Who I Kissed

by Janet Gurtler

  “All right,” Dad says. “Go to the party. Just be responsible.”

  ***

  I take a deep breath on the front porch, fighting the voices in my head telling me to turn and flee to safety. The wind gusts up and lifts my skirt, and I shiver at the sudden change in temperature. If I don’t go in, Taylor might take it the wrong way and give up asking. As if she’s psychic, Taylor opens the front door. She’s holding a beer, and as I shift from foot to foot her eyes focus on me and she squeals loudly and pulls me inside with her free hand.

  “OhMYGODIcan’tbelieveyoucameIdidn’tthinkyouwouldcomeI’msogladyou’rehere.” She doesn’t even take a breath. Her amazing hair is piled into a messy but cute ponytail with strands pointing out in every direction. She throws both arms around me and squeezes tightly. I’ve gotten used to her hugging addiction. Usually there’s something about the intimacy of touching other people so closely that makes me uncomfortable.

  “You look freaking hot!” From the smell of her breath, she’s clearly already started drinking. She wiggles her finger and pokes it right in my face. “Are you really gay?”

  I’ve heard liquor is a truth serum, and it appears to be true in Taylor’s case. “No,” I tell her. “A rumor from my old team. It was never true.”

  “I KNEW IT! ORLIE SWIMMERS ARE TOTAL LIARS!” she yells. “Look out, boys!” She lifts her arm and performs an invisible lasso twirl over her head. And just like that—boom—I’m straight.

  “Um. You have a mirror, right?” I say to her and smile, even though having my fake lesbian shield ripped off is a little unnerving.

  She stumbles a little and giggles, pulling up her strapless mini dress that is so tight and short I’m a little afraid for its safety.

  In comparison to Taylor, my black skirt and white tank top are boring and desperately in need of accessorizing. I suck at putting outfits together. I’m too broad in the shoulders and too tall to pull off a look like Taylor’s anyhow. The fact that Taylor rocks at swimming but has a tiny and narrow build makes me hate her. Just a little.

  Taylor shouts again and pushes me past an enormous and very formal front hallway. She throws her hands out like a game show hostess and jokes, “Welcome to my mother’s perfect house. Please do not break any of her china!”

  I flinch a little at her volume, wondering why drinking makes some people hard of hearing, but Taylor giggles and propels me into the open area with the living room, dining room, and kitchen all attached. Everything looks expensive, even with the rooms vibrating with loud music. Other kids lounge around, sipping from plastic cups. They’re draped over chairs in the living room and lean against counters in the kitchen, chatting and laughing and confident. They look fashionable and sophisticated, and my dorkiness seems to flourish and multiply.

  I spot most of the senior swim team around and recognize a few other kids from school too. Mostly I don’t know anyone’s name. Eyes pass over me, and I imagine they’re judging me and my outfit. My lame hair. Even the braid that I love so much. Suddenly everything about me feels awkward.

  Taylor giggles and throws an arm around my shoulder. “Don’t tell Clair I was drinking.” I open my mouth to promise when Justin comes along, waves to me, and swoops her away.

  I close my mouth. A rope of panic knots my insides. I glance around, feeling stupid, and think maybe staying home with my dad wasn’t such a bad idea after all. I’m about to set off to find a washroom to hide in when a hand touches my back. It’s Zee. I jump and barely hold in a scream of happiness.

  Yeah. I’m cool like that.

  He towers above me, playfully nudging me in the side with his elbow. “Not often I see you in clothes, Sammy W.”

  “True,” I manage, and my puppy-dog enthusiasm evaporates as I try to think of something else to say and come up with exactly nothing. Clearly I’m not good at bantering while clothed.

  “I was hoping you’d come,” he says, and I notice that he’s wearing more clothes than usual too, a black T-shirt and plaid shorts. He’s got a shark tooth strung around his neck, and normally that might look lame, but with his dark, tousled beach hair, it works. He’s completely and utterly gorgeous.

  Zee puts his hand on my arm, and my skin tingles under his fingers. Suddenly my tongue gets too big for my mouth and I’m incapable of speech. My cheeks warm.

  “You want a drink?” Zee asks, smiling at me and flipping his hair back from his eyes.

  “Straight Jack? Scotch on the rocks? Shot of tequila from my belly?” A good-looking boy with whitish-blond curls pops his head over Zee’s shoulder. He smiles at me and says something in Zee’s ear, and the two of them laugh.

  “I don’t drink,” I mumble, wincing inwardly at my party fail. Why can’t I do the sexy banter thing here?

  Zee points to the boy hanging over his shoulder. “Have you met Casper?”

  Casper smiles the lazy grin of the self-assured. With his perfect hair and lean, tanned face, he reminds me of a Disney kid. “You’re in Advanced English with me,” he says. “And you beat me on the first exam.” He narrows his eyes playfully. “I hope you’re not planning to steal away my spot for valedictorian. There’s a trophy, you know.” He lifts my hand and presses his lips against my palm. Shivers go up my spine. “I love trophies.”

  Zee knocks his hand away. “Stay away from this guy. He’s smart, but he’s a horn dog.”

  “You up for a challenge?” His mouth turns into a lopsided grin, and his voice cracks and rises a little at the end of his sentence. “I could use some fresh competition.” Casper winks at me and I can’t help grinning. I may suck in social situations, but I’m pretty confident about my grades.

  Embracing my inner nerd, I’m warmed by the delicious anticipation of getting better grades than the smartest kid in the class. But I’m not the type to brag about it.

  “Dude,” Zee says. “Party. This is a party. We don’t talk about grades here.” He slugs Casper on the shoulder. “Casper thinks having the highest GPA is something we admire about him. That and his big allowance.”

  “What can you do? When you got it, you got it,” Casper pleads.

  “Don’t worry, we all know it.” He smiles at me. “Even the new girl.”

  A girl crashes into Zee from behind him then, and he turns to steady her. She giggles and whispers in his ear and keeps touching his arm. He glances at me and makes a face she can’t see, but he can’t shake her. I have an urge to push her to the ground. Hard.

  Casper is diverted by a beautiful girl in a short black dress who slides up into his side, wobbling a little on her heels. She looks kind of pissed off about something.

  “Longest bathroom break ever,” he says to her, and the two of them walk away, their heads together, whispering.

  I’m kind of abandoned and feel myself disappearing. I’m about to slip away from Zee and the flirty girl when fingers touch my elbow. Zee spins me around and lightly pushes me along.

  “Come on.” I note the open mouth on the flirty girl but feign innocence as he directs me through the kitchen. He bends down and expertly opens a cooler without stopping, swooping up a bottle in his hand and presenting it to me. It’s water. I smile, relieved to have something to do with my hands as he leads me past a dark wooden kitchen table to a patio door and slides it open. We step outside. Instantly the humid, claustrophobic air disappears and I breathe a little easier. He stumbles but corrects himself right away.

  “You don’t go to many parties?” he says, as he slides the door closed, but it’s not so much a question as a statement. The night air is cold, but the deck is covered and the temperature is tolerable.

  “Not really.”

  “They didn’t have them at your old school?”

  “We had parties. They just weren’t so…”

  “Fun?” he says with a grin.

  “Grown up,” I say a
nd glance down. “We didn’t drink. My friends back home. Swim people. Who can afford hangovers?” In the distance the wind howls.

  “True. But this is a swim-free weekend.” Zee takes a sip from the beer bottle as if to make his point, studying me as if I’m an exotic or weird beast. “All swimming and no fun makes Sammy a dull girl.”

  I tug at my braid. He thinks I’m dull. And of course he’s completely right. I’m a lump of fun-suck. Sucking the fun out of everything is my specialty.

  “Hey,” he says. “Don’t look so down. I’m kidding. You don’t have to drink to be cool.” He lifts his bottle and grins. “But I do. Seriously, how often do we get a Saturday night with no swim meet? What Clair doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” His expression changes to a conspiring smile as if we share a naughty secret. His eyes are shiny, and I realize he’s probably drunker than he seems. “I bet you’re probably still sugar buzzed on Jelly Bellys.”

  “I have a high tolerance for the Bellys,” I tell him. “Thanks.” I try to stop my smile, but it stretches over my face.

  “Yeah.” He takes a swig of beer. “Swimmers see-food diet. I know a lot of girls would kill to eat like you and still be in shape.”

  He’s right. Swimming builds an appetite. Despite a big supper, I’d wolfed down a sandwich right before the party.

  Zee takes a step closer. I hold my breath, waiting. For what? Something. My heart trips, not quite believing I’m alone outside with Zee. At a party. And he’s standing so close to me I can smell his skin. Even the beer on his breath. It’s so much more intimate than standing beside him on the pool deck, even though at the pool both of us are nearly naked. Here, I’m a girl. Not just a swimmer.

  He reaches over and tucks my braid behind my ear.

  “You’re sexy,” he says.

  I struggle to breathe. “I am not.”

  “Yes. You are.” His voice is soft. “All the guys think so. You’re different. Not all fake like some girls.”

  I shake my head with a little too much force, trying to cover how much I want to throw myself at him. His words thrill me. It’s so foreign having a boy’s interest, and yet here I am, wondering if his lips will taste like chlorine.

  He leans even closer and strokes the skin on my bicep. Goose bumps cover my arm. “Strong but soft inside.” His slow, easy smile has so much promise. I press my lips tight and suck in my breath, waiting for his mouth to move closer to mine, wanting him to so bad it makes me dizzy.

  And then, behind us, the patio door slides open.

  Sounds from the house fill the air, laughter and music. The door closes. My back stiffens as a gorgeous creature steps into our space. She’s Tyra Banks tall, with the kind of hair I covet—curly ringlets, long and sexy, cascade down her back. She’s slim with a tiny waist and great boobs that she’s clearly proud to show off in a low-cut dress. Her face is the kind of pretty that turns boys’ heads.

  “There you are,” she says to Zee and steps forward, crunching my toe with a high heel and wrapping her arm around Zee, forcing me to step backward.

  “Ouch.” I say it low and keep my eyes down, mortified.

  She pushes Zee back, away from me. A breeze blows over my skin and I shiver.

  “Well, that’s got to be a little awkward,” a voice says. I turn my head to see a boy sitting in a patio chair behind us in the darkness. He stands and steps closer, and as he comes into focus I recognize him. It’s the boy from the pool earlier today. He’s staring at me again, with those same piercing eyes, as if he’s listening again to the chatter inside my head. Although what I’m thinking now is not very nice. He’s holding a beer bottle and he tilts it back, then grins the playful smile of a little boy. He stumbles a little. Am I the only person at this party who’s not drunk?

  “Who’s that?” I hear the curly-haired girl hiss to Zee. As if she doesn’t know we’re in a couple of the same classes at school. I don’t know her name, but I recognize her. I glance back, and she’s standing so close to Zee, my cheeks flame.

  “Samantha Waxman,” the boy beside me calls to her. “She swims with Zee, Kaitlin,” he calls. “So put your claws back in.”

  I glance at him, surprised he knows my name.

  “Sammy’s my girl,” Zee says with a laugh. “She’s the best female swimmer on our team.”

  Kaitlin looks me up and down. “Oh, another swimmer,” she says, and her tone implies I’m not a threat. “You people and your gills.” She turns her back to me, her implication clear. Kaitlin drags him farther away. “It’s cold, Zee. Warm me up.” She slides her hands around his waist. Zee lifts his hands in the air as if he’s trying to get away, but she keeps at him. I die a little inside.

  “I’m Alex.” The other boy thrusts his hand out at me. “Sorry I was spying. I came out to get some air. Some guys are smoking in the basement.”

  Smells like they were smoking something other than cigarettes. I stare at his hand and then laugh a little nervously and put mine inside it. His palm is big and warm and nice against my skin, but I pull away quickly.

  “We’ve never officially met,” he says. “But we go to school together.”

  “You were at the pool today,” I blurt out.

  His smile widens. “Yeah. I had to drop off Zee’s iPod. I stuck around to watch you swim. I heard you were pretty good.”

  I lift my water bottle and unscrew the top, thankful for something to do. My body is off balance with conflicting emotions. Lust. And then rejection. Now, embarrassment.

  “I used to swim,” he says. “But I gave it up for baseball. My coach didn’t want me doing two sports. Well, I do Parkour too. Like Zee. But that’s for fun.” He exhales loudly and then sucks in a big breath.

  “Parkour?” I say and take a sip of water.

  “Jumping off things. Like James Bond.”

  I nod, even though I knew what Parkour is. I was more asking why. Anyhow, I’m relieved to hear he’d been watching my swimming technique at the pool and not so much me. Unexpectedly, I giggle, a release of nervous tension.

  “Parkour is funny?” he asks. “I thought chicks dug it.” He inhales deeply and blows out again.

  “Like how you leapt off the bleachers?”

  His cute nose wrinkles up and makes me laugh again. “Exactly. Why is that funny?”

  “I was kind of worried you were a perv. Hanging out at the pool. Watching strange girls swim.”

  He grabs at his heart. “Ouch,” he says. “But I didn’t hear that you were that strange.”

  “Good. I’ve kept it quiet, then.” I quickly peek over my shoulder at Zee and the Amazon. My heart thunks to my toes as she leans in and kisses him. I’m suddenly feeling nauseated, but I turn back and smile at Alex. Zee can flirt with me and then make out with another girl right behind my back a few seconds later? Well. Two can play at that game.

  I can do this. I can flirt with the best of them. In my head a tiny voice of reason nags at me, but the sting of rejection is louder. I place my water bottle on the patio table.

  “A perv?” he says. “You really thought I was a perv?”

  I lean closer to Alex. “You’re too cute to be a perv,” I say, trying to ignore my own embarrassment. If he hadn’t been drinking, he’d probably guess I got my moves watching teen movies.

  “You think I’m cute?” The wonder in his voice softens my mortification a little. “I thought you were into Zee.”

  I can feel the blush, and my head automatically shakes back and forth even as I’m picturing Zee behind me with the Amazon. “No.” I cross my arms in front of me. “I’m not.”

  “Good.” Alex brushes my arm with his fingers. I glance back as Zee is coming up for air with Kaitlin. Alex looks over too. “Zee’s an idiot,” he whispers in my ear.

  My cheeks heat up again, and I lower my gaze.

  “We’re alp
habetically linked,” he mumbles and coughs.

  I frown. “What?”

  He tugs at his ear. “Sorry. I mean you’re Waxman. I’m Waverly. And a major dork.”

  “Hey,” Zee calls. “No moves on Sammy, Waverly. I thought we discussed that.” He tries to walk toward us, but Kaitlin tugs him back.

  “Forget your stupid swim team,” she says, reattaches her mouth to his, and slides her long fingers into his hair.

  “Screw him,” Alex says. I nod, wholeheartedly agreeing. Screw Zee and his stupid jelly beans. Screw Zee and the stupid girl.

  I look up at Alex, trying to be seductive and not furious that Zee thinks he can tell Alex not to make a move on me at the same time he’s making out with another girl. I’m consumed by a quiet rage that doesn’t quite mask my sadness. Fighting a sudden urge to cry, I step closer to Alex and reach up to touch the collar of his T-shirt. “I’ve definitely noticed you around,” I lie.

  “Really?” He leans in, and his breath smells like booze and smoke. He stumbles again. His eyes are red. His condition takes the edge off my guilt. He’s drunk. He doesn’t know I’m using him to teach Zee a lesson. Maybe he won’t even remember.

  My frown turns up.

  “You’re sure you’re not interested in Zee?”

  “Of course not.” I press my lips tight and lean closer to Alex.

  He tilts his head forward, so close that our noses actually touch, and he winds my braid around his finger. I hold my breath and try to turn off the part of my brain that insists on analyzing every situation and running it through different scenarios and outcomes before taking action. Instead I press on, determined to worry about the consequences later. It’s the least I can do for Zee.

  Alex unweaves my braid from his finger, then moves forward, and his lips touch mine. I close my eyes and push away the thought that I’m only doing this so Zee will see me make out with his friend. I’m way too sober to be in this situation, but it doesn’t mean Alex is. That has to make it all right. This impulsive thing I’m doing.

  Yeah. I’m wild and spontaneous, Zee. How bad do you want me now?