My Almost Epic Summer by Adele Griffin Page A

about waiting.” Drew frowns as he stares at me. “There’s all these black crumbs on your eyelashes.”
    “Oh, that.” My cheeks re-blush. “My mom was trying out makeup products on me. She owns a beauty parlor.”
    “I know,” says Drew. “I remember back when you were in fifth grade, you got your mom to put red stripes in your hair for Halloween. In the library, girls kept coming up to you, asking about it.”
    I’d forgotten that. “I was Raggedy Ann.”
    “Uh-huh. It looked wild,” says Drew. “Good wild, I mean.” There is something about the way he is staring at me that makes me feel as if he’d stared at me back then, too. I imagine myself, lovely and oblivious, sitting at one of the round, blonde-wood library tables, dragging a hand through my red streaky hair as Drew watched me from afar in a quiet agony of longing.
    He shifts from foot to foot. “So . . . ,” he says.
    “So.”
    “Yeah, it’s a good book.”
    “Oh, right. Thanks . . .”
    My voice stops as Drew’s fingers reach up suddenly and brush against the outer corner of my eye. I am so startled, I go still. All I feel are his fingertips, friendly, warm, slightly callused. In the back of my head, I hear Starla. When you let someone do things to you, and he has all this information . . . But in the thrill of the moment, I push the voice away as Drew drops his fingers to hold my shoulder, his other hand cupping my chin as he lifts it, and in a movement as clear and graceful as anything I’ve read in any Epic romance, but ten times better because it’s happening for real, in my real, true life, Drew leans down and kisses me. His lips meet mine and push, his mouth is open, dry, and when my own mouth opens in half-surprise, half-response, his front teeth click against mine. The reverberation spirals up inside my head and changes everything.
    Then we’re just staring at each other, and through my surprise I wonder if that was such a good idea. Isn’t there supposed to be more that happens before the kiss—like going to a party or the movies, or at least one deep and meaningful conversation about Life, just so that you know you’ve got a couple of important things in common?
    Unless Drew kissed me to get back at Starla. Oh, no. Maybe I’m just a rebound kiss.
    “Why’d you do that?” The question is a toad jumping out of my mouth. Starla would never have made such a mood-kill comment.
    “Sorry,” Drew answers. “I dunno. I better get going,” He looks shy.
    “I didn’t mind,” I say quickly.
    “Okay.” Now he looks mortified. “See you tomorrow?”
    “I guess.”
    Drew pushes open the door, then turns back. “Another impulse thing, I guess. Okay?”
    “Sure.” He must read something that’s better than okay on my face. When he smiles, his eyes twinkle like green glass, as he lets himself out and shuts the door behind. I listen to his feet drumming down the steps, then crunching the gravel. Then I listen to his car drive off. After a few minutes, I open the door and breathe in the warm summer air, which for once doesn’t feel too close and steamy, but fragrant and delicious.
    Then I run back to the bathroom to examine myself in the mirror, to see if the imprint of Drew’s kiss has made me look any different.
    The Irene who looks back at me is definitely someone new, the object of somebody else’s fascination. I picture myself in my Halloween streaks, and I shake my head from side to side, letting the ends of my hair brush back and forth against my collarbone. I add some more Vaseline to my lips, smooth my eyebrows, and I tip my face up to an invisible Drew, reliving his kiss in slow motion. The longer I look, the more the image of my reflected self seems secretly tantalizing. Even if Drew had called it an impulse thing, he must have planned it just a little bit. Maybe he’d even been wanting to kiss me since I was in fifth grade, before a kiss from Drew Fuller was even a thought in my head.
    Well. I am thinking about