“What the hell are you doing?” he asks.
“Facial exercises.”
“You’re stalling.”
“So are you,” I say.
“No . . .” But I can hear a tinge of uncertainty even in his whisper.
“What if we start with a small kiss?” I say. “Like a one-second kiss. On the cheek.”
“Oh my God. That’s how I kiss my grandmother.”
“It’ll be a level-one kiss.”
“You’re such a nerd. Fine.” He leans over and kisses my cheekbone. The kiss is soft and quick. And surprisingly easy, maybe because all I had to do was sit here.
“Level two,” I say. My palms begin to sweat. “Pop kiss on the mouth.”
“Okay,” he replies. We lean into each other, and before I can think about which direction to tilt my head or whether I’m supposed to open or close my eyes, his lips meet mine for the briefest second, before we pull away.
“Nailed it,” he says. “What’s level three?”
Nailed it? Ugh. Why do I get nervous around idiots like this?
“A longer kiss,” I say.
“Tongue or no tongue?”
“No tongue.”
“Is tongue level four?”
“Yes,” I reply.
“You are so weird.” And then, before I can prepare myself, he cups my chin and brushes his lips against mine, so softly, it tickles, then parts his lips slightly to kiss me.
Okay, so he knows what he’s doing.
I follow his lead, parting my lips too, alternating smaller kisses with longer, deeper ones.
You think you have your pride, you know? But I would neglect everything—family, friends, maybe even Harris—to kiss Seb until my lips were too chapped to do it anymore. Kissing Seb is fun. And he’s so good at it that I forget to wonder if I am. What does it matter, anyway? The whole thing is a sham.
We move on to level four without stopping. Seb makes the move, of course, and it feels completely different from the Incident with Colton. My senses are sharpened today. I feel the rhythm of Seb’s breathing, his fingertips brushing my skin, the faint stubble on his chin. Usually I hate being touched, but I’m surprised to find that I’m enjoying it. The concept of time eludes me. Have we been at it for seconds or minutes? Is the movie almost over? Did our kissing break the space-time continuum?
We don’t stop until a harried-looking father with a screaming baby in his arms makes his way up the aisle. On the movie screen Gregor has stowed away on a cruise ship.
Seb and I sit back in our chairs. I’m breathing too hard, feeling physically exhausted from our make-out session.
“You’re a good kisser,” he says.
“Stop.”
“What?”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I know I don’t have to,” he says, sounding exasperated.
“And this movie is so dumb,” I say. “How the hell did Gregor get on a cruise ship?”
“The little girl put him in a suit and a top hat.”
I’m baffled. “What?”
“Yeah. He stood on his hind legs.”
“Oh my God. I know this movie is for kids, but the complete disregard for quality, or pure common sense, is insulting.”
“Analee,” he says.
“What?”
And then he kisses me again. And I know he’s not doing it because he’s overwhelmed by his all-consuming passion for me. He’s doing it to shut me up. I just can’t bring myself to care at the moment.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Harris: i still don’t understand why you saw the movie in the first place. obviously you’re not the target audience.
Me: Okay, I know, but let’s talk about the fact that Gregor was at a Parisian cafe eating a baguette
Me: A baguette, Harris!
Me: A hostess let a LION sit at a table. A waiter then took that lion’s order.
Harris: again, i ask: why did you see this movie?
Me: I told you, I had to go with Avery
I hate lying to Harris, but I still don’t feel comfortable telling him anything Seb-related. Besides, all that kissing meant nothing. It was all in preparation for the day I’ll kiss Harris, someone I can actually stand. We won’t need to have levels or watch silly kids’ movies. Our kiss will be under the most perfect, romantic circumstances.
Me: Anyway. What did youuu do last night?
Harris: went into gorizon’s lair
Me: Wow, really? Who helped you with that?
Harris: this shape-shifter named celestina
Harris: she was pretty awesome
Me: Never heard of her
Harris: we might want to invite her into our guild
Me: Do we really need another shape-shifter, though? We already have Gordon.
Harris: gordon is twelve, Analee. and he’s banned from using the internet for a month
Harris: why don’t we do a quest with celestina tonight? you can see what you think
Me: Maybe
Harris: you okay?
Me: Totally
Who is Celestina, and why has she entered our lives? Why is Harris questing with another girl? It’s partly my fault. I’ve been neglecting him and our quests. He has every right to enlist other people for help.
It’s just . . . Celestina? Couldn’t Harris have teamed up with a fat troll or an orc or a goblin? Celestina sounds so beautiful and mystical. I imagine a towering, golden-haired beauty casting spells and taking off into the night sky as an exotic bird. Suddenly even Kiri doesn’t seem like enough. Kiri is a hunter with no magical powers or shape-shifting skills.
My phone buzzes from the floor. It’s a text from Seb.
What are you up to?
Nothing, I type. I don’t care how pathetic I sound. Seb already realizes I’m pathetic.
Am I allowed to come over? Stepmonster is around and I need to escape.
Dad isn’t home, but Harlow is. Technically we are abiding by Dad’s rules. Although if I decided to go against the rules and have sex with Seb right here in my childhood bedroom, Harlow would probably cheer us on while pelting us with condoms.
Yes, I text back. I’m surprised I don’t make up an excuse to get out of it, but the idea of Seb coming over doesn’t bother me. More than that, I want to see him. I want to kiss him again. Not because I have feelings for him. I know way too much about Seb now to think of him in a romantic way.
Me: Sorry, I think I hear my dad calling me. Ttyl
Harris: ttyl
Seb remains, undeniably, a soccer-obsessed doofus who is still, like, 10 percent asshole. But he’s a doofus that happens to be God’s gift to kissing.
When I answer the door, I expect a level three at least. But he stays fixed on my doorstep.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi,” I reply. I move to the side so that he can come in. Not even a level-one kiss on the cheek.
“Thanks for letting me come over.”
“No problem,” I say. We stand there without moving. It hits me that Seb might still consider kissing me a job, and he doesn’t want to perform on his off-hours. We had our practice session, and the rest is reserved for show.
Why did I assume he wanted to kiss me again like I wanted to kiss him? Seb has made out with some of the most beautiful girls in school. He’s used to this. He was probably bored and had nothing better to do than see me today. It’s not romantic. It’s practical.
“Seb!” Harlow comes up behind us. She’s wearing her barely-there leggings, which basically amount to a second layer of skin, and a crop top. It’s embarrassing. Her look screams high school cheerleader at practice, not future mother figure. “I didn’t know you were coming over today!”
“Sorry,” Seb says quickly. “I thought Analee—”
“No, this is actually perfect,” Harlow says. “I could really use both of you guys.”
“Sure,” Seb says. I bulge my eyes out at him in silent warning.
“Great. Follow me!” She turns and goes toward the l
iving room. I smack Seb in the head.
“Ow. What the hell?” he says.
“Lesson number one,” I whisper. “Never agree to a favor for Harlow.”
“You make everything such a big deal,” he whispers back. “I’m sure it’s fine.” He follows Harlow, which leaves me no choice but to reluctantly follow him.
In the living room Harlow has the couches pushed against the walls and two yoga mats on the floor. Seb shoots me a confused eyebrow raise, and it is impossible for me to hide my smirk.
“I’m trying to work on my partner yoga series,” Harlow says. “I was going to have Avery help, but her miniature size might be a problem.”
“I’m down,” Seb says. He kicks off his blue sneakers and steps onto the mat without needing to be asked.
“Great!” Harlow presses her palms together. “Analee?”
“I don’t think so,” I reply.
“Oh, come on, Analee,” Seb says. “Don’t be so you.”
I glare at him.
“Partner yoga has a lot of benefits, Analee,” Harlow says. “You might find it brings you two closer together.”
“I think we’re close enough.”
“Personally,” Seb says, “I’ve found you to be a little distant lately.”
He is such a dick.
“Please?” Harlow asks. She’s using the same tricks on me that she uses on Dad. The soothing yogi voice, the doe eyes.
I sigh and slip out of my sandals. What other choice do I have? The apple doesn’t fall far from the spineless tree.
Harlow uses her phone to play a background track. The living room is filled with the sounds of crashing waves, twittering birds, and the low drones of what I’m guessing is a didgeridoo, based on the World Music class I took last year. It all seems so artificial. Like we’re pretending we’re not stretching in our living room deep in the Florida suburbs.
“Let’s get started,” Harlow says in this ridiculous breathy voice. Why do all yoga teachers talk like they took a bunch of Vicodin? I catch Seb’s eye, trying not to laugh, but he’s watching Harlow with a serious expression. Harlow instructs (gently, of course) me and Seb to sit back-to-back.
“Now what?” I ask.
“We’re simply going to breathe,” Harlow replies.
“Aren’t we doing that already?”
“Analee, try to focus on the way your breath moves instead of what’s to come. Just be here now, in this moment.”
Great. One minute into the class, and I’m already doing it wrong.
We breathe in and out through our noses. I feel Seb’s back expand every time he inhales, and soon we’re breathing and moving together. Our bodies are so close that I can’t feel where mine ends and his begins. I lose track of time the way I did yesterday in the theater.
Harlow has us hold hands and twist our upper bodies. I feel my tension, holed up in my shoulders and upper back, begin to melt. Then she has the two of us face each other, feet touching.
One of us stretches forward, the other pulls back. When it’s Seb’s turn to stretch forward, his face clenches and turns red.
“Holy crap, that hurts,” he mutters.
“Oh my God,” I say. “Am I more flexible than you?”
“I have tight hamstrings.”
“In other words, I’m more flexible than you!” I announce gleefully. “I win!”
“It’s not a competition,” Harlow reminds us, but even she cannot rob me of this triumph.
The best part of yoga practice is the end, when we lie flat on our backs in corpse pose. Harlow has us following our breath through our bodies, and it’s one of the few moments in my life when I feel momentarily carefree. I’m not thinking about the stupid didgeridoo playing in the background, or that I’m lying down next to the most wanted boy in school, or that Dad and Harlow’s wedding is around the corner. All I’m thinking about is breathing.
“Namaste,” Harlow says to close the practice. She gives me and Seb a deep bow, and Seb bows back in return.
“Namaste,” he says.
They both look at me, and I give them the slightest lean forward. That’s the most they’ll get from me. I’m definitely not saying “namaste.” Give me a freaking break.
“That was so awesome!” Seb says. He raises his hand to give Harlow a high five. “I feel like that guy in the Fantastic Four, the stretchy one?”
“Mr. Fantastic,” I cut in. I have a feeling Seb has never read a comic book in his life.
“I’m so glad you liked it,” Harlow says, eyes shining. “You two looked great. I might have to get you on video.”
“Yes!” Seb says as emphatically as I say, “No.”
“Just think about it,” Harlow says.
“How did you get into all this?” Seb asks, gesturing toward the mats.
“What?” Harlow rolls up the mats, and Seb and I help her pull the couches back into their usual position. “Yoga?”
“Yeah. Did you always want to do it?”
“Definitely not,” Harlow laughs. “I wanted to be a lawyer.”
“Really?” It shoots out of my mouth before I can help it. Usually I try to show as little interest in Harlow as possible, but I could never imagine her trading in her tie-dyed leggings for a pantsuit.
“Yup. I lasted a whole year at Columbia before I could admit that I hated it.”
I had no idea that Harlow went to law school. I knew she got pregnant in college, but I assumed she dropped out of school to take care of Avery.
“How did you go to school and manage with Avery?” I ask.
“It was hard,” she says. “I lived with my parents. They helped out with Avery while I was in school, and then I’d take care of Avery and stay up all night studying.”
“So when did yoga enter into it?” Seb asks.
“My friend was teaching a class in Manhattan, and she made me promise I’d go. Truth be told, I thought I’d hate it. I didn’t have the time, I had work to do, I had a million excuses not to try it. But then I went. And when I entered into child’s pose for the first time, I burst into tears in front of the entire class.”
Involuntarily I throw a hand over my mouth. I know how embarrassing it is to lose your shit in front of a bunch of strangers, but I didn’t think embarrassing moments happened to people like Harlow.
Harlow shrugs. “It wasn’t fun, but I needed to have that moment. It made me realize that I wanted to change my life.”
“So you moved here?” I asked.
“Yes,” she says. “I worked as a waitress and got my yoga certification. Then I became a yoga teacher.”
“And then you met my dad,” I say.
It’s so bizarre the way a chance event can change your entire life. If Harlow had never taken her friend’s yoga class, she and Dad would never have met. Or if Dad had joined a different gym. Or if Mom had gone to the doctor earlier and caught the cancer in time. Dad would still have his pouch and his old ripped jeans, and Harlow would be blissfully unaware of his absence in her life.
“What’s going on here?” Avery asks accusingly. She appears in the doorway, both hands on her bony hips.
“Hey, little girl,” Seb says.
Avery softens, drops her hands. Seb somehow possesses the unique power of lowering her brat factor by just a smidgen. “Oh. Hi, Seb.”
“Come here, ladybug,” Harlow says. She goes over to Avery and pulls her into an embrace, peppering tiny kisses all over her cheeks.
“Moooom, stop!” Avery whines, struggling to free herself.
I look away. I’m feeling too many things at the moment, and feeling too much always makes me uncomfortable. I feel sympathy for Harlow, which I hate, because it’s hard to dislike someone while simultaneously feeling bad for them. I feel sympathy for Avery, who grew up with a busy mom and an absent father. But more than anything, I feel sympathy for myself. No, worse than sympathy. I’m downright pitying myself. I don’t have a mom who will hug and kiss me like Harlow does with Avery. Not anymore. This is an immutable fact
, and that reality hits me with the force of a wrecking ball to the chest.
“You ready to go to Lainey’s?” Harlow asks Avery.
“Yes,” Avery replies. “I’ve been waiting forever.”
“Well, thank you so much for your patience,” Harlow says. She laughs, gives Avery one more kiss on the cheek, and then grabs her keys. “Let’s roll.”
“Um, Harlow?” I ask.
She turns around. “Yes?”
“Seb and I aren’t . . . um . . . allowed . . .”
I feel younger than Avery right now. Why am I even being this Goody Two-shoes? Any teenage girl would kill to have the house all to herself and her, for all intents and purposes, boyfriend.
Harlow checks her cell phone. “It’s okay. Your dad won’t be home till later, and I’ll only be half an hour.”
“I can go,” Seb says, throwing his hand toward the door.
“No,” Harlow and I say in unison.
“That’s silly,” Harlow continues. “You don’t have to cut your visit short because of me.”
“You sure?” Seb asks, and I think he’s talking to Harlow, but his eyes are watching me.
“Yes,” I say.
And then Harlow sweeps Avery out of the room and we hear the car backing out of the driveway, and it’s just the two of us, alone, in a quiet empty house.
Thank you very much, Harlow, for making Seb and me all stretchy and limber and then leaving us by ourselves, because all I want to do is jump on top of him. Again, I have to make it clear: I don’t have feelings for Seb. It’s just that I’ve never had a boyfriend, so I’m pretty much a live grenade of sexual frustration.
“What should we do?” Seb asks.
If I were not Analee, this is when I would walk right up to him and kiss him. No hesitation. And then he could pick me up like I’m as light as a feather, and I’d wrap my legs around his waist and we’d tumble to the floor in a flurry of passion.
“We could watch TV,” I suggest.
Okay. Alternate fantasy. Seb could now say, I have a better idea. Then he could come over and kiss me and pick me up, and I’d wrap my legs around his waist and we’d tumble to the floor, etc.
Instead he says, “Sure,” and throws himself onto our couch. I sit a safe distance away from him. We spend the rest of the afternoon watching TV and not kissing.
Analee, in Real Life Page 17
