“You’re an interesting girl,” he says. “But I’ve always known that about you. I like how you’re always watching people, taking it all in. I’ve often wanted to ask what’s going on in that brain of yours.”
“Oh, you’d be pretty surprised,” I say.
“Would I?” He stares at me with those eyes. He’s so close that his body heat warms mine. Even the little hairs on my arms seem to be reaching toward him, begging for his touch.
Suddenly, we’re embracing. His hands move lightly over my arms, then caress my waist and hips. His lips are on my neck, and every single cell in my body is begging for him. His fingers run gently over my breasts, and I gasp. I’m a virgin but now I know what it means to want someone physically. My body is aching with desire, hurting in an unfamiliar yearning way as his legs intertwine with mine. He is on top of me, his hands running through my hair, touching my face. I stroke his muscular back, and rake my fingers through his thick brown hair, pulling him closer. I’m breathing hard, involuntarily, as if I’ve just run in a track meet. I open my eyes to see him staring down at me.
Up close, his eyes are the warmest brown velvet fringed with those impossibly long eyelashes. He has a bit of a five-o-clock shadow that gives him such a masculine edge. The funny thing is, he seems completely unaware of how good looking he is or his effect on girls. I suddenly feel terribly shy.
“You’re turning pink,” he says, his eyes showing the faintest twinkle. “Why?”
I shrug, embarrassed. “You know.”
“Do I?” he asks. His face moves imperceptibly close to mine, so close I can see the flecks of amber in his brown eyes. There is nothing I want more than for him to kiss me passionately, for our lips to join together. I gaze up at him. He stares back.
In him, I see everything I’ve ever wanted in a boyfriend. He’s kind, funny, good-looking, smart, incredibly sexy. I wonder if I could be in love with him. I’ve never felt something like this before. His mouth, his tantalizing lips, come closer to mine. I’m dying to kiss him. I almost give in. Then, at the last minute, I turn my head away. I move out from under him, pushing him off of me.
“I can’t kiss you,” I mumble.
He’s quiet. I steal a glance at him. His expression is pained, jaw clenched. He leans back against the pillow with a stiff, resigned air.
“No big,” he says, his expression stony.
“Jason, I . . .” I trip over my words, not knowing how to say I want to kiss him more than anything in the world but can’t because I care too much about him. I want to get to know him on his terms, letting him reveal himself to me in the way he wants. I don’t want to take a shortcut, to instantly find out what he’s thinking and feeling and who he is and what he wants to do in life. I want it to be a mystery.
I want it to be . . . right.
But how can I tell all this to him? Instead, I say nothing. I move close to him, stroking his arm to let him know I really do like him, that I’m not the “ungettable girl” he thinks I am. But he’s mentally gone from me, vigorously working his math problems with a furrowed expression as if I’m not in the room. When he glances up and catches me staring at him, his eyes are cold and masked—the eyes of any other distant and cocky guy.
“You should probably go,” he says. “I’ve got too much studying to do.”
“Okay,” I say hesitantly. Then, attempting a joke: “If we’re going to UCLA together, we should get cracking.” Hardy har-har. What a geek.
His expression is unreadable. He ushers me out of his room, down the stairs, and out the door. His mom is coming up the driveway with an armload of groceries. She looks startled.
“I didn’t realize you had a visitor, Jason,” she says, looking at me intently. She has a kind face, lined in the same way as my mother’s—the marks of a single mother struggling to raise a teenager. Her eyes are the same large brown ones as her son’s.
“Mom, this is Winter. We were studying together for the AP Calculus exam.”
“Nice to meet you,” his mother says, extending her hand with a smile.
“You too,” I say. Her hand is slight and warm in mine. She seems gentle.
“I’m glad Jason has a . . . friend. He’s been so lonely since moving back.”
Jason shifts uncomfortably, arms crossed. “Not lonely, Mom. Just adjusting, that’s all.”
She sighs and gazes at him. I see the same worried love in her eyes my mother has for me. Now I realize why Jason feels so familiar to me.
We both come from the same place.
When his mom goes into the house, Jason walks me to my car. We stand awkwardly for a moment. I search around in my mind for the right words, something to make it better, but don’t know what to say. He shifts his body, shoulders squared and arms still crossed, refusing to meet my eye.
“Guess I’ll see ya around,” he says, turning to leave.
“Jason, I’m sorry for—”
“Save it,” he replies curtly over his shoulder. Then he’s gone, bounding up the porch steps. The door closes behind him with a final-sounding clack.
I’m left standing on the curb, biting my lip and turning my keys over in my trembling hands. I wonder if I’ve completely blown it.
It sure feels like it.
12
I’m sitting with Miranda in the quad the next day, eating tuna sandwiches—well, at least she’s eating. My stomach is in knots as we discuss what happened with Jason last night and who I should kiss first on the track team, in that order.
“It’s horrible,” I say. “I can’t kiss Jason, yet he’s the only one I want. Instead, we’re discussing which strangers I’ll be macking.”
“I know,” she says. “It sucks. But you have to do this. Our friend is dead.”
I bite my lip. She’s right, but how did I end up in this mess? Oh yeah, I can read people’s minds, the minor point being that I need to kiss them first.
Crap.
How am I going to do this without Jason finding out?
“I feel like puking,” I say, twisting the corner of my lunch bag. I do literally feel sick, my stomach rolling around like a paste-blob. It doesn’t help that I didn’t sleep last night.
“You’re doing the right thing, even if it doesn’t feel like it,” Miranda says, just as Jason walks up. He looks especially cute today in his shorts, baseball cap and athletic jacket. His legs are perfectly toned and muscular, like a Tour-de-France rider.
He sits down next to me on the bench and looks pointedly at Miranda. “Can I talk to Winter for a sec?”
“Sure,” she replies, gathering her things. She throws me a knowing glance before leaving.
Jason opens his lunch bag and pulls out a sandwich. He unwraps it slowly, peeling the plastic off the bread. I wait, watching him. He sits for a minute, staring at the sandwich, not meeting my gaze. Then he puts the sandwich down and looks directly into my eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t need to be sorry about anything,” I say.
“I was rushing things. It wasn’t right.”
I look at his handsome face with its dimpled cheek and kind eyes. I long to tell him the truth but can’t. Instead I say, “Jason, I really like you, but I need to know you better before we kiss.”
“I want to know you, too. I’m willing to wait until you’re ready.”
“You are?” My heart does flip-flops and the butterflies start up again. I want to throw my arms around him but can’t, not with the whole school watching. As it is, I see girls throwing snarky glances my way. “What is Jason doing with her?” I can see them thinking, especially the popular ones who assume they can get any guy. One of them, Darcy Latimer, a blonde with fluffy hair and big bouncy boobs, is always staring at Jason, trying to get his attention. She’s on the cheerleading team and can’t seem to figure out why he doesn’t notice her. It seems to irk her, especially today with him paying all this attention to me. She sits on the grass nearby, whispering with her friends and staring in our direction. I try to i
gnore her glare, doing my best to focus on my conversation with Jason.
“It’ll be hard not to kiss you, but I can be patient,” Jason says, looking at me with those eyes. “It’ll be worth the wait. I bet your lips taste like strawberries.”
For a moment, I catch a glimpse of corny Stumblemeyer. He’s so cute, all goofy and gorgeous at the same time. A perfect, endearing combination.
“You like strawberries?” I ask, taking the bait.
“More than you know,” he replies, a gleam in his eyes. I make a mental note to buy some strawberry flavored lip gloss. Maybe I can rub it on my neck. Remembering the way it felt when he kissed me there sends tingles down my spine.
As if reading my mind, he leans in close to me. “Your skin smells good.”
I’m unable to speak, the breath squeezing out of my lungs as I resist the urge to pull his face close. It’s going to be unbearably hard to not give in to my total desire for him.
He leans closer, his lips grazing my neck. “There are other places besides your lips to explore.”
I nod, still unable to utter a word. His lips lightly brush the base of my throat, and hot bolts zap through my body. I swear I hear a collective gasp around me. The whole school must be watching. I look up to see Darcy Latimer glaring at me with a nasty, confused expression. Impulsively, I put my arms around Jason’s neck and nuzzle my face into him, giving Darcy a good dose of PDA.
Who cares if the whole school sees? He’s mine, be-otches, so back off!
“Come with me to the homecoming dance,” Jason whispers in my ear. I pull back and stare at him, my heart in my throat. I can hardly believe my ears.
“Really?” I ask, unable to hide the giddiness in my voice.
He nods, looking shy. I hope he’s not worried I’ll say no again. It’s as if he doesn’t realize how hot he is or that every girl in the school wants him. For some strange reason, he only has eyes for me. Well, I’m sure as hell not going to question it.
“I’d love to go with you,” I whisper, and tighten my arms around his neck. He pulls me close and we embrace for a long moment. We sit, smiling at each other until the bell rings and it’s time to hurriedly chow our sandwiches before rushing off to class.
In Spanish, I can feel Darcy staring at me from two seats over. I glance over and she makes a point of looking me up and down with her lip curled. Then she whispers to her cheerleader friend, loud enough for me to hear: “I don’t know what Jason Brackmeyer sees in her.”
I drop my head and pretend to be taking notes, but inside my stomach is twisted in knots. Maybe it’s only a matter of time before Jason realizes he can get someone popular like Darcy. It seems to really bother people like Darcy that Jason, who is now more popular than Kirby Cahill, is dating a “no one” like me. It messes with their heads somehow, their concept of a pecking order.
I don’t know what Darcy is so upset about anyway. After all, she’s dating Kirby Cahill. She’s got her own good-looking popular jock. Except her guy is a jock-ass, and mine is sweet with a good personality. Nice and handsome—yes, Jason has Kirby Cahill beat any day. It’s probably this realization that drives Darcy bonkers.
Darcy’s snide stage-whisper pierces my thoughts. “She’s just the flavor of the month. Probably a slut with easy-off pants.” The girls snicker.
Darcy raises her hand. “Mrs. Ramirez, what’s the Spanish word for ‘promiscuous’?” she asks, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, her eyes wide with feigned innocence.
Mrs. Ramirez doesn’t take the bait. “SeÑoritas, get back to work,” she says, frowning.
The girls pretend to obey, giggling under their breaths.
My heart thuds hard in my chest and my face grows hot. Out of the corners of my eyes, I see others staring at me. I keep my head down, pretending to study, but the page in front of me blurs.
Normally being called a slut wouldn’t bother me in the least. After all, I’m still a virgin and have hardly dated. Not exactly whore-material. But now, knowing I’ll be kissing as many guys on the track team as I can get my hands on, I wonder if Darcy is right. Maybe I am a slut. I already feel like one, since I’m planning on kissing other people besides Jason. It’s as if I’ve cheated on him already. A disgusting kissing ho.
I swallow hard, doodling in my notebook with the hope that mindless distraction will calm the roiling upset of my stomach.
When my eyes finally focus on the paper again, I realize I’ve drawn a broken heart.
***
At track, the guys give Jason a hard time. Gossip has flown around the whole school that we’re a couple. I overhear Kirby Cahill say to him, “She’s hot. Good choice, dude. Way better than Annika.” At that, Jason gets a dark, angry look on his face and says something to Kirby that I can’t hear. I’m surprised to see Kirby Cahill, the cockiest guy in school, defer to Jason and slink off with an embarrassed shrug.
The rest of the team treats me differently now, with a newfound respect. It’s as if I’m suddenly on the radar. Every time I look up from my stretches, I catch a guy looking at me appraisingly or a girl studying me, as though trying to pinpoint what attracts a guy like Jason Brackmeyer.
“You’re the It-Girl now, do you know?” says Miranda, pulling her toes toward her as we sit together on the dry grass. “Everyone is talking about you and Jason.”
“That’s crazy.”
“People have been whispering about it for a while, but now that you guys are out in the open, people are gossiping like crazy. Jason is the most coveted guy around, and you snagged him. People want to know the details. I’ve had so many people come up asking questions, it’s crazy.”
I’m flabbergasted. I knew dating a popular guy brings a certain amount of cachet to a girl, but I had no idea how much. It’s odd to know that being with Jason has suddenly made me “important” in the eyes of others, given me a certain validity. How lame. I haven’t changed. I’m still the same girl I was before. But that’s how it is in weird high-school-land. Nothing I can do about it. Might as well enjoy the perks that come with being Jason’s girl. Fortunately for me, he’s not only eye candy, but the sweetest guy ever. I’m electrified whenever I think about him, and I know I’m the luckiest girl in the universe. I vow to push nasty thoughts of Darcy and the others out of my mind. They’re just jealous.
“Back to the subject of solving Annika’s murder,” says Miranda.
My throat is dry. I swallow hard. “I don’t know about this, Miranda.”
How am I going to kiss other people without Jason finding out?
The thought of kissing anyone but him, especially since he said he’ll wait for me, makes me want to cry. I can’t imagine putting my lips on anyone else, even if it’s for a cause as important as finding Annika’s killer. My stomach is queasy, churning uneasily.
Miranda calmly stretches beside me, methodically going through the movements. “Think about Annika.”
Annika’s large eyes flash across my mind, imploring me to help her. I owe it to her, especially since I held back on our friendship, which fills me with such guilt. But what about Jason?
“I don’t know,” I say.
Miranda stops and looks at me. Her face is fuller, almost chipmunk-like. She’s wearing her usual baggy sweatshirt and to the outside world, probably looks as though she’s simply gained weight. But to me, she’s my pregnant friend, someone who is pretending to be brave when I know she must be scared shitless about her future. It dawns on me that maybe Miranda has a larger stake in my kissing power than meets the eye. It’s possible that through me, she’s trying to re-live some of her more carefree, reckless times in order to forget about her own problems for a while.
But this is my life we’re playing with.
And Jason’s.
“Don’t get cold feet,” says Miranda. “Annika deserves justice. She’s dead. And they still haven’t found her killer.”
She’s dead.
My eyes smart. I swallow a lump in my throat as I picture Annika’s sweet
, doe-eyed face. If it were me in that cold ground instead of her, lying there alone in the dark coffin with my life stripped away from me—my future and dreams gone—what would I want?
I would want my life avenged. I would want justice. I would want someone to stop that son-of-a-bitch from ever hurting anyone again. I would want my life—and death—to mean something.
I meet Miranda’s eyes and force a nod. We both know what I have to do . . . but I’m not happy about it.
All I can do is hope that Jason will one day understand.
***
“Who should you kiss first?” Miranda says in a low voice as we round the bend of the track. I’m jogging at her slower pace. Even just trotting along, she’s out of breath. I don’t know if it’s okay for her to be running like this, but she insists it’s fine.
Jason is on the opposite side of the track, running with a group of guys. They’re bantering, laughing and joking, their whoops echoing across to us. Jason is so different than the shy guy he was a few years ago. He’s so confident, so sure of himself. He senses me staring at him, glances across the field, and gives me his special “look,” the one that makes my heart do somersaults. I smile and wave. He waves back. Happiness surges through me. I can’t wait until after school when I’m meeting him and Miranda at Fast Thru for free chocolate shakes, courtesy of Victor.
“I think you should kiss Coach Ted first,” Miranda says, interrupting my thoughts.
I cringe. “Please, no.” The thought of putting my lips on that leather-faced old man makes me want to hurl.
I’m almost ready to back out of the whole thing. This plan is a bad idea all the way around. I can’t risk losing Jason. Maybe I can buy some time to figure things out. More than anything, I wish the police would hurry up and find the killer so I don’t have to go around kissing people.
“Hey,” a voice says next to me. Jason has caught up with us. He’s wearing sporty sunglasses and a wisp of a smile.
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