by Shey Stahl
“Whatever.” With a roll to your eyes, you got up and jumped in the lake. Water splashed around me, leaving steam rolling over the dock. It rocked with the motions and my thoughts.
Your head popped up from the water, and you made the three-foot swim back to the dock, hanging on with your hands, your body mostly in the water. We stared in silence before you asked, “Do you want me to kiss you?”
I felt your question in my gut, like a punch. My heart bounced, yeah, bounced.
“You kissed my sister,” I reminded you.
Not missing a beat, your typical smugness came through as you shrugged. “She wanted me to. I didn’t do it because I wanted to.”
As if that would have made sense to someone like me. But I also didn’t know enough at the time to question it.
August 2004
“Wanna get wet, Sophie?”
I looked up to meet your face, our eyes locking, so afraid of what I would say or do next. I saw your eagerness, every bit as intense and incandescent as mine, and your smile was higher on one side. You wanted me to get wet with you.
I smiled back at you, watching you walk down the path, following me. We had just finished dinner. Ivey was with Chase, one of your baseball boys, who was staying with you for the weekend. Everyone was getting ready to go on your uncle’s boat, us included, when you said you’d meet them down there. We left together, tired of waiting for everyone to get their suits on and ready. You were impatient, but so was I.
“Yeah.” My new sandals you bought me last week crunched in the gravel as we walked slowly down the steep path to the boat.
You shook your head, running your hand over the back of your neck. You glanced back to make sure I was following you. I was, but you reached back for my hand, guiding me along.
As we waited for everyone, you convinced me to get in the water with you, and after the day and thoughts of kissing, I needed the water.
And then it happened. Moving closer, your eyes on the water, you had me trapped between you and the boat.
“Are you going to let me kiss you sometime soon?” you asked, moving my wet hair to the side and kissing down my neck. I had never been kissed on the neck. Ever. Then came the tingles, the tiny hairs standing on end, and that feeling that situated itself nicely in my gut. I wanted to be kissed on my neck all night.
“I wasn’t aware you wanted to.” Heated cheeks and hearts beating fast, we stared at each other for a moment. I tried moving back a little, but my head bumped against the side of the boat. I sounded like you wanted me to sound. Young. Naïve. A kid. Exactly what I was to you. But I was also something else to you. I was safe. I was for the summer and when the seasons changed, there were no obligations.
Gently, you rubbed the spot that I bumped. “I think you are well aware of the fact that I want to kiss you, Sophie.” You continued kissing up and down my neck, sending shivers through my entire body.
“Hmmm,” I said, enjoying the feel of your lips finally touching me. “I don’t think I was aware of that.”
You pulled back and looked at me, considering more than your eyes led on. Your blue eyes sparkled as a coy smile graced your lips and you leaned in. “You knew. You did.”
And at last your lips touched mine, and I jumped a little at the feeling. They fused with mine, and your free hand that wasn’t on the boat pushed my face securely against yours. Your tongue glided along my bottom lip, and I opened my mouth to accommodate. With your hand in my hair now, you kissed me deeper, giving me your tongue. I kissed you like I wanted to kiss you, and you kissed me like you knew, because you did.
Our lips fumbled at first, trying to make sense of this kiss and its meaning. You surrounded me, the taste on my tongue and the thump in my overly active heart. It was no longer the heat in the day that had me beating so bright. It was you.
That was my first kiss. It was a moment I would never forget and a feeling I would never understand.
Closing my eyes, I let the sensation soak over me like rain, coating everything dry, and encouraging me into believing it might happen, that you’d never let me down.
I could see it in your eyes. I could see the significance, and I could feel a passion.
You were comfortable like this, skin to skin, our legs dangling together under the water. You looked back at the path leading down here, laughter echoing; we only had another moment. I watched the ripples in the water and the way the glistened and shined, so pretty, so clear.
“How was that for your first kiss?” you asked, eyeing the dock, waiting for everyone to intrude on our moment.
I nodded, unable to answer.
You grabbed me by the waist, pulling me toward you, wrapping your arms around me with your lips in my hair. “Get in the boat, pretty girl.”
You did things to me, made me feel things. And today, there was a certain shift in our relationship. You weren’t only my best friend’s older brother, who I crushed on. Now was different.
August 2004
“Pretty as a peach.”
“What?” I laughed, watching Ivey throw too-ripe peaches at Grayden and Austin. You stayed back, your attention on me, a sparkle to your eyes. We had two days left before I was heading home. And since you kissed me, not a lot had changed. Nothing had changed actually, just that I had been kissed.
And you hadn’t tried since.
“You heard me,” you snorted, standing up to brush dead grass from your swimming shorts. “Why do people do that? You obviously heard what I said. You’re blushing.”
“Peaches are pretty?” I asked, also standing.
“Hell, I don’t know, but it sounded good.” You laughed. “And you blushed, too.”
I looked down at the peaches in my hand, wanting to throw them at you. Ivey had the right idea. “We should make cobbler out of these.”
“Can you?”
“Why?”
You smiled, boyish and convincing. “Peach cobbler is my favorite.”
There was no way I could make it at Aunt Megs, not with my parents hanging around that day. We went to your house, and naturally your mom had everything we needed.
“Prepare yourself. I’m an amazing cook,” I told you, peeling and pitting the peaches.
“My family makes some pretty kick ass Southern food. That means nothing to me,” you said, turning slowly and smiling, measuring out flour and sugar for me.
When you were finished, you hoisted yourself up on the counter, grinning wider and watched. I told you about my grandma’s recipe and you followed along, nodding in agreement, but I knew you were mocking me.
You shoved pecans and slices of peach in your mouth as soon as I chopped them, despite me swatting at your hand with a knife.
“Bensen, if you don’t stop, we won’t have anything for cobbler.” I tried my best to sound irritated. “Either that or I will chop your fingers off.”
You threw a raisin at me. “Brady is more mature than you.” You threw another.
It became a war until your kitchen was covered in what would have been peach cobbler if not for the food war.
When you were out of ammunition, I had a handful of nuts left. Your hands flew to the air, begging for mercy. No way.
We laid flat on our backs, the kind of laughter that made you nearly pee your pants.
When Ivey and Grayden came in, wanting to know where the cobbler was and what the hell we were doing, you jumped back to your feet.
When it was finished, we had just enough for four people. Luckily, Brady and Austin decided they weren’t cobbler folks because we had that small cast iron dish finished off before they had a chance.
“Pretty great, huh?”
“No,” you said, mouth full of sugar-sweet peaches and fluffy dough. “It’s awful.”
“See …” My hands wrapped around a cold glass of milk, drinking slowly before adding, “Now you’re just being rude.”
Some might wonder why I would remember certain events, some as mellow as making cobbler to as exciting as my first kiss. All
these memories held meaning for me. That first day I arrived when I was fourteen, you showed me I didn’t imagine a friendship so sweet and so innocent. The time you took me for the first ride in your truck, well it proved we should wear seatbelts, and also, you’d carry me through mud.
The time you kissed me, you gave me a little piece of forever I would never forget. Regardless if you’d been with my sister, you still kissed me. For a little sliver of time, I was there in your arms getting to experience a first with someone who made me feel special and safe.
Today showed how comfortable we had become around one another.
There were a handful of memories left out, ones that would hold significance to some, but not others. They were significant to me, mattered to me, held me there for the summer.
Did you ever watch a peach fall from a tree?
Deep in the heart of summer, so ripe, so pretty, soft, juicy, and delicious, it was ready. The peach let go, free fell, and maybe it fell into dirt, so rich, so warm, wrapped in the Earth’s heart. Or maybe it fell on grass, shiny blades of grass green wrapped in wet, refreshing drops.
The gentle hands that found it decided how it would end up. Peach crisp, pie, cobbler, jam, and any other sugar-sweet or salty treat—it let go and just fell. Fell where it needed to fall.
I wasn’t sure how I would end up. Pie, cobbler, jam, or maybe even crisp. But I fell.
Ready to be made into something.
March 2005
That year brought with it gas prices that went to $3.18. An average home would cost you around $300,000.
George Bush was President, again. Brokeback Mountain came out. Didn’t watch it, but Sara did and said her image of Heath Ledger was ruined.
Walk The Line came out. I went to the theater ten times to see it.
I saw The White Stripes in concert again, and I was not-so-patiently awaiting their new album, though Ivey got me hooked on Sugarland.
Harry Potter was a gold mine, and New England won the Super Bowl, but I never left the television as I was now addicted to Grey’s Anatomy and McDreamy. Oh, how I loved Patrick Dempsey.
Richard Prior died. I loved him in The Toy. Before my time, yes, but still a solid movie choice.
What changed for me that year? A few things.
Girls I went to school with fell in and out of love quickly. Little crushes, big ones, too, fluttering hearts broken, some sealed by the same shards that broke it in the first place. It was the high school quarterback looking at the book nerd, seeing that under those black frames were green eyes that just needed a spark. It was the too-scrawny boy with glasses catching the eye of the slutty cheerleader with Daddy’s credit card, wanting someone with heart, someone to look at her for more than what she appeared to be.
Just the same as the little crushes and fluttering hearts, falling in love, waiting to be made into pie—that happened all the time. It happened. It did.
Did it last? No. Not usually.
It was like waiting for Friends to make a comeback and never getting one no matter how many letters you wrote Jennifer Aniston.
Something happened that winter and spring. I not only got bigger boobs, but I was becoming a woman and in high school. At least I thought I was. My skin, my body, my sweating? All of that was an indication of one thing. Puberty.
Did I mention I had grass on the field? Got that last year, but still, I was developing nicely. So I thought. What I didn’t like was the pimples that grazed that beautifully toned skin I seemed to have. They were awful and always arrived on days I didn’t need them. Like the time I went to your first baseball game.
My mom went to see Aunt Megs for her birthday in March and took me with her. That meant I was only an hour away from you on a game day.
I’ll be in Atlanta tomorrow. – Sophie
I texted both you and Ivey. Immediately, Ivey responded. She was all kinds of excited to see me, whereas your response was subtler.
Cool. You coming to my game then? – Bensen
I knew the schedule. Whether I wanted to admit it or not, I was still paying close attention to your baseball schedule. With me having a week off before state championships started, I had a break in my own ball schedule, so yes, I would be going to your game, and I told you so.
When I got to the field, Ivey met me there. “I’ll be back in a few hours,” my mom had said, silently letting me know to behave. My parents were having problems, and it looked like divorce might be headed their way. It worked to my advantage, though, as Mom was all about giving me a little more freedom now that my dad wasn’t around as much. He still felt the need to control us, as he should, but things were a little more laid back these days. “Be good, Sophie.”
“I will, Mom,” I assured her. She waved to Ivey, who was wearing a Raiders hoodie and skinny jeans paired with the Converse she loved so much. Ivey waved, a giddy high at seeing her best friend walking toward her. Believe it or not, I was that friend. Never did I think I would be Ivey Cole’s best friend, but I was. And I was there to see you play.
As soon as I stepped out of that car, the smells got me. Popcorn and peanuts, fresh-cut grass kicked up with the subtle spring breeze, and boys with sunlight sweat and clay-dirt knees. It was everything I was needing.
“Hey,” I said when I walked past you at the fence, keeping my voice carelessly steady, even though that wasn’t how it wanted to go. My eyes scanned over the field, the sun low in the sky, but still that humidity sticking to my face. It made my golden locks frizzy and my skin damp.
“Hey, pretty girl,” you said, stopping by the fence, winking as you swung a weighted bat with a flick of your wrists. I watched the way your black shirt clung to your bicep muscles, noticing you already looked bigger than the last time I saw you.
Seeing you again sent my heart racing and my skin tingling.
“Look.” Ivey nodded her head to the field where Austin was warming up with another boy, the catcher for the Raiders. “That’s Austin.” With one look I could tell he’d changed this year. He was a senior now, broad-shouldered and tall, he filled out the baseball uniform nicely. “Last night he pitched a no-hitter.” Ivey waved at him, and he waved back with a smile.
When I turned back to find you, I was met with another smile. You found a spot in the dugout, hood pulled over your head, spitting sunflower seeds.
Ivey and I found a spot up high in the bleachers to see the field. A couple of rows in front of us I spotted Hadley wearing a black hoodie with the name Cole and the number twenty-two filling out the back. She was wearing your hoodie. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, tight jeans and flip-flops were pretty basic for someone like her, but she filled out everything she wore so much better than I did. Thicker hips and a busty chest, she had the attention she wanted from most of the boys on your team.
Not me. I was just the little sister.
I questioned your night with Sadie and that kiss at the end of summer more than I should have. Did I mean anything to you? Was that kiss just to get my first out of the way?
Hadley was whistling, calling out your number when they game started, and you made a diving catch in left field. It was embarrassing how loud they were.
“Dip shits,” Ivey grumbled beneath her breath. She pulled out her chapstick from her pocket, twisting off the cap to make two passes over her bottom lip before putting it back. When she saw Austin take the mound, there was a smile, one that curls just slightly with closed eyes, like she was keeping a secret about them.
I let my eyes travel from my best girl to the field and you. You were in the outfield, crouched, with your hands resting on your knees, watching the pitch selection. When Austin stood and placed his right hand in the mitt, you stood, ready.
“Have you talked to Austin lately?” I couldn’t help but engage the conversation. I wanted to know. I had my own questions at how Austin felt about Ivey. If anything, it might have given me an indication as to what you might have felt about me. I was okay with our kiss being left at just a kiss, but I would hav
e been lying if I said I didn’t wonder what you thought of it.
Ivey gazed back at me levelly, and I teased, “What? You seem pretty interested in his … mitt.”
“Whatever,” she replied with a sarcastic chuckle.
“You ain’t fooling me,” I said after a few seconds of debating, mocking her tone and shrugging.
“He kissed me last week at a party,” Ivey said casually, but then I watched as her face contorted into confusion. “But hasn’t said anything since.”
“I know the feeling.” And though I didn’t say whom, Ivey knew me well enough to know what I was referring to. Or maybe it was the text messages I constantly sent secretly asking about you.
“He talks about you, Sophie. He does.” She looked over at me as she spoke, and this time her blues didn’t bother holding anything back.
I frowned, knowing she was trying to make me feel better, but it was one of the tones that led into a letdown of the worst kind. It was the conversation that started with, I don’t think it’s spread, but you have cancer. Clearly this wasn’t as significant as something like that, but still, the heavy sigh and comforting eyes told me what she didn’t say.
It was in her body language, the nonchalant attitude, and the deep weighted sighs. Ivey knew because she, too, was the little sister.
I tried to play it off, act like I didn’t care so much with randomly changing conversations, leaning back to appear comfortable, but I wasn’t fooling anyone, especially Ivey.
The sun set, night crept in with the burst of the lights surrounding the field. Reflected from the white lights, your hat shadowed your eyes just enough I couldn’t see your expression. Your stance and the way you arched your back with the bat over your head let me know you were relaxed.
“He’s been playin’ good this year,” Ivey murmured, ignoring Grayden when he spit a mouthful of seeds her direction. He wasn’t playing tonight, and was instead sitting one row up tormenting Ivey.
“No he hasn’t,” Grayden added, looking down at Ivey with mischievous eyes. “He’s playin’ like shit.”
