by Tina Ferraro
I skulked to a dark space on our lawn and waited with a bunch of chirping crickets. Until he took a step and a body appeared from behind him. A short blond body. Emma.
Crap, I should have killed her with push- ups and laps instead of just water duty!
I wanted to march over there. I wanted to run into my house, slam the door and pretend I'd never seen a thing. But most of all, I wanted to go grab my dad's cell phone to call the city to report the most heinous property eyesore of all: Tristan with another girl.
Thymely Kiss: Greek cooks
sometimes use the herb thyme to electrify
their meals—and their diners’ kissing lips.
I crouched down in the dark on my front lawn, figuring I might as well get comfortable. But soon, Emma appeared in the glow of the streetlamp, pedaling a bike. Tristan stepped into the light as well, and watched her fade into the night.
I stood, needing no invitation to make my move. “Nice, Tristan!” I said when I got within shouting range. “Really nice!”
He looked my way, his brow furrowed.
“You promised me you'd wait.”
He continued studying my face, then glanced in the direction of Emma's retreat. “Oh, no, you've got it wrong. We talked mostly about our parents—hers don't exactly speak to each other, either—and then about you. How you play favorites on the team, and how she wants you to like her, too.”
I huffed in frustration. “Right.” I was so not going there. Dayle and the other girls wanted my help. What Emma wanted was my boyfriend. I screwed up my face. “Don't you think it's a little odd she came by on a Friday night?”
“Maybe. But she called first.”
I eyed him harder. “Like that makes it any better?”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “Okay, could be she likes me.”
“You think?”
“I am ‘ okay- looking’—or so I've been told.”
“And modest,” I added.
“Not to mention cool.”
I gave him an exaggerated nod. In the distance, the bridge's bell clanged. “I believe the phrase is ‘cool like that.’ ”
“So you can't blame Emma for feeling it.”
“But I can blame her for trying to make a move on my so- called boyfriend.” Without meaning to, my hands went to my waist in a take- no- prisoners stance. “I mean, like I said, you two can do whatever you want once we're over. Just don't make a fool of me now.”
His hands mimicked mine and went to his mid -section, too. But instead of looking like a jerk, he somehow captured the sizzling Brandon Routh look in Superman Returns.
“I don't believe it,” he said; then he took a deep breath and let out a laugh, more like the guy who played Superman in black- and- white on TV. “You're jealous.”
“Jealous!” I repeated, for lack of a better response. Then I scoffed (which sounded more like a laugh, darn it) and thrust my chin out as if I was insulted. “Get real!”
He took a step closer, his smile widening. “You may not want me for yourself, but you don't want anyone else to have me, either.”
“Oh, grow up!”
“What? You're no more mature than I am. In fact, if you could just get over our grade difference—”
I didn't know where he was going with this and decided I didn't want to. I jacked my voice up. “What—so we could be a couple for real? Maybe that's what you want!” I paused. When he didn't deliver a quick quip, I pushed on. “Well, you know what I want? A boyfriend who can drive. Or at least pick me up for homecoming and prom in a limo, not on his Big Wheels!”
I slashed that last sentence out like a sword, challenging him to a duel. But when all he did was stare into my eyes, the world went so quiet that I lost the distant ringing of the bridge's bell, the chirp of the crickets— everything. Everything but the sound of my heart.
“Parker, look,” he said, ridiculously calm. “You can pick on me all you want, but all I've tried to do was help.”
Wow. My face went shameful hot, like that of a kid who's brought home a bad report card. But before I could figure out what to say to redeem myself, he sighed and looked me in the eye.
“I guess this is as good a time as any to call it quits. I mean, here. Now.”
What? No!
He flashed a sad smile. Which was more than I could have conjured up. I'm not even sure my shocked facial muscles could have responded to my brain's commands if they'd tried.
“What's that line,” he went on, “about coming in like a lion and going out like a lamb? That'll be us.”
“March,” a voice said, and then I realized it was mine.
“March?”
“The lion- lamb thing.” Leave it to me to remember clichés at a time like this. “Anyway, the kissing booth”— my voice tumbled out—“the lessons. You—you promised to help me,” I added, again like some little kid.
“You're ready. More than ready. You'll spin Luke's head. Guaranteed.”
Maybe. Maybe not. The truth was, I didn't care about Luke or varsity or Heartless or my old friends. For the moment, all I cared about was us. Tristan and me: partners, coconspirators, friends; even sort of more.
Did he want this thing over, for real and for fake?
My voice scratched as it worked its way out of me. “So, we're done?”
“We were going to break up later this weekend, anyway.” He gazed into the night sky. I didn't know if he was looking for something or was just not looking at me. “And besides, it's been … difficult these past couple days.”
Oh. I swallowed. Hard.
Because of Emma.
He didn't have to say it. And how stupid was that? He could deny it all he wanted, but he really had ended up leaving me for her in the end.
It occurred to me to ask him to wait a few days before officially taking up with her. But considering I probably had to do the Big Smooch with Luke in four days anyway, I realized it didn't matter.
Nothing mattered. Except that I was down- to- the-bottom-of-my-soul disgusted with him.
But I'd been in deficit positions enough times on the soccer field. I knew how to wipe away the blood, hide the tears and carry on. Which in this case translated to a superior toss of my hair and a stormy exit.
Emma could have Tristan!
It wasn't until I hit my property line that I felt my in-sides start to crumble, when I realized that my position in the status- sphere had now sunk to subterranean depths.
I was a JV junior who had been dumped by a fresh-man for a freshman. And while it would seem that the only direction I had to go was up, I wasn't taking anything for granted anymore.
•
I was tempted to sleep the whole weekend, to keep a pillow between myself and the world. But if I'd learned anything from all this, it was that quitting was no solution. So I dragged myself out of bed, did enough sit- ups and tummy crunches to jump- start my brain and put in a call to Becca, asking her to meet me at Anna Banana's.
My mother let me have her debit card again. I wasn't sure if it was because I'd kept up my end by staying on JV, because I let her know I'd “broken up” with Tristan or simply because she hadn't gotten the last outrageous bill yet. I just took it and ran out of the house, knowing I was in need of some serious retail therapy.
At Anna Banana's, Becca and I agreed that Tristan's “in like a lion, out like a lamb” spiel wouldn't spin well with people. Nor would there be any mention of Emma. We needed drama—just not details.
And when we spotted my teammate Lyric Wolensky pawing through the cashmere- blend sweaters, we knew it was go time. Becca casually walked over and told her it was over between Tristan and me.
“Really?” Lyric said, looking up, interest in her eyes but her face barely moving, as usual. Sometimes I wondered if her family gene pool couldn't use a splash of cholorine to liven things up. “Something to do with that Emma girl?”
I hung back, pretending to look at necklaces, but I could hear everything. I realized I should probably give Lyric mor
e lights- on credit—either that, or everybody already knew.
Becca covered nicely. “Nah,” she said. “Parker just realized that the age difference would end up being the death of them, and, God knows, one Romeo and Juliet in history was enough.”
I turned away so Lyric couldn't see or hear my stifled laugh. But while gossiping with Lyric was a good start, Becca and I both knew we had a long way to go.
The real talent rolled in some time later.
“Who's watching the baby?” Mandy asked, coming up behind me in a mirror while I modeled a plaid skirt.
I threw a thank- you up to the heavens, then turned, the skirt's lining making a silky swishing sound. “I wouldn't know,” I said, and inhaled a noisy breath that I hoped had a soblike quality to it.
“ Uh- oh,” Elaine said, moving in. “Trouble in paradise?”
Becca cruised out of a dressing room and picked up my slack. “I think you could call this one paradise lost. Parker let Tristan go last night.”
Elaine and Mandy sucked in their breath in surprise, then exchanged who-the-heck-is-this looks.
“You remember Becca,” I said. “My BFF from middle school.”
“Best, huh?” Mandy said.
“Who?” responded Elaine.
Mandy smirked. “So what you're saying is that she likes little boys, too?”
I met her smile and raised her one. “Actually, she just likes people for who they are. Whether they're dating guys who are three hundred and sixty- four days younger or don't have anyone special in their lives at all.”
Mandy and Elaine exchanged “whatever” looks; then Elaine turned back to me, her brow lowering. “So your romance is officially over, Park? Should I tell Chrissandra?”
“What do I care? Everyone's going to know soon enough anyway.”
“Chrissandra will care. She cares about everything.”
She cared about knowing everything first. So she could take ownership and take charge. What she didn't care about was my life or my feelings. But I just shrugged. “Then be my guest. And tell her I'm coping … as best I can. And hoping something comes along soon to help me take my mind off my pain.”
“Something,” Mandy said, “or someone?” Then she laughed, showing me how totally shallow she was.
Becca, on the other hand, stepped in and patted my shoulder. I touched her hand as if I appreciated the kind gesture.
Even if we were the biggest phonies on earth, in my heart of hearts, I really was broken up over how things had ended with Tristan. And Becca seemed to get that. And really did feel bad for me.
Wow, it was that double- agent thing again. Only now I'd dragged ‘Becca into it. Soon we would need matching trench coats, sunglasses and fedoras, à la Carmen Sandiego. That—or years of therapy.
But right now what we had was two major rumor spreaders in the palms of our hands, a sale at Anna Banana's—and each other. And sometimes it was best to just shut up and go with what was working.
Ultimate Test: Kissing
is the greatest chemistry test of whether a
couple is going to fuse—or explode.
Clayton and Luke dropped by on Sunday, mostly to raid the kitchen for food and the back patio for lounge chairs for some tailgating party, but then they spent a couple of minutes hassling me, caring guys that they were.
Luke wanted to know if I was ready for the kiss; Clayton wanted to be sure I was ready for the possible consequences. I considered telling them that I might not need them at all, that Hartley might weigh the evidence against AJ and simply give me her varsity position-but decided not to cloud their brains with remote possibilities.
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumbled instead as I followed them out front to Clayton's car, carrying a couple of liters of orange soda. “Just be sure you know your parts, and we'll all be good.”
I gave them each a hug and watched them jump in the car. With a toot of the horn, they drove off. Leaving me in the street—but not, as it turned out, alone.
“Everything still set for the sports fair?” asked the deep and all- too- familiar voice that invaded my space.
I hadn't seen Tristan for a day and a half. (Not that I was counting.) And I saw no reason to break that streak now. Still, my gaze raced to him with a mind of its own. He wore his blue T-shirt, the one that looked so good with his eyes. But as soon as I realized that I was silently complimenting him, that I was thinking of him in guy-guy terms (rather than guy- friend or guy- across- the-street terms), I gave myself a mental head slap.
Tristan wasn't important to me. I didn't need him, and I never would.
Except that … yeah, I kinda did. It was because of him that I would have the confidence to pucker up to Luke on Tuesday. And he'd given me some flashes of hope and happiness when none existed, not to mention some heart- stopping kisses. If he hadn't gone and replaced me, we'd probably have remained friends.
“Yeah,” I simply said, both surprised and disappointed in myself that I didn't have a single snarky comeback. “We're on track.”
He angled his head, probably to avoid the sun, and his gaze arrowed into mine. “I'll be there. Watching and cheering you on.”
Well, duh. He had to work the JV water polo booth, and of course, we'd both be keeping an eye on Emma in the JV soccer team's milk- bottle ring toss.
“Look,” I said, changing the subject. “I saw some people yesterday, and I mentioned our so- called breakup.” I rolled my eyes like it was just too silly. “And I might have made it sound like I'd broken up with you.”
“ ‘Might have,’” he repeated.
“Could have.”
A knowing smile touched his face.
“Is … that a problem or something?”
“Depends. What else did you say?”
“Nothing. What else was there to say?”
“Nothing,” he agreed. “Okay. The important thing is, you're free now to kiss Luke, right?”
And that he was free to mack all over Emma. But again, it was not in my best interest to go there. So I forced a smile, told him I'd see him in school and walked off. Telling myself I was over it, and us, and him.
And that I'd basically say the same thing to anyone who brought up the breakup tomorrow. I knew that the more people I told, the better the chance that I would believe it, too.
•
If I was going to survive, I simply had to stay away from the front window and any eyefuls of Tristan that night. Logging in to IM up in my room, I also hoped to unveil the breakup news to a few more people. It seemed a lot easier to face the music through a computer screen. After a while, Rachael came on.
u watching ur back like I sed?
My brain reeled. Instead of answering, I typed in my phone number and a big “CALL ME.” Moments later, the phone rang. Eureka. I raced to my parents’ room, grabbed their extension and plopped down on the carpet.
“Okay, here's the thing,” I said, and blurted out what I probably should have told her before—that Chrissandra had approached me about AJ and the painkillers, had tried to get me to do the job. “So one way or another,” I went on, “I'm sure she's behind this.”
“Yeah,” she said, then went silent. Long enough for me to wrap some hair around my finger. To pluck lint off my shirt. To imagine myself with a Chrissandra- thrown kitchen knife in my back.
“There's something I should tell you, too, Parker. But this stays between us.” She drew in a big breath before continuing. “My junior year, when I didn't play? It wasn't only about spending more time with Danny. Chrissandra blackmailed me.”
It was my turn to catch my breath.
“See, I'd been on the prom- decorations committee with her the year before. Danny and I weren't doing well, and I was pretty sure he was going to break up with me. One night, working late in the gym, I blurted it out to this guy Louie, who'd just been through a breakup. One thing led to another, and we started kissing in the hall. Chrissandra saw us and came up to me later with this whole I'm-going-to-tell-Danny thing—unless
I dropped out of soccer.”
Why was I not surprised? Rachael was older, faster on the field and more popular than Chrissandra. As long as she was around, Chrissandra would always be in her shadow.
“No way I was giving in, right? So I went to Danny, to break up with him. Only to have him tell me how much he loved me and how we were going to be together forever … and all this crap that melted my heart. So I said something about maybe not playing soccer the next year, and he thought it was a great idea. More time to be together before he left for college.”
She sighed again. “So that was that. I didn't show up for tryouts, and Chrissandra got what she wanted.”
“Until Hartley asked you back.”
“Yeah, and by then, Danny and I were history. The jerk dumped me to play the college field, and I'm not talking sports. And soon I realized I missed soccer a lot more than I did him.”
I sat up. “So you're telling me for sure it's Chrissandra who told Hartley about me?”
“I'm not. I honestly don't know. I'm just telling you not to trust her. And to know that she's capable of stuff you'd only expect to see on a soap opera.”
A shiver ran through me.
•
My dreams that night were dark and disturbing. Who would have thought I'd actually welcome the morning light and the chance for real- life distractions at school?
But that didn't mean I was prepared to cruise up to my locker and find CeeCee pointing at a note protruding from the vent. I didn't know if I was being summoned to the principal's office for another interrogation or to a judge- and- jury trial of Chrissandra's calling—or worse.
“You see who left it?”
She shook her head.
Blowing out a sigh, I opened the note, to see bold, handwritten print:
“Keegan, Rusty … who?” I shook my head at CeeCee. “Courtyard? Did you see who left this?” I asked again.
A smile pulled at her mouth. “I didn't. But Lyric Wolensky's little brother is named Keegan. And I've never heard of another one.”
