Midnight in the Maze

by J. Leigh Bailey

  A few minutes later, I heard a crowd chattering just out of sight.

  “This way!” someone called.

  I turned toward the voice and had to put my hand on my chest to physically keep my heart from beating through my ribcage. Blake. He was only a few yards ahead of me, probably herding lost idiots out of the maze. I didn’t know whether to melt into a puddle and slink away in shame or to dance in glee because he was so close. And, oh my goodness, he even smiled at me. Tongue-tied, I could only nod as I walked past him. Getting close to him always jangled my nerves, but this time I made it a point to make eye contact. He was a couple of inches taller than me. Could he have been the one who…? No. Absolutely not. No matter how much that would make my day—hell, my century—birthday wishes don’t come true that easily. No, it must have been someone else.

  But who?

  “Joey!” Carter waved at me from a short stack of hay bales he and the others sat on. “Where have you been?” he asked me when I arrived. “I can’t believe you got lost in there!”

  “I didn’t get lost,” I protested. “You guys ran off when I had to stop and tie my shoe.” There wasn’t much venom in my voice. I was too distracted by what happened in the maze to worry about Carter being a jerk. “I can’t believe I lost my phone,” I added as an afterthought.

  My eyes fell on Blake again, but I made myself look away. Bret Thomas, who stood by his old pickup, was too tall; his buddy Tim Hayes, too short. Phil and Jason were permanently connected at the lips to their girlfriends, so it seemed unlikely they would kiss me. A couple of the other guys I recalled from school had the reputation of being asshole bigots, so they were out. I didn’t recognize the handful of college boys, and they wouldn’t have known it was my birthday or even care that it was. Could I have gotten the height wrong? Maybe Carter… I chuckled at the ridiculous thought. Carter took his role as best friend seriously, but even he wouldn’t kiss me just so I could avoid the pressure of being a never-been-kissed sixteen-year-old. And I’d have noticed the braces.

  Jared walked over from wherever he’d been. His red-streaked dark hair hid most of his face from view. “We’ve got to get going,” he told Margo. “If you miss curfew, your dad’ll freak.”

  Margo nodded in agreement and made sure her purse hung secure on her shoulder.

  Jared acknowledged the rest of us with a wave. “Later,” he called out over his shoulder. When he brushed past me I realized he was a couple of inches taller than me too. It couldn’t have been him, could it? That would be as absurd as thinking it was Blake. Wishful thinking, much? Which was ridiculous. Jared wouldn’t think of me that way, and I certainly didn’t think about him that way. Sure, at least I knew he was gay and I found him undeniably hot, but we lived in completely different worlds. And, well, he wasn’t Blake.

  “Come on, we’d better get going too.”

  I followed Carter and Megan to Carter’s car.

  II. THE CLUES

  “So, we’re still looking for volunteers to man the info booth at the Community Service Fair on Friday.” Jared looked up from the meeting’s agenda in front of him.

  It was Monday afternoon, and we were halfway through our biweekly GSA meeting, and club members weren’t exactly jumping up and down to volunteer. Most of the members, like me, doodled on our copies of the agenda. When we were talking about issues or planning a fund-raising event, we were a pretty lively crowd. When it came to the Community Service Fair, well, let’s just say no one wanted to be stuck on that duty. Pretty much only the suck-ups and the do-gooders worked the Community Service Fair.

  Jared leaned forward, staring at each of us in turn as though trying to make us volunteer through will power alone. “It’s good for the GSA, both in terms of networking and in outreach.”

  His being right didn’t make anyone more interested in volunteering.

  His dark eyes met mine, and the intensity of the stare was almost enough to make me raise my hand. “How about you, Joey?”

  Ah crap. “Sure, I can do that.”

  “Great.” Jared beamed and tucked the red strand of hair behind an ear.

  Eye contact and a smile.

  I pulled out the little notebook from the front pocket of my backpack. Ever since Friday night, I’d been tracking details—clues—as to who my secret kisser was. I made a list of every boy I’d seen at the maze that night, only eliminating ones I could be absolutely sure about. Like Pat Brand, who had a full goatee and mustache, and the kisser didn’t have that much facial hair. I flipped to the page with Jared’s info and made a note about the unusually friendly manner.

  The rest of the meeting went by in a blur. Not out of boredom or excitement but out of distraction. I wished my little notebook held more clues. I looked at each entry. Carter thought the whole thing—some guy finding and kissing me in the corn maze—was creepy and stalkerish. I probably should have agreed with him, but instead I was intrigued and energized. Carter decided to help me figure out who the mysterious boy was so he could prove that only a weirdo freak would accost random boys in a corn maze.

  I didn’t tell him I was hoping for something a little more. After all, any guy who would go to that much effort just to kiss me couldn’t be all bad, could he?

  It took me a minute to realize the meeting was over. Most of the other members had cleared out by the time I shoved my agenda into my GSA folder and stashed the folder into my backpack. I had to hurry if I wanted to catch the bus. Yes, finally sixteen and still riding the bus. Pitiful.

  “Hey, Joey, wait up.” Jared slung his messenger bag over one shoulder and swept red and black bangs from his eyes. “Thanks for stepping up. I know I kind of put you on the spot. The Community Service Fair is a bore, but we’ve got to do it.”

  “No problem.” I shrugged. “And it gets me out of civics early, so that’s a bonus.”

  “After school tomorrow I’m going to make a poster, a collage, to have at our table for the Community Service Fair. Pictures from our different events, articles, statistics, you know, stuff like that. Do you want to give me a hand?”

  I grimaced. “That’d be cool, but I can’t tomorrow. I have to catch the bus right away. Mom’s got a meeting out of town tomorrow, so she can’t pick me up if I stayed after. Just about any other day, though.” I clamped my mouth shut. It was bad enough I had to take the bus, but to babble about it like a kid?

  “I can give you a ride.”

  I broke free of the string of mental reprimands and stared at Jared. “What?”

  “I can give you a ride when we’re done. You live out by the mall, right? I’m not too far from there. It wouldn’t be a problem.”

  “If you’re sure.”

  “Yeah, it’s cool. I could really use some help picking the pictures and designing the layout. It’ll be fun! I’ll meet you in the art room after last bell.” Jared clapped me on the back and turned down the math corridor before I could answer him.

  Mr. Plesiotis split us into six volleyball teams in gym class on Tuesday. I anticipated gym as much as I dreaded it. Gym meant Blake. Blake sweaty. Blake in shorts. Blake with a competitive gleam in those changeable eyes. But a ridiculous crush and mediocre athletic skills equaled a less than stellar performance in gym class. To top it all off, today Mr. Plesiotis put me on a team with Blake.

  I was so busy focusing on Blake’s excellent ass (in front of me, displayed perfectly by Blake’s ready stance… sigh) that the other team’s first serve smacked straight into my face. Luckily, the person serving didn’t have much power. By the time the ball arched over the net and Blake’s head, it had almost zero velocity. I wished it had given me a bloody nose, at least. That way I could hide my embarrassment in the nurse’s office instead facing five incredulous stares.

  “Get your head in the game, Jackson!” A stocky junior named Alex-something-or-other glared at me from our server’s spot.

  “Joey,” I corrected automatically.

  “You okay?” Concerned green eyes met mine. Yep, Blake’s eyes we
re green today. That was so freaking unfair. I didn’t know what green meant!

  “I’m good.” I faced the other team and waited for the next serve. This time, when the ball headed straight for my face, I stumbled back and bumped it closer to the net, where Blake spiked it over.

  “Nice!” Blake slapped me on the back when we rotated position for our serve. Was it my imagination or did his hand linger a little longer than it should have?

  Thirty minutes later I shoved my dirty clothes into my gym bag, then bent to tie my shoes. I had managed to make it through the rest of the class period without getting smacked in the face with a volleyball. I’d even managed to score a few points. All in all, I called it a decent showing.

  “Johnny? Hey, Johnny?”

  I turned at Blake’s voice, then looked around. Who was Johnny? I had my little alcove of lockers to myself. My heart sank. Stupid, girly phrase, but I swore I felt every thump and thud in my intestines instead of my chest.

  “Joey,” I corrected.

  “Huh?” Blake ran his hand through hair still damp from his shower. Jesus, he was hot.

  “My name. It’s Joey.”

  “Oh yeah, Joey.” He nodded at someone who walked past him. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  My calf muscle started to twinge, reminding me that I still bent over my foot to tie my shoe laces. I finished the last loop and stood straighter.

  Blake’s now blue eyes returned to me. “So, anyway, I just wanted to say good job in there.”

  “Oh, ah, thanks.” My mind was screaming like a tween girl at a One Direction concert. Blake Richards talked to me!

  He leaned against the bay of lockers and crossed one foot over the opposite ankle. “I saw you at the corn maze on Friday.”

  My breathing picked up speed. This was it. He was going to tell me it was him in the maze. I wiped sweaty palms on my jeans. “Yeah. I was there.” Oh my God, kill me now. I was there? Had I completely forgotten how to have a conversation?

  “Right. So I was going to ask you—” He cut off midsentence when one of his buddies yelled at him to hurry up. “Just a minute!” His fascinating eyes met mine. Evil bastard. So not fair. “Can I get your number? I have something to ask you about, and I don’t have time now. Can I call you later?”

  My voice didn’t work—sudden evaporation of all mouth moisture made talking tough—so I simply nodded. He handed over his phone, and I quickly added my contact information. He dipped his head at me and jogged to catch up with his buddy when I finished.

  “You can’t really think that Blake Richards is the one who kissed you in the corn maze. Do you?”

  I glared at Carter. “You don’t have to make it sound like it’s completely outside the realm of possibilities.”

  “You don’t even know if he’s gay. There aren’t even any rumors suggesting it.”

  “He’s never dated a girl that we know of.”

  “He hasn’t dated a boy, either.”

  “He asked for my phone number! That has to mean something.”

  “Has he called you?”

  “I don’t know.” My shoulders hunched, and I slunk back into the chair opposite Carter. We sat at a small study table in the back corner of the library during study hall. “I lost my phone, remember? I called the maze people on Sunday, but no one turned it in. They said they’d keep an eye out for it, but I think I’m probably screwed. My mom is not a happy woman right now.”

  “I don’t want to piss in your corn flakes or anything, but he probably needs help with his homework or wants you to sign a petition or something.”

  Just because Carter was probably right didn’t mean I had to like it. I chewed on the cap of my pen and stared unseeing at my physics text.

  “Who else is on your list?” Carter asked.

  I didn’t have to ask what list he referred to. I pulled the little notebook out of my backpack and tossed it at him. He flipped to the right page. “So these are all the guys who were at the maze that fit what you noticed at the time?”

  It wasn’t a long list. Only four people left on it. A few others had been considered but crossed off. Carter recalled that Jimmy Weber hadn’t worn a coat that night, just a flannel shirt, and I distinctly recalled gripping a coat for dear life during the kiss. Adam March, upon closer inspection, towered over me by six inches at least, so he was too tall to be my mystery man. Which left four names. Blake, Jared, Max Newton, and Jesse Stewart.

  “What about Jared?” Carter asked.

  “What about him?”

  “Maybe he’s the one who kissed you. We lost him for a while at the end of the maze, so it totally could have been him.”

  “I don’t know.” Jared was nice enough. A little intense sometimes. A little focused. Hot. I just couldn’t picture him going out of his way to give me a fantastic birthday kiss.

  “And let’s not forget we know he’s gay, so, unlike Max Newton, who’s so narrow-minded he’d piss in public before even thinking about a boy that way, Jared actually likes kissing guys.”

  “Jared wouldn’t have to sneak around kissing people in corn mazes. I’m pretty sure any gay guy—and even many straight girls—would jump at the chance to make out with him. And he’s out, so he’d have nothing to hide.”

  “Maybe he was afraid you wouldn’t be interested in him. He’s probably seen the way you moon over Blake.”

  “I do not—” Okay, maybe I did moon over Blake, but nobody except Carter would notice. Right? “That’s not the point. I need to figure out who kissed me in the maze.” And if it was Blake, all the better.

  “You could just ask each of them.”

  “Yeah, that’d be a great conversation. Did you kiss me on Friday? Who says stuff like that? Maybe, just for kicks, I could add Do you want to?”

  Carter rolled his eyes. “I’m just saying if you really want to know, you should ask.”

  I banged my head on the thick physics book. “Ugh! You are so not helping.”

  Since Carter was useless, I decided to focus on my physics homework instead. Study hall was my last period for the day, and I was meeting Jared after class to make some kind of collage. When the bell rang, I tossed my stuff into my bag and jogged to my locker. Posters or collages or whatever in the art room might not be my thing, but I’d been looking forward to it. I’d been thinking about Jared a lot the last couple of days. Not the way I thought about Blake, though. Not obsessively. I wasn’t going to start logging Jared’s shirt colors or memorizing his class schedule. And, oh my God, could I be any more of a stalker?

  At least I was able to talk around Jared. Blake made me all tongue-tied.

  I spun the combination on my locker and opened it, ready to grab my coat so I could get moving, but a padded manila envelope sat on the top shelf. An envelope, moreover, I had not put there. I lifted the parcel, testing the weight. Pretty sure no one would put anything dangerous in my locker, I tore open the package. The last thing I expected to find was my phone.

  I pulled the smart phone out of the envelope and looked it over. It was clean; no dirt or leaf gunk marred the matte surface. I pushed the power button and grinned when my background image and icons loaded. “Nice.”

  Someone must have found it since Friday night. But how would they know it was mine and take the time to return it? And why sneak it into my locker? They could have dropped it off with the maze people. I’d left them my mom’s phone number to contact if anyone turned it in. The little icon in the corner indicated that the phone was fully charged too. So not only had someone rescued it, they’d taken the time to clean it up and plug it in.

  I sent a quick text to Carter. I found my phone in my locker!!!

  Carter’s reply came almost instantly. ?!?!?!

  I took a picture of the padded envelope and sent it to him.

  Was there a note?

  Note? I checked the envelope and dug through the random bits of stuff filling the top shelf. No. :( , I typed.

  I didn’t wait for a reply. I tucked my phone int
o my pocket, grabbed my coat, and crossed the school to the arts wing. Jared had already set up the supplies we’d need. There was a large trifold display board, a stack of magazines, a box of photos, scissors, colored papers of different thicknesses and patterns, a bundle of GSA pamphlets, stencils, and a few other things I didn’t recognize.

  “Hey, you’re here.” Jared looked up from the sketch pad in front of him. He grinned in welcome even as he tucked a pencil behind his ear and closed the sketch pad. “Here’s what I’m thinking.”

  I set my coat and backpack down and planted myself on the stool next to him as he outlined his vision. I’d only ever seen him in the halls or in GSA meetings. Never in his artistic element. Here, his hands danced expressively as he talked, drawing shapes and ideas in the air, and words and images tumbled from his mouth. He demonstrated something with tissue paper and newsprint—something to do with adding texture and depth to the poster—and I realized I hadn’t been paying attention to his words. I’d been too caught up in how he said what he said, not in what he said.

  “What do you think?” Jared stopped talking and watched me with raised brows.

  “It sounds great. But, I’m not very artistic. I can follow directions, though. Just tell me what to do.”

  We soon learned that I couldn’t cut a straight line to save myself, so Jared did all the cutting and designing. Mostly I did the gluing and watched as Jared turned random bits of paper and images into a masterpiece. “You really didn’t need any help with this, did you?” I asked as I stuck a square of construction paper with a helpline phone number on top of a yellow starburst. The result was somehow more than it should have been—the bright edging appeared like a halo of hope around the number.

  The whole collage was a message of hope and acceptance. To come up with something like that, to envision it and create it out of scraps, was an amazing thing. It made me feel boring with my affinity for lists and logs.

  “Everything’s better with company.” He bowed his head, focusing on the design in front of him, something with chalk and a brick-patterned rectangle of cardstock. Was that a hint of pink on his cheeks? It couldn’t be. Jared wasn’t the kind of guy to blush.