I’m quick to huff at the accusation, even though my balls seem to protest. “Form of a bucket of ice water so I can cool you down and get your head out of the gutter.”
Heather bubbles out a laugh as she scoots in so close her thigh grazes against mine. My head edges toward hers; those whiskey eyes never leave mine. Her lips move toward me, and our stomachs graze one another, springing us back to reality.
“I’m glad you’re not just another one of those guys who thinks I’m easy.” Her breath cools over my neck, and it’s a struggle to keep my breathing even. Her eyes steady over mine. Her cherry red lips look as if they’re extending a serious invite that I very much would like to accept.
Crap. What the hell is going on? I’m not falling for Heather, am I?
My heart punches out a few unnatural thumps, Morse code for hell yes, you are, dude. And, right now, I would give anything to land a kiss to her lips, letting her know just that.
“No, I’m not just another guy looking to get into your pants.” I swallow hard, because for one, I think I just lied to the first girl I’ve fallen hard for.
3
I Want You to Want Me
Heather
“So, he didn’t kiss you?”
“No!” I toss a pillow at Jennifer as we lounge in Melissa’s room listening to the mixed tape Joel gave her last year for her birthday. “Why would he kiss me? He values his balls.” Not that I would have ripped them off if he tried, but I’m not offering up that information at the moment. “We’re just friends.” I shrug at the thought. We’re just friends, right? I’m not sure why the answer doesn’t seem so clear cut anymore.
“He should have kissed you.” Melissa tosses a Funyun at me, and I eat the delicious golden ring.
“Oh, before I forget—” Jen flops onto her belly. She looks totally cute today, sporting a sweatshirt with something printed across the front in Chinese characters, and a pair of biker shorts with the neon green strip running down the sides that we picked up at the Limited last week. “My mom is having a Tupperware party next Saturday, and she invited both your moms to come.”
“Cool.” Melissa and I nod at the polite invite, only I know for a fact my mom won’t be attending. Last year when Melissa’s mom invited her to a Mary Kay party, Mom went because I told her how much it would mean for her to be pals with my best friend’s mother. She said she had to spend at least fifty bucks not to feel humiliated before leaving the place. Suffice it to say, it was fifty dollars right off our plates.
“My mom has to work,” I offer. “But she would totally be there if she could.” And if we were rolling in money.
“No biggie.” Jen shrugs as she reaches for a Funyun herself. Her hair is perfectly pinned back in a banana clip with her curls fanning over its borders as God intended. My hair is too short to pull off such a glorious feat. It just looks like a bunch of hay sticking out at the edges, and Melissa’s hair is too thin. Melissa and I have long since admired Jen’s banana clip prowess.
“You think I should grow my hair out?” I try to run my fingers through the mess, and my hand gets trapped in the rat’s nest.
“You always say that.” Melissa plucks at my freeze dried tresses. “You’re forever letting it grow, then chopping it. Either way, it looks good.”
“Thanks. I just thought maybe it’s time to tame the mane a bit, you know? Like get it to fan out in curls the way it does for you guys—and the rest of the free world. My hair never seems to want to comply with social norms.” I guess, in that respect, I appreciate it. I’m all about eschewing the rest of the crowd anyway.
“What’s this?” Jennifer sits up on her knees. “Since when does Heather Knowles conform to the social norms of our questionably civilized society? I like your punk look. In fact, I think you should have a pink strip right here.” She touches just past my temple.
“I like the sound of that.” Melissa hops up. “I think I have some red Kool-Aid in the kitchen to make it happen.” She bolts out of the room and returns with the small package no bigger than a pack of Chiclets. Before I know it, she’s mixing it into a paste and both she and Jen are working the goo into a strip of my hair on the right.
“Cool.” I marvel at how little time it actually takes for my hair to blush the perfect shade of pink. “I bet Russell is going to die when he sees it. He’s forever telling me I’m the wildest chick at Glen. Did you guys know that his backyard technically butts up to Craig Amalfiano’s? That’s how we got into his pool. But it was totally my idea to strip down to our skivvies. You should have seen the look on his face when I dropped trou. Speaking of dropping trou, that boy has one hot—” I stop myself before the next few words can fly from my lips, only to find both Melissa and Jennifer with their mouths rooted to the floor.
“What?” I motion for Jen to finish up whatever it is she’s doing to my hair.
“You’re kidding, right?” Jen takes the plastic gloves off and shakes her head at me as if I should have a clue what she’s talking about.
“Boy, you are sunk.” Melissa slaps her thigh while looking right at me. “Are you like seriously that clueless?”
“What?” I lean into the mirror in a panic while Madonna belts out “Like a Virgin” in the background. “Is a Kool-Aid massacre about to take place on my head?” I swipe the brush off the counter and hold it up as a weapon in the event they decide to dye my entire head pink.
“No”—Melissa gently removes the brush from my claw—“your heart is falling out. Like don’t you see? You’re totally into Russell.”
“It’s true,” Jen confirms, tucking my hair behind my ear as if I were a child. “You haven’t stopped talking about him ever since you got here.” She nods. “It’s pretty obvious to everyone but you—you’re head over heels about this guy.”
“What?” I squawk so loud the sound of my voice ricochets through my skull.
Jen bucks with a silent laugh as she looks to Melissa. “Me thinks she protests too much.”
“Ditto.” Mel pulls her phone over to her bed. Last year for her birthday, her parents gifted her one of those cool clear phones with the neon inner workings and her very own number. I swear, it’s as if both Jen and Melissa won the lottery with their parents. Not that there’s anything wrong with my mom. She’s pretty sweet, and she’s tough when she needs to be. I wish I could say the same for my dad. I wish I could say anything about him for that matter, other than the fact he’s a straight-up bastard for leaving us high and dry the way he did.
“What’s this about?” I flick the phone with my foot.
“It’s a telecommunications device.” Melissa blinks a devious smile. Melissa is usually the reserved one of the bunch. I’m not liking Devious Melissa. “You punch in Russell’s seven digits, and you’ll magically hear his smooth velvet voice on the other end of the line. You should try it.” She leans in. Her eyes reduce to slits as if daring me on some level. “You know you want to.”
The door swoops open, and Melissa’s younger brother, Ben, pops his head into the room. “What’s a Shrinky Dink?”
We each exchange a nervous glance. Ben just started the eighth grade. I’m pretty sure Shrinky Dinks are best left to the elementary sect.
“It’s a toy we used to have.” Melissa thankfully takes this one. “You draw a picture on a plastic sheet, cut it out, and it shrinks in the oven. Why?”
“Just checking. A girl asked if I wanted to play Shrinky Dinks, and I wasn’t sure how to take it. Thanks.” He closes the door before dipping back into the room again. “And, for the love of God, would you stop eating all the Mr. T cereal?” He takes off for good this time and shuts the door behind him.
“I don’t eat Mr. T!” Melissa shouts back. “I prefer Strawberry Shortcake cereal!”
Melissa wastes no time in picking up the phone and handing me the receiver. “Call Russ, now.”
“What do you want me to say?” My body heat spikes as I take the phone from her.
“Like tell him you want to see his Shrin
ky Dink.” Jen laughs up a storm before high-fiving Melissa.
“Please.” I hang up the phone. “He wears penny loafers. We have like totally zero in common.”
Melissa pulls out her phonebook and dials his number, thrusting the phone right back at me.
It rings loud enough for the three of us to hear, and I jam my palm over the receiver. “Oh my God! You are like totally freaking insane, you know that?” A tiny woman’s voice emits from the phone as I pull it up to my ear. “It’s his mother!” I mouth the words, very angrily at my two ex-best friends. “Um, yes.” I clear my throat. “Like hello?” I can feel my face heating ten shades of sunburn. “Is, um, Russell available?”
“No, he’s not,” she coos from the other end. “I’m afraid he’s on a date with his girlfriend. You might want to try back later.”
“On a d-d-date?” I stutter out the words, confused. Russell didn’t mention anything about the two of us getting together this morning, did he? But then again, I’m not his girlfriend. At least I don’t think so. She must be confused. I bet he’s out looking for me at Dancing Waters or something. He’s such a geek. My adrenaline spikes for a moment.
“Yes.” She sighs heavy on the other end, her impatience with me growing by the minute. “He and Amanda had something to do. He should be back tonight, unless, of course, they go to dinner. Try again later.” The line goes dead.
“Oh.” I hold the phone out as if it were a pariah. “He’s on a date with his girlfriend.”
Jen and Melissa exchange a nervous glance. This little telecommunications experiment of theirs has clearly gone awry.
“What girlfriend?” Melissa shakes her head, incredulous as if Russell’s own mother just spouted off a lie.
“Amanda Prescott.” I swallow hard once the little demon’s name leaves my lips. “I guess they’re going around.” I pump my shoulders, trying too hard to convince everyone in the room, including myself, that I really don’t give a shit.
“What?” Melissa shrieks. “What the hell could he ever see in that backstabbing snot?”
Jennifer leans in and winces. “Like not to get you upset or anything, but she is a notorious head monster.”
“Of course, she is.” I shudder at the thought of her servicing Russell that way. “The whole school knows by now.” I try to put up a strong front. “Amy mentioned something during P.E. to a few of the girls just the other day. Amanda did get kicked out of Milton for banging her chemistry teacher. She’s a total skank.” A quivering sigh escapes me. “Lucky for Russell, I guess.”
“Stop. It’s not true—at least not the part about Russell. It can’t be.” Melissa pulls forward a Smurf pillow she spent all summer latch hooking and gives it to me as if it were some consolatory prize. “But just in case it is true, you can have it.”
“Thanks.” I bury my face in Grumpy Smurf’s body a moment. “I guess maybe I was starting to fall for him. Stupid, right?”
“Not stupid.” Jen shakes her head so hard her curls actually move, which is a rarity for her. Someone alert the good people at Aussie Sprunch because I do believe we’ve just had a product malfunction. “And I don’t believe this thing between him and Amanda is real. I mean, like you guys would be totally cute together—kind of like Joe and Kelly from Santa Barbara in reverse.”
“Things didn’t actually end well for Joe and Kelly, and if I’m the one playing the part of the improvised wrongly accused felon, I’d rather not be shot to death by his fiancée.”
“Touché.” Melissa offers a reluctant nod to Jen.
“I’d better get going. I have to get to work in an hour, and it takes at least half that time to stuff my hair in my hat.”
“Sorry, chickie.” Jen pulls me in, and Melissa falls over us.
“Group hug!” Melissa chortles as her chest vibrates over my back. “I freaking love you guys.”
“Ditto,” Jen and I say in turn.
It’s nice to know there’s someone in my corner when life takes a surprise girlfriend shit on you.
Jen was right. Russ and I would have made a pretty cool Joe and Kelly.
I crawl into the Gonorrhea Ghia as I Think I Can sputters to life and switch on the radio with the pliers I keep handy. Peabo Bryson’s “If Ever You’re in My Arms Again” swims through the tiny speakers, and tears blur my vision. It’s the exact song they played on that infamous episode emphasizing the class divide between Kelly and her true love, Joe. Nothing was ever easy for the two of them, not even in the end.
Things wouldn’t have been easy for Russell and me either.
By the time next week rolls around, I’m in no mood to play nice with Russell James any longer. If he wants a preppy witch like Amanda, he can have her. I ditch both homeroom and fourth period all week. I checked in late with Mr. Hailey, so my mother wouldn’t actually get notified of my scholastic grievance. I told him my car had stalled each morning because it was simply too cold now that fall has hit us with a cold snap. And, unfortunately for me, it’s true. I Think I Can apparently hates the weather change as much as I do.
I stick it out in Mr. Sardona’s class, but only because I’ve managed to ensconce myself between Melissa and Jennifer, both of whom are fiercely protecting me against the Preppy Prince, who by the way is pretty staunch on trying to speak with me.
On Friday, I miss the game. Our team lost, boo-fucking-hoo. I bet Amanda and the fact she insists on licking Russell’s face before each and every quarter had something to do with it. I got that information secondhand from Amy Brineman who also can’t seem to stand the skankbag from the valley who invaded our school. I can’t help but wonder what my senior year would have been like without Amanda here trying to hone her head monster skills on Russell James of all people. For sure no one would have accused me of shoplifting that day last summer. My official nickname wouldn’t be Clepto—that’s right, I’ve heard those vicious whispers in the hall. And I can’t help but wonder what would have happened between Russell and me. I’m so ridiculous. I probably would have tricked myself into believing I was in love and slept with him the first chance I got. At least that’s the way it happened with Slam. I’m such a moron. Come to think of it, I probably owe Amanda a thank you letter.
The following week, second week in October, five days until homecoming—not that I’m counting—the school buzzes around us as I help Jennifer put up posters in the English building for the bubblegum event. Just as I’m attempting to slap another poster onto a random locker, I trip over the ladder and smack right into my yearbook teacher, Mr. Preston.
“Miss Knowles.” He frowns. “I was just inquiring of your whereabouts. It seems you’ve been in attendance in your other classes, yet somewhat of a ghost when it comes to my own.” His brows narrow over the ridge of his forehead, and he looks like a cartoon version of himself. “I expect to see you in an hour.”
“Great.” I shoot Jennifer a look that suggests this is all her school-spirited fault, but really it’s mine. Nobody asked me to fall for a dumb jock like Russell. Only he’s not so dumb. I am.
Fourth period finally rolls around, and I plant myself on my old seat amidst the titters of Amanda and her wicked BFF. Russell steps into the room, and his eyes enlarge once he spots me.
“Look who decided to show.” He sheds that signature grin of his, and my insides bleed a hot fire of their own. The smooth scent of his warm cologne permeates the distance between us, and a deep-welled sorrow soaks all the way to my sorry bones. There’s just something about that spiced scent. There’s just something about Russell. I can feel his warmth as he settles in beside me, and a part of me wants to reach out and touch him, graze my body over his like I did that night in the pool.
I spring up to leave, and he blocks my path. Russell James is making a statement, and a sickly part of me that wishes for him to want me very much approves. My eyes stay fixed on his shirt before he dips in and captures my gaze.
“Hey, did I do something?” There’s a sweetness to his voice that makes my entire solar
plexus dissolve to nothing. “Because if I did, I’m a bonehead, and I have no clue what it could have been. Please—can we just go somewhere and talk?”
Amanda and Tess start in on a spastic giggle fit, and I’d rather be anywhere but here doing this in front of them, center stage. The least we could do is sell tickets to the morons.
Mr. Preston walks by before backtracking. “Is there a problem?” He cocks his head, causing his thick-framed glasses to embed themselves into his forehead.
“Um”—I try to swallow down my growing unease—“my seat wobbles. It’s making me dizzy. If you don’t mind, I think I’ll take a seat next to Jeff.”
I bolt to the front of the room toward the mouth breather I wish I would have relegated myself to at the beginning of the semester and avoided this great craptastrophe altogether.
“Dude.” Jeff nods over at me before pointing at the layers of pearls I’ve donned. I bought an entire bag of fake jewelry last summer at the Salvation Army. I’ve made friends with the older woman, Irma, who works in the back where they keep all the good stuff, and she tucks little things like this away for me in the event I want first dibs. “Like I think that’s a totally righteous look on you.” His eyes are glazed over, and his breath stinks like regurgitated cheddar, but I’m pretty sure Jeff meant those kind words, and suddenly I want to cry.
A hand lands over his shoulder, and we both look up to find Russell at the other end of that limb. “Get up, man.” He nods toward the back. “You can have my desk.” He all but tosses poor, stoned Jeff to the side and sits in his place. Russ blinks a quick smile at me. “Turns out my seat wobbles, too.”
The class gets under way, and we pull out our projects. We don’t say anything else for the rest of the hour, but deep down, I can’t help but feel a little bit elated.