Honey? His eyes looked clearer than I had ever seen them. My day was horrible. “Good. How was yours?”
“Good. I made a meat loaf for you to heat up after I leave for work.”
Who is this man? “Thank you, Dad.”
He stood from the table. “Well, I better go get ready for work.” When he left the room I walked to his coffee mug and sniffed it. There was a very detectable amount of whiskey in his coffee, but the fact that he wasn’t sitting on the couch in his underwear, drinking it straight from the bottle and cursing at the TV, was an improvement.
Before he left, he peeked into my room, where I was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about Jackson’s stupid hickey. “If you want to take the meat loaf over to the Fishers’, that’s fine by me. You don’t have to eat alone.”
“That’s okay.” I was used to it. “Jax and I aren’t really hanging out much. He has a girlfriend.”
He looked moderately relieved. I would’ve loved to think it was because he didn’t want anyone hurting his daughter, but I had been told so many times before not to get knocked up that it had to be more for that reason. “Okay. I’ll be home in the morning,” he said, and he was gone.
AT SCHOOL THE next day, I found Hunter “The Hoover” Stevens, who was known far and wide as the make-out king of our school. I think I was the only girl he hadn’t defiled behind the bleachers of the football field. I knew he was an easy target because he had been dropping me sly hints over the last few months. Like, “Hey, Emerson. You want to go study for the math test under the bleachers?”
Up until that point, I had ignored his pathetic attempts, but Hunter, Jackson, and I all had math together, so I took the opportunity to exact my revenge. I sauntered past Jax and leaned against Hunter’s desk. “I don’t really get this algebra stuff. I heard you’re, like, a pro.”
His eyes shot open and then dropped to my boobs. “You heard right.”
“How ’bout at lunch?” I said.
“Okay, meet me behind the bleachers on the football field.”
“I’ll be there.” I looked to the seat behind Hunter, where Jackson sat. He was slouching in his chair with his long legs spread out in front of him, in the cool-guy pose, pretending not to pay attention.
At lunch, I went into the bathroom and stared at myself in the mirror. I ate a breath mint and put on some lip gloss and thought about being kissed for the first time. All the other girls were way ahead of me in that department. Ruthie Brennerman came in and tapped me on the shoulder. “So, you and Hunter, huh?” She rolled her eyes. “Everyone thought you and Jax were together.”
“Nope, we’re just friends.”
“Oh.”
She put lipstick on and made kissy lips in the mirror. “Have fun with Hunter.”
I thought about how everyone used to call her “Toothy Ruthie” until she got braces. We were all growing up. I felt sad. I looked in the mirror again and saw my younger self with the wild hair and bushy eyebrows, and then I saw Jackson’s younger face, his sweet smile, and his kind eyes. I started to cry. I wanted him to be my first kiss. I wanted to be his.
I ran out of the bathroom and smack into Jax’s chest. “Get out of my way.”
“Em, are you crying?”
“Don’t call me that,” I yelled as I ran away.
I met Hunter by the football field. His hands were bracing my neck before I was able to even get a word out. He pressed his lips to mine and then his tongue was in my mouth. It was weird, warm, slobbery, and gross, but I kissed him back anyway. Hunter was short with buzzed hair and no real standout features, but he wasn’t terrible-looking either. He just wasn’t Jax.
The whole time I thought, Why am I doing this? Hunter was pressing himself against me with enthusiasm. It wasn’t exactly romantic. I could feel that he was turned on. Not surprising for a fifteen-year-old boy. About a month before, Jax and I had been lying on the cot, reading to each other, and I’d noticed something growing in his pants. I’d laughed and he’d gotten embarrassed and then left the shed, cursing at me. I wished I hadn’t laughed. I wished I would have pretended not to see it. That’s what he would have done.
Hunter tried to put his hand up my shirt as we made out against the chain-link fence that ran behind the bleachers. That’s when I heard someone say, “Em?”
I broke away from the kiss to see Jax standing a safe distance away, near the bleacher post. He had his black hoodie on, and it shadowed his face so I couldn’t see his expression. His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his jeans. He looked different . . . dejected. No more Tough Jax.
“Yeah, what’s up, Jackson?”
“You okay?” His voice was low, timid.
I looked back at Hunter. “You know what, I’m . . .”
“What does he want?” Hunter asked.
“I have to go,” I said.
“But we’re kissing,” Hunter said. He really was a bright one.
“I know. I have to go, I’m sorry.” But I wasn’t. The only thing I was sorry for was kissing him.
As I approached Jax, he looked up from his shoes. His eyes were bloodshot. We stood there facing each other in silence.
The corners of his mouth turned up, but it wasn’t a cocky smile. His eyes were downcast. It was a sad smile.
“Are you into him?”
“No. Not really.”
“What does that mean? Were you just trying to get back at me?”
“Listen . . . I . . .”
“It was about you . . . what I wrote. It was all about you.” His bottom lip began to quiver.
“I know,” I said, my voice shaky. I started to cry then. There was no holding back. “I loved it, every word. It was so beautiful.”
He reached his thumb out and wiped tears from my cheek. “Em, can we please go back to the way things were?”
“Yes . . . definitely.”
He pulled me into his chest. “I mean, Hunter Stevens? Really? That guy’s such a slimeball.”
I wiped my tears and laughed into his shirt. “Come on, Desiree Banks? She’s a slut and everyone knows it . . . and those boobs, my god.”
“For the record, I’m not really a boob guy. Well, I mean . . .”
“I get it, dork! I can’t believe she was your first kiss.”
He pushed my shoulders back to look at me. “Desiree wasn’t my first kiss.”
“She wasn’t?”
“No. I kissed Katy Brown in the seventh grade. We made out in the reading room in the back of the library.” He scratched his chin. “And then there was Chastity Williams, and then Lizzy Peters, and . . .”
“Okay, okay, geez, I guess Desiree’s not the slut here.”
“Was that your first kiss, Em? With Hunter?”
I was beginning to feel like a total fool. “Yeah, kinda.” I said it so quietly I could barely hear myself.
His piteous smile was back.
“Don’t look at me like that, Jax. So what? Who cares?”
“No, it’s not a big deal. I just figured . . . You always seemed so, I don’t know, I just figured . . .”
“You figured what? What Jackson? That my first kiss would be with you?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He sighed. “You’re special.”
“Oh, I’m special? That makes me sound retarded.”
“I hate that word, Emerson.”
“Well, what do you mean?” My voice was getting higher and my cheeks were getting pinker.
“I mean, I wanted to practice for you. I wanted our first kiss with each other to be perfect.”
“Really?” I leaned up on my toes, trying to physically absorb his words.
“I swear. I’ve always wanted to kiss you. You have to have known that.”
I blinked a couple of times before reaching up and craning my neck toward him. Hmm, that clean Jackson smell. Around eighth grade, he started remembering to put on deodorant, thank god. “I guess I kind of knew
.”
I leaned in closer.
“Well, I’m not gonna kiss you now, with Hunter’s slobber all over you. We have to disinfect you big-time. Soap in the mouth and everything.”
“Oh, shut it, you.” I punched him in the chest.
He grabbed my hand and pulled me along. “Come on, we’re late for biology.”
5. Still Not Talking
“You still reading that book?” Cara asked as she walked by me while I folded laundry on the couch.
“Yeah,” I said, and then followed her into the kitchen. I sat down at the bar while she took out ingredients for a smoothie. It was noon, and I knew she had a class to teach in an hour.
“You haven’t really been eating, Emi.”
“No, I have been. I’m fine. Hey, do you want to make Bloody Marys instead?” I asked.
She laughed. “Are you becoming an alcoholic?”
“I have something to tell you,” I said, abruptly. She stared at me and her smile faded.
“Do I need to cancel my class?” she asked.
“You know that, uh . . . book? You know. The one by J. Colby?”
“Uhh, of course I do. I just read it. You’re reading it now. I just asked you about it literally thirty seconds ago.”
“Yeah, well . . .” I wanted to tell her the truth, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. “I just wanted to say thanks for passing it on to me.”
She smiled. “That’s it?”
I nodded.
“You still want me to make you a Bloody Mary?”
“No, you should get to class,” I told her.
“Aren’t you going in?” she asked.
“No, I canceled mine. I have a bad headache. I think I’m going to go for a run and maybe try to get some words on paper.”
“Good girl.” She hustled to the door with her bag and then called back, “Oh, you’re welcome for the book, but you should thank whoever stuck that New Yorker article in my box at school. That’s how I found out about it to begin with.”
I stared at the closed door after she left. Someone had left her an article about J. Colby?
I RAN FOUR miles, came back to the apartment, and sat at my computer. Writing would be impossible, so I went back to his website and stared at his picture, navigated to the form box, and began a new message to him:
Jase, Why bring it all back up? Why? Why? Why?
Oh, and your writing sucks.
I deleted it then opened the book once again.
From All the Roads Between
Mr. Williams, our tall, brainy-looking biology teacher, stood at the whiteboard and lectured, occasionally asking questions of the class, but I didn’t hear anything he said. I was thinking about Jax, who was sitting right behind me. As I twirled my hair through my fingers, I imagined what kissing him would be like.
His body was too long for our classroom desks, so he had to sit kind of low with his legs spread out in front of him. I could just make out the length of his legs in my peripheral vision. I was starting to notice all these feelings that I hadn’t really thought about before, and I could feel his warmth emanating from behind me.
Mr. Williams cleared his throat and said loudly, “These are cells that lack a membrane-bound nucleus. Who knows what they’re called?”
No one raised a hand.
“Fisher!” Mr. Williams barked out.
“Prokaryotes?” Jackson said, like he wasn’t sure, but I knew he was.
“That’s right,” Mr. Williams said. “Emerson, are you paying attention?”
I sat up straight in my seat. “Yes, sir.”
“Okay,” Mr. Williams said. “Then tell us, the system we’ve been talking about this whole class period is called what?”
My heart was racing, and the room started spinning. I hated being called on. I had no idea what the answer was, but then Jackson whispered, “Binomial nomenclature.”
It was like he had said, I want to make love to you. That’s how Jackson saying “binomial nomenclature” sounded to me.
Mr. Williams was still glaring at me. I pointed my finger to the ceiling and announced, “Binomial nomenclature!”
“So you are paying attention, Emerson. Good,” Mr. Williams said.
On the bus ride home, Jax said, “It’s really hard to pay attention in class when you’re always playing with your hair in front of me.” He squeezed my hand and smiled. Something about the way he was touching me felt different from all the other times.
“You don’t seem to have a problem getting all the answers right.”
“I’m just saying. I wanted to lick the back of your neck today.”
“Jackson,” I said in a low, conspiratorial whisper. “That’s gross!” But I could feel my neck tingling with anticipation.
“Seriously, I want to lick your mouth, but I keep thinking about Hunter’s tongue down your throat.”
“He did stick his tongue down my throat.” I shuddered, and Jackson laughed some more, so I elbowed him. I could barely deal with our flirty banter.
“It looked bad, Em.”
“Well, I’ve never kissed anyone before. Stop teasing me.”
“I’m not teasing you. It’s just there’s a certain finesse to it, you know? I’ll teach you later.” He winked.
“Geez, you really are so full of yourself sometimes.”
“You love me.”
“I have no choice,” I said.
We jumped off the stairs of the bus one after the other. “’Bye, Ms. Beels,” Jackson yelled from the mailboxes. “See you tomorrow.”
“Is your mom working tonight?” I asked him.
“Yeah, what about your dad?”
“I think so.”
“Okay, you want to come over? We can watch TV at my house. And I can undo everything Hunter taught you,” he deadpanned.
“Jackson Fisher, will you stop that right now?!”
“I’m kidding, I want you to come over and hang out. No pressure.”
“All right, I’m gonna do homework first and then I’ll be over.”
He put his arm around my shoulder. “You can do mine if you want.”
“No, you can do your own, Casanova.”
He laughed. “You’re right. I have a higher percentage than you in biology and math.”
“You know what, you sure have let all this attention from girls go to your head. I’m not sure you deserve me.”
“Well, I don’t care about any of the other girls. Only you.”
The air was full of anticipation. We talked and laughed all the way home. We didn’t know it at the time, but we were lovesick. Our innocence was beautiful, impossible to capture again, impossible to re-create. Sometimes on the bus, when it was just Jax and me passing the mile markers, I would daydream that Ms. Beels would turn around and drive us all out of Neeble. The three of us would live together in that bus, somewhere, anywhere where there were no brothers drowning in the creek, no drug-addicted mothers, no whiskey monsters lurking.
My smile faded when I noticed my dad’s beat-up Toyota truck parked oddly in front of our house. “See you in a bit,” I said absently.
Jax kissed the top of my head. “I can’t wait.”
Just before I reached my front door and he reached his, we both turned around. He kissed his hand and waved. I did the same.
The moment I opened my front door, I knew. The house was dark. The musty smell of booze and BO hit me as I walked through the entryway. On my way to my room, I glanced over to see my dad passed out on the couch, the TV blaring and an empty bottle lying on its side next to him.
As quietly as I could, I closed the door to my room and started on my homework. He was supposed to leave for work around four p.m., so at a quarter till, I went into the living room and tried to wake him.
“Dad?” I shook his shoulder, but he slapped my hand away. “You’re gonna be late for work.”
“Fuck that job. I’m not going back,” he mumbled into a cushion. The whiskey monster was back. I hadn’t seen him like this
in a while.
“Dad? Come on.”
“I said leave me alone, Emerson! Don’t you listen?”
“Okay, I’m sorry.” I went back into my room to finish studying for the biology test the following day.
A short while later, I heard him lumbering down the hallway. He swung my bedroom door open, staggered to my dresser, and started rummaging through the drawers.
“Where is it?”
“Where is what, Dad?”
“Your money from the egg ranch.” His chest was pumping in and out. I stood up and went to a small purse I had hanging on my bedpost. I reached in and took out the wad of money, mostly ones and fives—about thirty-eight dollars. I had been saving it for so long to buy a dress for the end-of-the-year dance.
He snatched it out of my hand. “Dad, that’s for my . . .”
“I don’t give a shit what it’s for. Haven’t I been good to you?”
“Um . . .”
“Haven’t I?!” he screamed.
“Yes, sir.”
Sweat was forming on his brow. “I’ll get another job, okay, you little cunt?” The word stung and made me feel physically sick. I noticed that I had torn out a chunk of my hair from twirling it so violently from nervousness.
He stormed out of my room, and a minute later I heard his truck start. I went to the window and watched him fly down the road. Instead of sulking about the money, I tried desperately to focus on thoughts of Jax.
I took my time washing up and changing into sweats. I grabbed a package of microwave popcorn and walked over to Jax’s. He opened the door shirtless, barefoot, and wearing a huge grin. He had on my favorite pair of jeans. I smiled, but he could see the sadness in my eyes. “What’s wrong?” He held the door open but stood in front of me and wouldn’t let me pass. He pointed to my house. “What did he do to you?”
“Nothing. It’s not a big deal. He’s gone now.”
“Come here.” We hugged for longer than normal. His chest was hard against my cheek. I could feel the indentions on the sides of his narrow hips. Jackson was a man and I was a woman, and when we were pressed against each other like that, the whole world made sense.
I pulled away reluctantly and held up the popcorn. “Can I pop this here?”
Swear on This Life Page 7
