want to leave her with; I’d rather she remember our conversation.
“How?” she asks.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.” Maybe I’m being pathetic. It doesn’t matter. I’m not letting her drive me home.
“Okay,” Colette says, like she understands. “I hope I wasn’t too overwhelming. I know this was weird but at least you’ll remember me.”
“Of course I’ll remember you.” I bite my lip and peer into her eyes. At this point I have nothing to lose. “You know, we never had a real kiss.” I didn’t see the earlier one coming. It was finished by the time my mind caught up to the event.
“Okay, Mason,” Colette says somberly. She stands in the kitchen in her bare feet, waiting for me to do it. My arms are numb and my fingers are tingling like I’ve got frostbite. I step slowly towards her, holding my breath. We don’t touch. My mouth is sloppy on hers: too fast, too hard. I should know better but I’ve been waiting for a second chance all night.
So I slow down the pace and follow her lead. She teases me with tiny jabs of her tongue. I suck her bottom lip. We play-kiss until it turns hungry. Then it’s raw and deep and relentless and I have to yank my head back to make it stop.
Colette looks at me in surprise, her dark lashes blinking slowly. I do a fast scan of the room, searching out a pen. It’s so quiet in her apartment that I’m afraid of the sound of my own voice. I snatch a pink highlighter from her coffee table, flip over a stack of unopened mail and print out my phone number on the back of an envelope. The scrawl looks childish because my hand is trembling.
“This is my cell number,” I mumble, setting it down on the kitchen counter. “In case you ever want to get a hold of me.” I turn and walk towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. I have heavyfootsteps for my frame. She could be thinking that down in her apartment with the dirty dishes. She could be tossing my telephone number into the trash along with the unfinished lettuce. She could’ve let me kiss her like that only because she knows she never has to see me again.
The possibilities are endless and my right hand, it’s still shaking as I step out onto Colette’s street. I don’t notice a thing. The driveways, houses, passing cars, anorexic trees. None of it registers. The beat raging in my chest is the only thing I know. That and the one possibility my mind keeps rushing back to and smacking up against like it materialized out of nowhere.
Maybe …
Maybe that kiss was exactly what Colette wanted too.
nine
The fire alarm wakes me up during homeroom. I was thinking about us in her apartment again—or dreaming it maybe; my brain is too tired to know the difference. “Move it, people!” Mr. Stafford booms from the front of the class. “You want me to burn to a crisp because you didn’t get your eight hours last night? Come on! Let’s go!”
In the hall behind me two girls are talking about Monica G and the talent scout at the airport, confirming that if the incident was any less of a secret you’d be able to watch it on YouTube. I shuffle outside and squint into the morning sun. Usually I like fire drills but having one this early is a waste. There’s nothing to interrupt.
“Okay, roll call, people,” Mr. Stafford shouts. “Listen up!” He fires off a series of names, including mine and Michelle Suazo’s (who happens to be in my homeroom). Then there’s nothing to do but stand around and wait for the all clear. Normally Michelle and I would stand around together but instead she’s obsessing over heriPod, keeping herself hyper-busy. Lately Michelle and Sondra don’t have much to say to me. I wonder what Kat told them. Did she turn me into the bad guy?
I scope out Jamie by the bleachers with Yolanda and decide to get this over with in one go, like Colette wanted last night. I shouldn’t have to do this, but otherwise Jamie will stomp around avoiding me indefinitely and the
“How?” she asks.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.” Maybe I’m being pathetic. It doesn’t matter. I’m not letting her drive me home.
“Okay,” Colette says, like she understands. “I hope I wasn’t too overwhelming. I know this was weird but at least you’ll remember me.”
“Of course I’ll remember you.” I bite my lip and peer into her eyes. At this point I have nothing to lose. “You know, we never had a real kiss.” I didn’t see the earlier one coming. It was finished by the time my mind caught up to the event.
“Okay, Mason,” Colette says somberly. She stands in the kitchen in her bare feet, waiting for me to do it. My arms are numb and my fingers are tingling like I’ve got frostbite. I step slowly towards her, holding my breath. We don’t touch. My mouth is sloppy on hers: too fast, too hard. I should know better but I’ve been waiting for a second chance all night.
So I slow down the pace and follow her lead. She teases me with tiny jabs of her tongue. I suck her bottom lip. We play-kiss until it turns hungry. Then it’s raw and deep and relentless and I have to yank my head back to make it stop.
Colette looks at me in surprise, her dark lashes blinking slowly. I do a fast scan of the room, searching out a pen. It’s so quiet in her apartment that I’m afraid of the sound of my own voice. I snatch a pink highlighter from her coffee table, flip over a stack of unopened mail and print out my phone number on the back of an envelope. The scrawl looks childish because my hand is trembling.
“This is my cell number,” I mumble, setting it down on the kitchen counter. “In case you ever want to get a hold of me.” I turn and walk towards the stairs, taking them two at a time. I have heavyfootsteps for my frame. She could be thinking that down in her apartment with the dirty dishes. She could be tossing my telephone number into the trash along with the unfinished lettuce. She could’ve let me kiss her like that only because she knows she never has to see me again.
The possibilities are endless and my right hand, it’s still shaking as I step out onto Colette’s street. I don’t notice a thing. The driveways, houses, passing cars, anorexic trees. None of it registers. The beat raging in my chest is the only thing I know. That and the one possibility my mind keeps rushing back to and smacking up against like it materialized out of nowhere.
Maybe …
Maybe that kiss was exactly what Colette wanted too.
nine
The fire alarm wakes me up during homeroom. I was thinking about us in her apartment again—or dreaming it maybe; my brain is too tired to know the difference. “Move it, people!” Mr. Stafford booms from the front of the class. “You want me to burn to a crisp because you didn’t get your eight hours last night? Come on! Let’s go!”
In the hall behind me two girls are talking about Monica G and the talent scout at the airport, confirming that if the incident was any less of a secret you’d be able to watch it on YouTube. I shuffle outside and squint into the morning sun. Usually I like fire drills but having one this early is a waste. There’s nothing to interrupt.
“Okay, roll call, people,” Mr. Stafford shouts. “Listen up!” He fires off a series of names, including mine and Michelle Suazo’s (who happens to be in my homeroom). Then there’s nothing to do but stand around and wait for the all clear. Normally Michelle and I would stand around together but instead she’s obsessing over heriPod, keeping herself hyper-busy. Lately Michelle and Sondra don’t have much to say to me. I wonder what Kat told them. Did she turn me into the bad guy?
I scope out Jamie by the bleachers with Yolanda and decide to get this over with in one go, like Colette wanted last night. I shouldn’t have to do this, but otherwise Jamie will stomp around avoiding me indefinitely and the
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