This isn't funny, Blair!” he snaps. “I thought you were older. Nineteen or twenty at least. You look older!”
I hate being snapped at. It makes me irate. “Then I guess the next time you make out with a girl you just met in some roadside diner you should ask to see her licence first!”
Granny Yo clears her throat. “Excuse me? You also kissed at the diner?”
“How old are you?” he demands, ignoring her. “Tell me you're eighteen. At least tell me that.”
I wince apologetically. “Seventeen.”
Overwhelmed, he hooks his hands behind his neck and I try really hard not to stare at the way his polo shirt lifts up to reveal a sliver of flat stomach. That little piece of skin shouldn't be so sexy. “Aw man, you're seven years younger than I am.”
I chew on the corner of my bottom lip, surprised to learn he's older than I originally thought. But I should have realized sooner with him being Nash's school friend and all. I was just too busy before trying to piss him off and/or kiss him to put the pieces together.
“That's not much of a difference, not really,” Granny Yo tries to comfort him.
“It is when one of us is a teacher and the other a teenager.” He shakes his head. “I'm going to jail, I just know it.”
“Will you relax,” I say. “All we did was kiss.” I pause, glancing up as I think. “Maybe there was some slight ass grabbage. Oh! And you touched my boobs.” I glance over at Granny Yo, remembering that she's still here. “Over the bra,” I assure her, and she nods like that's perfectly acceptable. “Your grandson is kind of a horn dog.”
“You're not making me relax, Blair,” he says through gritted teeth. “How can you be so laid back about all this?”
“If it helps you feel any better, I'm almost eighteen. Or I will be in October, anyway.”
“It really doesn't.” He spins again. I'm worried he's going to get dizzy and fall off the porch. That would be bad. And not at all funny. Not at all. Tee hee. “I'm gonna have to quit my job.”
Granny Yo, who has been looking oddly amused by the whole situation up until now, reaches up and swats him.
“Grams!”
“Don't be a fool, Silvester. Quit your job indeed! You didn't know about the circumstances when you kissed, and now that you do know I'm sure you can refrain from locking lips again, am I right? Nobody else needs to know about it, especially not the school.”
“The responsible thing to do would-”
“Pish posh! The responsible thing is keeping your job so your poor old grandmother doesn't have to live on the streets.” She's laying it on thick but I can tell she doesn't really mean it. She's just trying to get him to see sense. “Oh, and you should probably avoid telling Nash.”
“Nash? Why...” Silver's eyes widen almost comically. “Wait, you're...you're the half sister he was telling me...Oh, no, he's gonna kick my ass. I made out with Nash's little sister!”
“I wouldn't worry to much. He doesn't like me.”
He stops at that, his mouth opening and closing but no noise coming out, as if he wants to protest my statement but knows it would be a lie. Nash must have mentioned me coming to live here, and...other stuff. “It's not that he hates you,” he gets out eventually. “He just...you know...the situation is...”
It's sweet that he's trying to make me feel better amidst everything else going on. “Not important,” I interrupt before he can stammer himself into unconsciousness. “Look, like Granny Yo said, now we know the truth we're not gonna do it again, and I promise I won't tell anyone. I mean, who knows if the school would even let me in if they found out? So I won't tell them, and I sure as heck won't tell Nash—not that he'd believe me anyway. You're making way too big a deal outta this.”
“How do I know I can trust you?” he wants to know. “I hardly know you, and from what Nash says you're a whole lotta trouble, and from what I've seen, you're wild. What if you change your mind and decide to tell someone just for kicks?”
For a moment I'm incredibly disappointed that he's the kind of guy who listens to and believes gossip, but I force myself to let it go. “Here. Pinky promise I won't tell.” I hold out my little finger for him to take. For me, pinky promises are the ultimate of promises and I only ever make them if I really and truly mean to keep them.
But Silver glares at my pinky like it's
offended him in some obscene way. “Pinky promises are for children, Blair. They mean nothing.”
“They mean everything!” I object, dropping my hand.
“You're being ridiculous.”
“You're being a jerk!”
“What the hell is wrong with you? Are you really being this childish over something as asinine as a pinky promise?”
I could explain to him, explain what it really means to me and why it means it, but he's being an a-hole so my little stubborn inner demon refuses to. He doesn't deserve to know my secrets.
I hop down off the railing and stomp down the porch steps, sparing Granny Yo a small smile as she squeezes my arm when I pass her by.
“What are you doing?” he demands from above me when I reach the bottom. “We haven't finished discussing this.”
I kick off the stupid tennis shoes, scoop them up and throw them at his stupid face. I'm being hot headed, irrational and reckless, I know, but damn if I don't give a crap. Maybe if my mood was a little lighter I might enjoy the way his arms flail as he tries to catch the shoes. “Screw you!” I yell, and turn to march down the street, barefoot.
“Blair!” he calls after me, sounding thoroughly unamused and just like a teacher. “Where are you going?
I don't stop as I glance back over my shoulder. He still stands at the top of the steps, my shoes dangling pathetically from his fingers. “None of your damned business!”
BY THE TIME I hit town I'm thinking I should have taken Nancy. But though my feet are scuffed and aching, the walk was pretty. Way more scenic than the city.
Main Street is super sweet; totally picturesque in a classy, posh, probably snooty kind of way.
Or maybe I only think it's snooty because I was just rejected from a restaurant for being shoeless.
“But there's no sign saying you have to have shoes,” I pointed out to the particularly up herself hostess, though I knew it wouldn't do me any good. I think I was just feeling especially argumentative.
“It's implied,” she'd said with a sneer, turning up her nose.
It's not long before I come across another tiny establishment—Merry Fairburn's. Inside looks like a cross between a restaurant and an English pub; kind of dark but cosy at the same time, decorated in reds and golds and greens and lit up by lanterns.
A giant beef cake of a guy greets me in place of a hostess. He must be nearing seven feet and his hair is shaved closely to his scalp. His black shirt looks like it can barely contain his muscles. I bet he wrestles in his spare time, though he must be in his late thirties at least.
I like the place already, and not just because they have Black Eyed Peas playing softly in the background. This just feels like my kind of place, laid back and chilled and not at all pretentious.
Beef Cake looks me up and down, his gaze pausing at my bare, and now slightly grubby, feet. After a second, he shrugs. “Table for one?”
I grin, deciding that I like him. “Yup.”
“Ibbie, get your ass out here,” he yells over his shoulder.
A girl about my age bounces out of the kitchen, letting the door swing behind her. Her bright blonde hair is pulled into cheery bunches on either side of her head and she has the sweetest pair of dimples. “Sorrysorrysorry!” she babbles, though she's grinning cheekily and I get the feeling she knows she has Beef Cake wrapped around her little finger. “Chef Reaman was making soufflé and obviously I had to test one for him and it was so good and then I had to test it again to make sure I wasn't wrong the first time and oh dear Lord I think I might be a food whore because I would actually kill for that soufflé. Kill, you hear me? Kill!” She manages to say the whole thing without taking a single breath. “Oh!” she exclaims when she notices me. “You're not wearing any shoes.”
I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “I threw them. At a guy.”
“Ahh.” She nods her head up and down slowly, like that's a perfectly reasonable explanation. “Well, come with me, I'll show you to your table. I'm Ibbie, by the way.” She snatches the menu from Beef Cake's outstretched fingers and leads the way. “Short for Isabel. I used to go by Bella 'till those dumb Twilight books came out and then all the guys were like, 'Hey Bella, want me to suck your blood?' like that's supposed to be some awesome pick up line. Guys are lame, right? Am I right? I'm totally right. So anyway, now I go by Ibbie, but it totally works 'cause my last name is Ibbot and Ibbie Ibbot is an awesomely awesome stage name, huh? And when I'm a famous actress I'm going to need a memorable name.”
She talks. A lot. And fast. She managed to get all that out before I even sat down at my table. And even though I'm not usually the kind of gal who spends a lot of time with other girls, there's something seriously charming about Ibbie and her never ending chatter.
“So what can I getcha?” she asks when I sit.
“Whatever you got that costs the least, I guess.”
“What are you, poor or cheap?”
“Poor, you cheeky bitch.”
Her dimples make a reappearance as she grins her head off at me and I can't help but smile back. “Ya know, if you're looking for a job you should go speak to Eli.” She nods at Beef Cake, now polishing glasses behind the bar. “That's Eli Fairburn, owner of Merry Fairburn's.”
“He doesn't seem all that merry.”
She wrinkles her nose. “I know, right? I guess it's like an inside joke or something. But anyway, he's hiring right now. One of the waitresses just left for college to go be a fashion designer. Or was it a vet?” she muses. “You know, it might have been something to do with math. Whatevs, you should totally go ask him.”
It's just what I'm looking for, so I meander over and sit my butt on a barstool. “Yoohoo!” I call through cupped hands, loudly and obnoxiously, to get Eli's attention.
He folds his arms, making his muscles bulge, and eyes me cynically. “No way are you old enough to drink. Don't even try it.”
“Duh, I wasn't going to. Ibbie told me there's a waitress gig going. I want it.”
“Uh huh.” He doesn't look impressed. “You want me to hire you? A crazy haired, punk ass girl with no shoes?”
“Sure.” I smile as sweetly as I possibly can, and though I doubt he buys my act for one second, I see a little twinkle in his eye as he ponders.
“You're in.”
BY THE TIME Ibbie drops me home the sky has turned a deep violet and night has fallen. The street lamps are on, casting a reassuring glow over the entire neighbourhood.
Silver sits on his porch steps, waiting for me, with the tennis shoes cradled in his lap. With a sigh, I decide I can't ignore him so I drag my feet over in his direction. He looks up at me and silently holds out the shoes.
“Don't need them,” I tell him. “Got a whole bag full of shoes right here.” I hold them up in proof and stick out my foot so he can admire my Mary Jane's. Originally I put them on as a joke—I'm not usually big on heels—but I have to admit they make my legs look awesome, and it's kind of nice not being so small.
“Where the heck did you get them?”
“I got a new job,” I explain. “And apparently a new best friend with a shopping addiction and a gazillion pairs of shoes she didn't want.”
He looks taken aback. “Sounds like you had a busy evening.”
“Sounds like.”
He reaches up to take the bag away from me, slipping the tennis shoes inside before placing it on the ground at his feet. He pats a spot on the steps next to him, staring at me until I finally give in and sit down.
“I'm sorry I pissed you off,” he tells me, and he sounds like he means it. “I was just freaking out—for good reason—but it doesn't mean I had the right to act like an ass hat. I was blind to the fact that the whole pinky promise thing meant something to you. When I cooled down a little I realized what a jerk I was. I had no right to speak to you that way.”
Now that we're here together and he's being so nice, I have to admit—only to myself, of course—that maybe I overreacted. He couldn't have known what it meant
to me. “I don't know how much you know about my mom...”
He squirms uncomfortably and I can only imagine what Nash has told him. “I know she passed away recently...and that she...was addicted to...”
“Drugs,” I finish for him.
“Yeah.”
“Mom left me alone a lot,” I admit. I pull up my knees and rest my chin on them to avoid looking at him. “Mostly to party. She dated a lot of rando's; nasty, drunk jerks who didn't have time for me, and with mom I never came first. But then when I was eight we were living in LA and there was this one guy, Ian. He wasn't like the others. I mean he partied, but he wasn't hardcore like the rest of them. He didn't drink 'til he vom'd and he didn't do drugs and he cared about me.” Silver's eyes widen and I rush to reassure him. “Not in that way, he wasn't some creepy perv. He was a good guy. He wanted us to be a family, and there was finally someone around taking care of me. You know, making sure I got fed, that I was clean, blah blah blah.”
Silver cracks his knuckles. He seems to be finding this difficult to hear, which wasn't my intention. I just wanted him to understand. “Things I took for granted when I was a kid.”
I shrug. “But that...that was the best eight months of my life. My mom broke up with him eventually because he was a nice guy and Val Ackerman did not date nice guys. I was devastated. I just knew life was gonna go back to how it was before—the loneliness, the hunger, the uncertainty. Ian was upset too, but I think he was more worried about leaving me than her. He knew she was planning to pack up and move to a different city again, so he told me that one day he'd find me and when he did, I was going to be living a happy life. I didn't believe him, so he pinky promised me.”
Silver nods sadly. “I get it.”
I nudge him with my shoulder. “Don't be all sad and grumpy. I didn't tell you any of this to make you feel sorry for me. I don't feel sorry for me. Life is life. Sometimes it's good, sometimes it's not. Look where I am now—a house full of siblings and the guarantee I'm not gonna go hungry any time soon. It's not perfect, but it's good. I told you so you'd understand why I acted like a freakin' lunatic earlier. I know it's dumb, but pinky promises have to mean something to me, because if they don't then that means Ian will never find me living that happy life.”
