26 Kisses (12 page)

“Then I guess you’ll never know.”

“Come on, Killian!” My hair whips against my face as we barrel down the road. “Just tell me.”

“Okay, fine.” He reaches over and points to short lyrics written right above the glove box:
You really got me

“The Kinks!” I say. “I love that song. Who did you write that about?” I ask, teasing him. “Beyoncé?”

Killian turns to me, not saying anything. His gaze lingers so long, I grab the wheel. “Whoa, eyes on the road.”

We drive toward Trawley, the radio turned up loudly enough that we don’t have to talk. Killian pulls into the parking lot of a small hot dog stand off the side of the road. “We’re going to need food we can walk with. Hot dog or grilled cheese?”

“A hot dog is fine,” I say. I can’t remember the last time I ate one, but pretty much anything with mustard and a pickle on it tastes delicious.

Killian is back in moments, two hot dogs and a giant box of fries balanced in a cardboard takeout holder. He hands it to me and hops back into the Jeep. “Onward!”

We blow right through Trawley, three green lights in a row letting us pass the entire downtown in less than a minute, and soon we are back in the country. Killian drives north, through deep swathes of pine forest and over roads that get increasingly rougher. If I were with any other guy, I would be seriously worried about getting abducted, but it’s hard to be scared of Killian, who bops along to the radio, the wind making his blond hair stand up in a soft little mohawk.

“Almost there,” Killian mutters a couple of times, glancing down at the clock and then over at me. I smile and shrug. I’ve got nowhere better to be.

Killian takes a left into a driveway I didn’t even see, and the Jeep crunches down a gravel road that’s only wide enough for one car, low-hanging tree branches scratching against the roll cage. Finally we pull into a clearing, and my head spins as I reorient myself and realize we’re right next to the lake. Rocky cliffs reach out into the vast expanse of blue, and the wind is blowing in from the west. I shiver.

Killian cuts the engine and leans forward on the steering wheel, looking sheepish. “So, I’m going to be honest,” he says. “I haven’t been here for a while, and that drive is a lot longer than I remembered.”

I shrug and hold up the hot dogs, which by now must be stone cold. “Bon appétit?”

Killian reaches for a limp fry and tosses it into his mouth, then catches sight of his disheveled hair in the rearview mirror and hastily reaches up to flatten it. Our eyes meet, and I try to hold back the laughter that’s building in my stomach, but Killian snorts, and then we’ve lost it. I set down the food and brace myself against the dashboard, a little confused about what exactly is so damn funny but almost unable to breathe because I’m laughing so hard.

“Stop laughing,” Killian finally says between gasps. He starts giggling again and shakes his head. “Stop it.”

“I’m trying!” I try to think of very serious things: global warming, SAT tests, heartbreak. But even conjuring Mark’s image doesn’t completely wipe the smile off my face.

We finally recover. Killian helps me out of the Jeep and leads me over rocky shoreline. There’s absolutely no one around—for all I know, we could be the only people for miles. A seagull cries at it dips down and flies past us, no doubt eyeing the food Killian is carrying. “Can you at least tell me where we’re going?” I ask.

“It’s right around the corner,” he says, pointing with his free hand. “Look.”

A small lighthouse stands at the edge of the rocks, only about twenty feet tall, old and in disrepair. The original navy and white stripes painted on it have faded and peeled, all the windows are broken, and its door hangs from one rusty hinge. It’s tragic and beautiful, and totally worth a dinner of cold hot dog.

Killian takes off his sweatshirt and drops it to the ground, gesturing for me to sit down on it. “I always told myself I’d bring a girl here someday,” he says, flopping down next to me. “But I think maybe I should have put a little more planning in on the front end.”

I flush and grab one of the hot dogs. “This is great,” I say. “Really. How did you find this place?”

Killian reaches over and takes the hot dog from me, his fingers brushing mine. I tense up, watching his face come closer. I should back away, but for some reason I don’t.

“Sorry,” he says, flashing an apologetic gap-toothed smile. “This is the tofu dog. I’m a vegetarian.” He raises it to his mouth and takes a big bite. “You know what George Bernard Shaw said about eating meat, right?” Killian asks, regarding me over his hot dog, which is oozing mustard.

“Oh.” My face flushes, and I tear my eyes away from his. “I do know this one,” I say, unreasonably proud to finally be able to feed Killian’s Shaw obsession and grateful to feel my heart rate returning to normal. “ ‘Animals are my friends, and I don’t eat my friends.’ ”

“Exactly.” He finishes the tofu dog in two more bites. “Although, I have to admit, these don’t fill you up quite the same way meat does.”

I’m way too nervous to eat now. “So, you’ve always wanted to bring a girl here?” Probably the last words I should be saying, but they’re literally the only thing I can think of at the moment.

Killian grins and crosses his long legs, trying to find a comfortable position on the hard ground. “Yep. Sometimes I just get in the Jeep and drive. I don’t have anywhere to go, but it just feels good to go
somewhere
, you know? And I found the lighthouse, which I think has been totally forgotten. I can’t find anything in books or online about it or anything.” He shrugs. “But I could never convince a girl—or anyone, actually—to come on any of my adventures with me. Until now.”

My mind is all over the place, trying to think of something witty to say and simultaneously stuck on the fact that I’m apparently on a date. An out-of-alphabetical-order, unrelated-to-the-kissing-challenge, real-feelings-might-be-involved, honest-to-God
date
.

“So what’s the deal with that bro-looking guy?” Killian turns his gaze away from me, playing with the hem of his shorts.

For a moment I think he’s talking about Mark, and then I remember the illicit night at the Float & Boat. “Oh. Adam?”

Killian shrugs. “I guess. The dude from the fireworks.”

I shift uncomfortably. “There’s no deal with him. I don’t even know him.”

He looks at me, eyebrows raised. “Really?”

“It was a weird night,” I say. “I had literally never done anything like that before.”
Although I have done something similar a few times since.
I push the guilty feeling away—the Twenty-Six Kisses Challenge has nothing to do with Killian.

He nods and looks out toward the lighthouse, cracking his knuckles with short, sharp pops. “Can I ask you a question?”

I blink. “Yeah.”

He props his chin in his hand and says thoughtfully, “This might sound stupid, but have you ever felt like you were born in the wrong place at the wrong time? Like you’re not supposed to be wherever you are?” He turns his piercing blue eyes on me.

“I don’t know.” I think back to when my parents first decided they were getting divorced. It was the worst time in my life, but I didn’t really feel like it had anything to do with me. They were the ones who just couldn’t seem to figure anything out.

“Oh.” He seems disappointed.

“I mean,” I say hastily, “I’m sure everyone feels that way sometimes. Out of place. Thinking everyone else has it all figured out and you’re just making it up as you go along.”

Killian nods thoughtfully. “Trawley really sucks,” he says. “Thank God, I only have one year left. I’m glad I’ve switched allegiance to Butterfield for the summer.” He grins and nudges my shoulder.

“What exactly is so bad about it?” I ask. This isn’t the first time Killian has made grumpy comments about his hometown.

He shrugs. “Remember those guys who showed up at the Big Float?”

“How could I forget Drew and his string bean friend?”

Killian smirks. “Well, they were on their best behavior that day.” He reaches down to retie one of his shoes. “I’ve lived in Trawley my whole life, but I’ve never really fit in, at least with the guys. It’s weird. You’d think they would have gotten used to me by now. But they haven’t.”

“What is there to get used to?” I can’t imagine someone having a problem with Killian. He’s friendly, outgoing, easy to like.
Very
easy to like, actually, as I’m finding out.

Killian shrugs. “They just don’t get me. And I don’t get them either, I guess. I actually like learning things, while they’d rather just play video games. My music, the drama club stuff. George Bernard Shaw. Literally everything I care about is something they think is weird or stupid.” He looks at me and smiles. “People in Butterfield seem to be much more enlightened.”

I smile back. “Now all you have to do is move and make it official so you can join our debate team. We’d be unstoppable.”

Killian picks up a limp French fry and makes a face. “Thanks for not freaking out about the food or the longest car ride ever down deserted country roads with a guy you barely know. I promise next time we can do something normal. Like watch TED talks.”

I get to my feet and stand at the edge of the rocks, watching the waves crash against them and trying to ignore the flutter that went through my stomach when he said the words
Next time
.

“You know, now that you mention it, lately I have kind of felt like I don’t really belong either,” I say.

Killian comes to stand next to me, his shoulder nearly touching mine. “Yeah?” he says.

“Yeah.” I can feel him looking at me, but I keep my eyes on the horizon, too scared of what might happen if I turn my head to meet his gaze. “But right now I feel okay.”

“Me too,” Killian says, and the relief in his voice is palpable. “Me too.”

The next morning, I wake up so early that it’s still almost dark outside—which in the middle of summer in northern Michigan is saying something. It’s not quite five a.m., but I am completely awake, and I know as soon as my feet hit that floor that I am going to run and it will be glorious.

I pull my hair up into a ponytail and tie my shoes quietly, leaving a note on the kitchen table in case Mom gets up early and notices I’m gone. It feels so good to step out into the cool, fresh air, and I breathe deeply, my whole body relaxing as muscle memory takes over and I sink into a deep stretch, feeling my breath move easily in and out of my lungs as my body warms up. Everything about this feels right, even the fact that I’m running alone.

Mark used to pick me up early in the morning and drive me to the beach. We’d stretch in the deserted parking lot, the sun streaming over water, the sound of the waves on the shore somehow quieter in the morning calm. And then we’d run, usually along the hard-packed sand at the edge of the lake but sometimes up into the dunes for a harder workout, our muscles pushing against the unbending forces of gravity and shifting sand, too breathless to talk. When we reached the top, we’d fall to the ground, and Mark would pull me against his chest, our hearts practically slamming into each other from beneath our T-shirts—mostly because of the exercise, of course. But I always liked to think that we were just that much in love, that even when my heart was going a hundred miles an hour, it would speed up just a little more whenever he put his mouth on mine.

I stay far away from the beach this morning and run through my neighborhood, directly away from the lake, taking refuge in the cool forest trails carpeted by pine needles and fallen leaves. My phone bombards my ears with music so I don’t miss the sound of Mark’s breath next to me, and I keep my eyes trained straight ahead, not allowing my peripheral vision to search for a flash of his blue baseball cap. And soon enough, it’s Killian who my mind drifts to—Killian with his goofy grin and giant hands and pathetic, romantic, beautiful attempt at a first date that made me feel like I was finally turning back into myself.

I round a corner and startle a doe grazing at the side of the trail. She disappears into the trees in a flash of white and brown, and I stop, bending at the waist, lungs heaving with the most satisfying pain.

Something moving through the trees alerts me to the fact that I’m not the only early morning runner up and about. I automatically reach into my pocket and curl my fingers around the tiny can of pepper spray my mom insists I carry.

I move off to the side of the trail as the other runner comes closer, making room to pass. I bend over and stretch, pretending I’ve purposely decided to stop and rest here rather than being forced to slow down because I’m grotesquely out of shape after only a few weeks of laziness.

The runner sprints past, and I catch only a glimpse of navy blue shorts and a white T-shirt before he’s gone again. But then the footsteps slow down and stop. “Veda?”

I straighten up and peer through the trees. “Oh. Hey, Ryan.” The shocked look on his face when I kissed Dexter flashes into my mind. If my cheeks weren’t already burning from exertion, I’d be turning red.

“Hi.” He puts his hands on his hips, his chest rising with each deep breath, looking like he regrets stopping. “So.” He looks at me, then away again. “What the hell was that with Dexter the other day?”

I pretend to think for a moment, as if showing up in people’s backyards and kissing them is a normal enough occurrence in my life that I could possibly have forgotten what Ryan is talking about. “Oh. That. Yeah, that was a dare.”

As the words come out of my mouth, I realize it’s a great cover, and not even necessarily that much of a lie. The Twenty-Six Kisses Challenge
is
kind of a big, extended, summer-long dare. A dare that’s designed to allow me to take back my life.

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Real mature, Vee.”

“I know.” I shrug.

“I hope you weren’t doing dares like that when you were still dating Mark.”

I study him, the beads of sweat sliding down the dark brown skin at his temples, the suspicion in his eyes. “Um, no,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, my voice hard.

He holds my gaze. I stare back, and finally he blinks and glances away.