The ABC's of Kissing Boys

by Tina Ferraro

  “Don't all my roads lead there?” I let out a big breath and recounted what had happened by my locker and how I'd come to announce that we were victims of star-crossed love.

  “Risky,” he said when I was done. He rested the ball on the pavement and stopped it from rolling with the tip of his sneaker. “But good going.”

  “Well, I figured I had two things working for us. Agewise, you really should be a sophomore, which still isn't great, but better than a freshman.”

  “There's that.”

  “And you're …,” I said, and shrugged, “you know … okay-looking.”

  “ Okay- looking?” he repeated, probably because he liked how it sounded.

  “Sure,” I said, then caught myself gazing past him. Funny, I couldn't begin to pinpoint when I'd stopped seeing a slightly annoying neighbor and started seeing someone worth looking at. “Well,” I tried to clarify, “not Luke Anderson, prom king, okay- looking. But, you know, as okay- looking as a guy in your grade can be.”

  “Thanks. I guess.” He took a step closer. I could feel the warm puffs of his breath on my forehead.

  “The way I figure it,” I told him, “about the time I go off to college—when you're a junior—you'll totally be worth dating.”

  “Again, not sure if I should say thanks or not.” His mouth pursed into a smile, not so easy to see at this close proximity—more something I could feel. “And until then, Parker, you'll, what, put up with me?”

  I pulled back and looked dead into his face. I knew this was all in fun, but if I'd given him any indication that we had a future, well, I'd screwed up. “Yeah, Sparky, but not for long. The sports fair is a week from tomorrow, and I can't have people feeling sorry for you, thinking I'm cheating on you, when I'm doing a major make- out with Luke.”

  Something flickered and died in his eyes, like the last embers of a campfire. “So we'd better schedule a big breakup for this weekend, huh? Like at the Dairy Queen, where I storm off, leaving you sobbing in your Oreo Blizzard?”

  “Sobbing,” I grumbled. I reached out to playfully smack his formidable chest, but he caught my hand inside his two. And held it.

  For a crazy moment, I thought he was going to pull all of me toward him and kiss me. And while I figured I'd like it (maybe even a lot), it just wouldn't be cool. Our kisses were either educational or to be used for show at school. And imagine if my dad peeked out the window and saw?

  Speaking of Dad …

  “Look, I really better go,” I said, tugging my hand free.

  “Yeah, me too.” He took a step back. “So listen, now that we're a so- called couple, if I see you in the halls or whatever, I can come up to you and everything?”

  “And everything,” I said, and lifted my brow.

  “Kiss you like the guy in Titanic?”

  “Or like the guy in Gone with the Wind.”

  His eyes went dull.

  “An old movie. Never mind. You have to be like, my age to have seen it.”

  He shook his head. Then he reached for his basketball. But instead of tucking it under an arm and heading home, he raised the ball over his head, lined up a shot and launched it. Into a perfect arc and swish.

  Glad some people's lives are charmed.

  Longevity: Remember, you're

  not out to set any records. Short kisses

  can be just as passionate as their longer

  counterparts.

  Approaching my locker the next morning, I didn't know what to expect. But whether the girls had upped the ante in exploiting my “romance” or had already lost interest in it (and in me), the situation was total lose- lose.

  I squinted as I rounded the corner, then opened my eyes fast. Discount coupons for diapers and baby wipes hung off “It's a Boy!” wrapping paper on my locker door. All that was missing was a video camera ready to capture my shame for viewing on HomeroomTV and YouTube.

  “Cute,” I grumbled to no one in particular. “Real cute.”

  The honey- skinned Rachael Washington caught my eye in passing. Her black hair pulled back tight off her face, she was all wide eyes and red- painted lips. “You think so? I think it's totally immature.”

  Pushing aside the fact that I couldn't remember the last time she had spoken to me—obviously this was a week to blaze new and strange trails—and the fact that she was basically the reason the varsity roster had closed without me, I went with her sentiment and rolled my eyes. “It's going to be way cuter in a thousand pieces on the floor.”

  She wriggled off her backpack. “Sounds fun. Can I play?”

  I dug a nail under a loose corner of paper and ripped it in two across the center while she jumped in for her own noisy tear. We continued like sharp- clawed kittens until the paper and coupons lay in shreds.

  “You were right,” she said, glancing back up at me. “Much cuter. What's this all about, anyway? The ninth grader I hear you're dating?”

  I nodded, not at all surprised. The only thing my “friends” passed faster than a soccer ball was gossip. “Yeah …”

  “I hope he's worth it.”

  I tried to nod and smile, but mostly I think I just shrugged.

  “Well, whatever,” she said, and shrugged herself. “Listen, there's something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  All I could think was that she was going to apologize for returning to soccer and ruining my life. Something Hallmark didn't make a card for. And while it wouldn't make things better, I would be all ears.

  “We should do lunch one day this week,” she said instead. “Compare strategies, make sure we're in sync with leading our teams.”

  As if the lunch offer weren't shocking enough, the “leading” part caused my lashes to fly back against my brows. My thoughts did a Rubik's Cube shuffle until they neatly lined up. “Hartley,” I spoke, “chose you as varsity captain?” And not Chrissandra?

  “You didn't hear?”

  “As you can tell,” I said, and gestured toward the scraps of wrapping paper on the ground, “I'm sort of out of the loop. But Chrissandra's your cocaptain, then?”

  “No, I don't have a cocaptain.”

  That was impossible. The previous year's JV captain was always promoted to a varsity leadership position. But Rachael's stony face told me she wasn't kidding. So basically, she had come out of “retirement” to single-handedly lead varsity. Which was why she wanted to network with me. At least I had that question answered.

  “How did Chrissandra take it? Getting passed over … for nobody.”

  “I honestly didn't notice.” She lifted her backpack and slid it on. Something told me her silence spoke volumes, but this was not the time to go there. “Listen, is tomorrow good for you?”

  “Sure.” Tomorrow, or any day. It wasn't like I had a group to sit with anymore. Unless you counted my JV teammates, which—duh—I didn't.

  “Meet you here,” she said, and turned to go, leaving a vaguely citrus scent in her wake, which must have come from her hair products, her body spray or the fact that she was just so amazingly perfect.

  I focused on my lock—only to find my next- door locker neighbor, CeeCee, staring at me like I had two heads.

  “Nice mess, Parker.”

  So much for idle chitchat about vacations and annoying families. “I'm going to clean it up. Don't worry.”

  “So is it true, then? That you're with a freshman?”

  Ugh! I had just about reached my limit. I wanted to shout “No!” and spill the whole truth about Heartless and Luke and how I'd soon be back in business, but I managed a tiny nod instead.

  “And that you two,” she continued, “are doing it?”

  “What?” I shrieked, horrified. “Who said that?” I demanded.

  “People.”

  “ ‘People’ are wrong.”

  She tilted her head. The overhead light sent a glimmer to her diamond nose ring. “Then what are you doing with him?”

  I tried to swallow. “Uh … trying to make a relationship work.”

 
; Her forehead went all wrinkly. “That's crazy. You could get any number of guys. Decent guys. Even hot guys. Like, doesn't Kyle Fenske have a thing for you?”

  She was confusing me with Chrissandra—but no use going there.

  “And I heard the guys’ soccer team did high fives when you and your boyfriend broke up last spring.”

  Okay, that was just dumb. But kind of flattering, if it was true.

  “I can't really explain it,” I said, concentrating on my acting skills and looking just past her ear so she couldn't read the lie in my eyes. “But feelings this strong, this real, well, they're not something you can analyze or deny. Just something you have to go with, and see where they lead.”

  Like to being a laughingstock who would never get her friends back. Or, on the flip side, back to varsity and the life I once loved. With no in- between, no happy medium and no idea which way the pendulum would swing.

  Was I crazy? Maybe. But mostly, I was without options.

  The lines in CeeCee's forehead all of a sudden disappeared; then she let out a sigh. “Well, whatever, I guess. As long as you keep him and his friends away from here. I mean, I've got a rep to maintain.”

  I did, too. That's what this whole thing was about. But I couldn't say that, so I did what I could do: I bent down to clean the mess off the tile floor.

  •

  I'm pretty traditional about my meals (I get that from my dad, I suppose), going with your basic chicken fingers or pepperoni pizza for lunch. But I couldn't bring myself to wander friendlessly through the cafeteria that day, like a neon sign of loserness.

  So I rustled up the change from the bottom of my backpack and hit the snack machines, going with honey-mustard- and- onion pretzels and a Cherry Coke for my stomach and a couple of white- iced Little Debbie snack cakes for my soul.

  “I'm all about the fudge cakes myself,” a voice said behind me.

  I turned to see a beauty mark above a slightly smirking mouth. Becca's and my conversation from the other day dive- bombed back at me. “See?” I told her, and smiled. “We do see each other here at school.”

  “Yeah, well, what do you know?”

  I backed away to give her space and watched as she clinked in a bunch of coins. Thinking that since she was here and I was here …

  “Seems like maybe we should celebrate this chance meeting,” I said, and forced out a laugh. “Sit down somewhere and scarf these things together.”

  Her dark eyes darted toward me, and while I wasn't quite sure what I was seeing in them, her nod told me she was up for killing a few minutes.

  We wandered out the side door and sat down on a curb. Her skirt was short, and I wondered if the concrete scratched her legs, but the insistent way she tore at her snack- cake package told me she was way more interested in her stomach than her legs.

  “Cute skirt,” I said, to fill the silence. And, you know, because it was.

  “Same one you have, just in blue.”

  I was about to argue, then took a closer look. Little embroidered flowers, two front pleats—she was right. I'd bought it at Anna Banana's last spring and worn it to school a few times.

  “No wonder I like it,” I said awkwardly, then crunched a pretzel. “And more proof that we see each other at school. How else would you have known about my skirt?”

  She crammed the last hunk of a cake into her mouth like she was pushing back a reply. I realized she probably just didn't want to admit she was wrong … and tried to remember if that was why I'd stopped hanging around with her after middle school.

  But for now, we were sitting here, and I was grateful for company. So I pressed on, asking about her older sister and if she'd gone away to college.

  “Yeah, she got into MIT. In fact, when I saw you in the supermarket the other day, I'd only just gotten back from saying goodbye to her at the airport.”

  I tried to remember if she'd had swollen eyes or had seemed super-sad, but all I could remember was trying to rush through so she wouldn't put two and two together on my strange grocery haul.

  “I've gotten better at goodbyes,” she added. “Re mem ber how emo I went at Alexis's goodbye party?”

  My thoughts circled back to her eighth- grade waterworks and all the snot and saliva she'd ended up slobbering on my shoulder during a group hug. But it was kind of sweet, how sentimental Becca used to get.

  “Yeah,” I said, “and then, six months later, Alexis was back at school anyway.” I smiled and nudged her.

  “What a perfectly good waste of tears.” She let out a thoughtful laugh. “And then there was how I sobbed at my grandmother's funeral.”

  “Yeah,” I said, leaning in a bit, “but Becca, that was different.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed.

  I kind of wanted to hug her or pat her or something, but the bell rang, conveniently saving me from some display that would either embarrass or annoy her. There was no faking that we were friends like that anymore.

  Standing, I brushed some crumbs off my shirt. Becca glanced down at her own shirt, then up at me.

  “I'm here sometimes for lunch,” she said, then shrugged. “Okay—I'm here a lot. If you ever …”

  I nodded, happy to find someone not embarrassed to be seen with me. “Yeah. But hey, we gotta reach a little higher than grade- A junk. There's that grill truck that comes out front. Hamburgers and stuff. Maybe we should try that sometime.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay,” I said, and grinned.

  “Okay. Later, then.”

  “Later.”

  Becca took the stairs and I headed down the hall, toward my locker. But when I came face to face with Chrissandra, Mandy and Elaine, I longed for the simplicity of those last, awkward moments with Becca.

  I was still mad about the stuff on my locker (and everything else), but I knew I had to sideline those feelings. When things worked out—when—I'd find the right time and place to tell them how they'd hurt me. But that time was definitely not now.

  So I reached into the same hidden reservoir of strength that had propelled me to drag Luke and Tristan into my plans, and smiled. “You guys were busy little bees this morning.”

  My gaze joined Elaine's and Mandy's in a straight shot to Chrissandra. Chrissandra looked right back at me.

  “You're not mad?” she asked, then examined a fingernail.

  “Mad?” I said, and forced out a laugh that had a moment of homeless-lady insanity. “No! I thought it was funny. In fact, Rachael and I had a good laugh while we peeled it off.”

  Chrissandra's brow arched. “Rachael?”

  Bull's- eye. Just a suspicion, but I thought her name would rankle Chrissandra.

  “Yeah, she came by to congratulate me on becoming JV captain.” Holding my breath, I smiled again. “You were right, Chrissandra. Coach did lob that on me.”

  Mandy took a step forward. “And she made Rachael our captain. Which was just crazy.”

  “Crazy,” Elaine echoed.

  “Everyone knew Chrissandra was in line for it,” Mandy continued.

  Elaine nodded. “And deserved it.”

  I made an appropriately tortured face.

  “No matter,” Chrissandra declared. “It's in the bag for me next year. And it gives me more time to concentrate on other things now.”

  Like what, the continued destruction of my junior year?

  “Anyway,” she went on and touched my arm, “nothing personal about your locker. You know we're behind you finding your true love. It's just if we acted like it was okay for you to date a nonentity, it would look like we'd go there, too.”

  Mandy nodded.

  Elaine did an “ Uh- huh.”

  I scanned their faces. Who were these girls?

  “Just know,” Chrissandra went on, and gave me an air kiss, “that we couldn't be happier for you, Parker.”

  “Thanks,” I said, and tried to summon one more smile, but I found my well dry. “Yeah, it's a great time in my life.”

  Motivation: Information
/>   can be imparted through your kiss, from

  your level of interest to your full intentions.

  I glimpsed Tristan a couple of times that afternoon as he passed in crowds. A true- blue girlfriend would have shouted his name or shouldered her way toward him. But as an impostor (and one who had already had enough drama for one day, thankyouverymuch), I went with the head- in- the- sand routine and was relieved that he let me get away with it.

  But on the field later, suited up to lead some defense drills, I'd have to have been Helen Keller not to notice the arrival of my faux beau. For suddenly, there he was on the sidelines, looking big and solid and pretty danged cute in darkish jeans and his gray “DeGroot High School Water Polo” T-shirt.

  The action around me all but stopped, the gazes of a dozen and a half players racing from Tristan to me and then each other.

  “Parker, isn't that your new guy?” Lyric asked, wiping her brow of running- induced sweat.

  “He's hot,” one of the froshies said, and was immediately seconded by her drill partner.

  “Didn't he go to Greenfield with us?” another one asked, referring to the middle school.

  “Yeah,” a third girl said, and let out a dreamy sigh, “but he's grown up … a lot.”

  Emotions battled inside me. Embarrassment, reluctance and—to my surprise—a hint of pride. “ Uh- huh,” I said, in agreement with them all.

  Lyric looked straight at me. Pretty in- your- face for a girl who it was easy to forget existed. “Aren't you going to go see what he wants?”

  Her suggestion rocked me like a penalty kick to my head. It hadn't occurred to me that Tristan wanted anything; I guess I was getting used to him existing in the periphery of my life.

  I walked over, eager to get him off the field, and stopped a few feet short of him. “Hey, you,” I said, and reached back to tighten the band around my ponytail. I felt a bit dorky in my baggy practice clothes, and smoothing out my hair was at least proactive.

  “Hey yourself.”

  “You need something?”

  “Proof.” He nodded toward some freshman- type people on an upper level of the bleachers. “My friends don't believe we're a couple.”