Alegría, Kimiko wrote, the Spanish word for “joy.”
She stared at the words, chewed on her pen, and wondered: What was Allie doing now? Homework? Having dinner with her family? Playing with her little brother?
She thought about the first time she’d met Allie and jotted down: How can you resist joy when it bounds toward you, stumbling over its outsize front paws?
Kimiko read over the words and wanted to crumple the page up, start over. Then she recalled Allie telling her, “You write beautifully.”
She made herself continue to write another line, then another. During the rest of the evening, she pieced together words and images, inserting lines and crossing them out, shifting stanzas back and forth.
A little before midnight, her mom tapped on the door. “It’s late, Miko,” she said softly. After several days of sulking, her mom had gradually gotten over her anger about the eyebrow ring.
“Okay, I’ll go to sleep in a minute,” Kimiko said, honestly intending to. But then she started to fuss with the words again, and the next time she looked at the clock, it was past one. Feeling spent and ready to throw the poem out, she put her pen down and crawled into bed. It seemed as if she’d barely fallen asleep when she awoke to the sound of her mom’s voice again.
“Wake up, Miko.” She gently shook her shoulder. Sunshine was splashing in the window. “You’re going to be late for school. What time did you go to sleep?”
“I don’t remember.” Kimiko yawned, stumbling out of bed, and got ready.
During homeroom, she copied her last night’s poem onto a clean sheet of paper, tinkering with a few more words, still unsatisfied with it.
“I think you should read it at the poetry open mike,” Ms. Swann said, handing it back the next day.
The open mike was held for all the county high schools once each semester—for anybody who wanted to recite or read an original poem in front of a live audience of students, teachers, friends, and family.
“Really?” Kimiko asked. “Do I have to?”
Getting in front of the mike could sometimes be fun but was already nerve-racking.
“You don’t have to,” Ms. Swann told Kimiko, “but I encourage you to.”
To Kimiko, that sounded pretty much like she had to; she didn’t want to disappoint Ms. Swann.
“All right.” Kimiko said, and made herself smile.
“Can I come?” Allie asked when Kimiko called and told her about the open mike. “I’d love to hear more of your poetry.”
Kimiko turned silent, realizing her mistake. She shouldn’t have mentioned the event. If Allie came, would she figure out the poem was about her?
“The poem’s not very good,” she told Allie.
“I bet it’s great—otherwise why would your teacher want you to read it?”
Kimiko tried to think of a way out of it. “She asked other people too, not just me. It can be a pretty boring event. I doubt you’d enjoy it.”
“I’d like to try it,” Allie said. “Unless you don’t want me to come.”
“Well . . .” Seeing no escape, Kimiko forced the words out. “. . . If you really want to come . . .”
The instant they’d finished talking, she speed-dialed Sergio.
“Dude! I think I really-really stuck my foot in it this time. She’s sure to realize the poem is about her.”
“Can’t you just read a different poem?” Sergio suggested.
“No, I can’t. Ms. Swann told me to read that one. What am I going to do?”
“Admit you’ve got a crush on her, I guess.”
“You’re a big help,” Kimiko said, wishing she’d crumpled up the poem when she’d had the chance.
On Friday evening, Allie picked Kimiko up after dinner, and while Allie talked with Kimiko’s mom, Kimiko sat on her hands, trying to keep still.
The open mike took place at a neighboring high school. Threading her way through the crowd in the lobby, Kimiko found Ms. Swann sitting at the registration table.
“I already put your name on the list,” she told Kimiko. “I figured you’d want to get it over with. You’re number five.”
“Thanks,” Kimiko said. After introducing Allie, they went inside the auditorium and took a couple of seats by the aisle.
“Wow, there are a lot of people,” Allie said as they sat down. “Are you nervous?”
“Um, yeah,” Kimiko replied. She left out that her nervousness largely had to do with Allie’s being there.
The MC, a teacher with a thin little mustache, welcomed everybody and introduced the first reader, a boy whose poem was a hip-pop in-your-face rap about cars and girls. The boy punctuated the words with vocal effects of car engines and police sirens. When he finished, everyone clapped and cheered, and he clasped his fists in the air like some prizefighter.
Next up was a grinning heavyset girl who recited from memory a racy, funny metaphorical poem that compared making love and baking bread, playing with the words needing and kneading.
Following her, a boy with wraparound Bono glasses gave a dramatic reading of his bitter breakup poem, going from angry shouts to voice-cracking sniffles.
As reader number four walked up to the mike, Kimiko clutched her own poem tightly in her fist. She couldn’t even hear the boy reading, only her own nervous heartbeat.
“Next,” the MC announced, “is Kimiko Kawabata from Liberty High. Come on up, Kimiko.”
“Break a leg,” Allie whispered, pressing Kimiko’s hand.
That would be one way out of this, Kimiko thought. She walked up onto the stage to the microphone and unfolded the sweat-soaked sheet of paper. Her fingers were trembling. She cleared her throat and pulled her cap low over her forehead to avoid looking out at the audience. If she saw Allie, she’d lose her nerve altogether.
“Alegría,” she began, her voice quivering. “Spanish for ‘Joy.’”
Allie shifted in her seat. Was the poem related to her? That Kimiko might write about her had never crossed Allie’s mind. Why would Kimiko write about her?
“How can you resist joy,” Kimiko continued,
“when it comes bounding toward you
stumbling over its outsized front paws
and leaps into your lap, its wet nose tickling your face
while you try to hold it down?”
Ugh, what a stupid image! Kimiko cringed. Why did Ms. Swann make me read this? She had to push herself to continue:
“Joy is the discovery that your parents are going away for the weekend,
and so you invite a friend over—only one, or maybe two—
but they invite their friends,
and soon you’re having the most amazing party ever.
You know it’s going to end badly,
you’re going to be grounded for life. But for now,
you’ve never felt so alive.”
Allie listened intently, trying to figure out the connection between her and the words Kimiko was reading. Maybe the poem wasn’t about her. Meanwhile Kimiko made herself go on:
“Joy is the wave that swells in your chest and crashes to shore,
leaving a trail of foam that blows down the lonely beach
and you bound after it, arms outstretched.
It’s the music in you
while you sing out the car window with the wind rushing in.
It’s the angel flying into the sky, taking you with her.
And you follow, even though you know the heartbreak to come.
It’s the wish that maybe came true,
because what you wished for
was joy.”
Kimiko let out a breath, relieved to have reached the end. The audience applauded as she folded the poem up and stepped away from the mike. She shuffled up the aisle, wanting to continue walking out of the auditorium and into the street. When she got back to her seat, she felt too embarrassed to look at Allie.
“It was beautiful,” Allie whispered.
Kimiko glanced at her. She didn’t seem shocked or hor
rified. She was smiling. Didn’t she realize the poem was about her? Why wasn’t she freaked out?
Kimiko leaned back in her seat, too confused to even hear the next poem or the one after.
“That was a lot of fun,” Allie said, when the last poet had finished. “I loved, loved, loved your poem.”
“Thanks,” Kimiko said, both thrilled and a little worried. What exactly did Allie mean? That she liked the poem itself—or that she knew what was behind it?
They told Ms. Swann good-bye and after leaving the school, they drove to a nearby coffee shop to hang out. Kimiko got some hot mint herbal tea to help settle down. Allie got a latte.
While Kimiko regrouped, Allie said which poems she’d liked best. Kimiko barely remembered any of them; she’d been so preoccupied with her own. But Allie’s memory was amazing. She giggled about the one that compared making love and baking bread. Then she turned serious, saying how she’d loved the images in Kimiko’s poem.
“Thanks,” Kimiko told her, feeling warm from the tea and nervousness.
“I want to ask you something,” Allie said. “I know you told me you don’t have any experience with relationships but . . . have you ever, like, dated a girl?”
Kimiko swallowed the lump in her throat. “No.”
“Have you ever wanted to be in a relationship?” Allie probed further.
“Sure, I guess. I mean, doesn’t everybody?”
“Then how come you haven’t?” Allie asked.
Kimiko fidgeted with her cap, sliding the bill forward and back. Why was Allie asking all this? Is she just interested out of curiosity? Kimiko wondered. Or is she asking to find out if I’d be interested in her? No, that couldn’t possibly be it.
“I guess it just hasn’t worked out,” Kimiko said. “Who would want to be my girlfriend? And if my mom found out, she’d really flip.”
Allie thought about that. “But you said she got over the eyebrow ring, right? Maybe if she liked the person you liked, she’d come around.”
Kimiko sipped what was left of her tea. This conversation was making her more and more anxious. “You want something else to drink?”
“No, thanks.” Allie noticed Kimiko’s fidgetiness and wished she could do something to help her, but didn’t know what. “Would you like something else?”
“No, I’m fine. Fine.”
On the drive back to Kimiko’s house, Allie thought about the things that Kimiko had said. It sounded like maybe she didn’t want a relationship. Or was she just too scared of her mom?
Kimiko put on some Peter, Paul, and Mary songs and rolled down her window to sing along. The fresh air helped her relax a little. She took off her cap to keep it from blowing away, and when they pulled up in front of her house, she left it off.
“I always have a cool time with you,” Allie said, shutting off the motor.
“I do, too,” Kimiko said. “I mean with you.” She peered across the car seat at Allie, feeling nearly as nervous as when she’d read her poem. “You know my poem was about you, right?”
“Yeah.” A little smile played across Allie’s mouth. “I mean, I thought maybe it was.”
“And it doesn’t bother you?”
“Bother me?” Allie gave her a blank look. “No. I’m kind of flattered. I mean, it’s the first time anybody has ever written a poem because of me.”
Kimiko’s stomach gave a flutter and her face grew warm. She wished something would happen, although she didn’t know what. She only knew that something had to happen soon or she would surely die from nerves.
From across the car, Allie stared at her, wondering once again what it would feel like to kiss her.
“I like you a lot,” she told Kimiko and took hold of her hand.
Kimiko’s pulse nearly stopped. “I like you a lot too.”
“I’m afraid to screw it up,” Allie continued, recalling her conversation with Lance.
“Screw what up?” Kimiko asked.
“Us,” Allie said. She braced herself on the steering wheel and drew a deep breath. “Have you ever kissed a girl?”
Kimiko shifted in her seat, speechless, while a thousand thoughts collided in her mind. Did Allie want to kiss her? Why would she? What if they did kiss? What would happen to their friendship? Maybe she’d heard wrong, just imagined it.
“What?” she asked Allie, just to be sure.
“Did you ever kiss a girl?” Allie reiterated. There was no mistaking the question.
“Once . . . ,” Kimiko said softly, remembering her experience with Hannah. “In seventh grade . . . during this sleepover at a friend’s. We were listening to some boy bands. I began to play air guitar, and she pretended to be like my adoring groupie . . . and suddenly we—you know—kissed. That was it.”
“What was it like?” Allie asked, eager to hear more.
“It was good,” Kimiko said and thought: Glorious would be a better adjective. “I wanted it to happen again after that night . . . but it never did. I guess she didn’t like it as much as I did.”
Allie nodded for Kimiko to go on. She wanted to hear more about the kiss, although she wasn’t sure what. But her body seemed to know: She gazed into Kimiko’s eyes, her breath coming faster. Then she leaned forward, tilted her head a quarter turn, and rested her lips on Kimiko’s.
Kimiko closed her eyes. Her stomach wobbled as though on a roller coaster. Her entire body tingled and sparked as she gently kissed back. Was this really happening?
Allie tried to make her heart slow down. The kiss felt more tender than any boy’s. Kimiko’s cheeks smelled fresher. Her breath tasted clean and sweet like mint and honey. And although it felt a little naughty to slide her tongue between Kimiko’s lips, it felt so natural. Magical. Good. . . . So, did this prove she was bi?
“Wow,” she said when she finally pulled away.
Kimiko tasted Allie’s cherry-flavored lip gloss on her lips and stared into her eyes, trying to figure out what had just happened. “Why did you do that?”
Allie withered a little. Why was Kimiko asking that? Hadn’t she wanted to kiss? It felt like she had.
“I did it because I like you,” Allie said simply.
The answer confused Kimiko. Just because they liked each other didn’t mean they should kiss each other—unless Allie meant like as in “more than a friend.” But how could anybody as good-looking, confident, and awesome as Allie possibly mean that?
“What’s wrong?” Allie asked. Obviously something was wrong.
“Dude, we shouldn’t have done that,” Kimiko said, putting her cap back on.
“Why?” Allie insisted.
“Because . . .” Kimiko struggled to explain the pandemonium of feelings swirling inside her. “Look at you—and look at me.”
“What?” Allie asked. Was it because of her height?
“This can’t work,” Kimiko said. “We should just be friends and leave it at that.”
“O . . . kay . . . ,” Allie said, although she actually felt more confused than okay. This was nothing like any other reaction she’d ever had to a kiss. What was going on? “I’m sorry,” she told Kimiko.
“No, I’m sorry,” Kimiko said. “I didn’t mean to get so upset. We’ll just be friends, okay?”
“Sure,” Allie replied. “If that’s what you want.”
Kimiko wasn’t sure what she wanted other than to kiss her again. “I think I better go,” she said, grabbing the door handle. She climbed from the car, closed the door, took a step, but then turned around and opened it again. “Thanks!”
“Yeah,” Allie said, feeling kind of rattled, and watched Kimiko skitter into the house.
“How was the poetry reading?” Kimiko’s mom asked from the sofa where she was watching the Japanese channel with Kimiko’s dad.
“Fine!” Kimiko said as she hurried past them.
“Miko!” her mom called. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing!” Kimiko shouted back. “Just leave me alone!” She closed her bedroom door, brought her fin
gers to her forehead, and tried to calm down. Then she pulled out her cell and phoned Sergio. “Dude! We kissed!”
“No way!” he answered, pausing the DVD he was watching.
“Way!” Kimiko said, kicking off her shoes.
“You don’t sound exactly ecstatic,” Sergio said. “What’s the matter?”
“We shouldn’t have—that’s what.”
“Why?” Sergio twirled the TV remote between his fingers.
“Because she’s out of my league.”
“Well,” Sergio argued, “apparently she doesn’t think so.”
“Plus,” Kimiko went on, ignoring his response, “she’s been dating a guy, with whom she’s still half-involved. There’s no way we can have a relationship—and now we can’t be friends, either.”
“Why not?”
“Because I like her too much. And we kissed. We crossed the line!”
“Well then, how about friends with benefits?”
“Dude, don’t joke about this.”
“I’m not; I’m just being practical. If there’s too much mojo between you, then—”
“I don’t want to be friends with benefits,” Kimiko cut him off.
“So whatdo you want?” Sergio asked and tossed the remote aside.
“I don’t know.” Kimiko tugged her cap off, frustrated. “And you’re not helping!”
“Well, what am I supposed to say?” Sergio fired back. “That, yeah, you shouldn’t have kissed? You’re a bad, bad girl—go to your room? Come on, what’s the big deal?”
“You just don’t get it,” Kimiko said, her voice breaking. “I’m hanging up now.”
“Hello?” Sergio said and realized she was gone. It was hardly the first time she’d hung up on him. Right away, he dialed her back. No answer. When he tried a second time, she’d turned her phone off, and his call went straight to voice mail.
“Would you stop being such a drama diva?” he grumbled. “You guys wanted to kiss, so you did. Why make it into a disaster?”